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ceilidho · 5 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 15)

first chapter >> last chapter

Sleep eludes you. You toss and turn that first night, not used to sleeping on your own. Every sound makes you jump. When the sky goes black and the bushes rustle with the breeze, you have to double check the locks on the doors no less than three times, fastening it with the wooden bolt just to be safe.

Without John around, the world is twice as loud; crickets chirp raucous melodies, buzzing so loud that sometimes you swear there must be one on the pillow right beside your head, and, in the distance, an owl hoots at an interval so irregular that each screech tugs you back from the brink of sleep. The house groans as it settles into itself; the first time you hear it, you spring upright in bed, heartbeat erratic, certain that it’s the sound of someone coming up the porch steps.

You collapse back onto the mattress with a huff when you finally recognize the sound for what it is.

You don’t sleep well that night. Dawn finds you awake before its arrival. The songbirds keep you from drifting off back to sleep when the first wispy rays of sunlight creep over the horizon, and you lie in bed until the possibility of sleep is well behind you. That makes you huff, bitter over the loss.

Again, the day is slow to come over you. It seems almost reluctant to really get going, the sunlight clear and the air brisk but the day itself slow moving. An early morning chill forces you to don heavier garments than usual.

After breakfast, you take Buttercup into the paddock to run around, watching her from the edge of the pen, humming to yourself under your breath.

Most of the morning is spent cleaning and doing chores around the house. You muck the stables, feed the horses, scrub the dirty laundry on the washboard before hanging it up on the line, weed the garden, and promise yourself that next week you’ll work up the energy to boil linseed oil to polish and oil the furniture. As it is, you stagger into the kitchen around midday for lunch, sticky with sweat.

Kate comes up the path on horseback not too long after that, a large swooped hat perched precariously on her head. She has to hold it in place by the brim to keep it from flying off. You watch her from the window at first, drying your hands from the quick wash you gave them after finishing your lunch.

“I ought to start making new friends,” you quip when she takes a seat next to you on the porch swing.

“Sick of my company already?” she laughs.

“Well, a girl’s gotta have options.”

She snorts at that, tipping her hat lower on her head to shade her eyes from the sun. It has the effect of cutting a wide shadow across her face, leaving only a swath of white teeth exposed.

Her beauty has always come as an afterthought. Tanned, freckled skin, and hair like golden wheat. But you look now and you see something different than the woman you’re used to seeing, and it dawns on you that what you’re seeing now is a version of Kate divorced from the idea of her that you’d always had in your head. Almost fuller; more robust.

You tear your eyes away only when she catches you staring and cocks an eyebrow.

She coaxes you into saddling Buttercup up and accompanying her on a trail ride. Part of you resists initially, still wounded from your last ride, and when Kate presses you for more information, you reluctantly divulge, recounting the events from the weeks prior with a tremble in your voice. She nods only once while you speak, keeping her comments to herself. That she must have already known doesn’t surprise you; she’d insinuated as much only the other week.

You’d be wise to not keep secrets from Kate in the future, you realize. Best to keep someone as omniscient as her on your side.

After some encouragement, she talks you into a leisurely stroll and even helps you dress Buttercup in the stables. The dizzying spell of apprehension settles over you like a heavy fog up until you blink and realize that the two of you have been riding beside each other in silence for the better part of a half mile.

The fear doesn’t entirely evaporate, however. Any sudden dip in the terrain or unexpected noise from Buttercup makes you start. You take several breaks to breathe and walk around. At the top of a hill, you ask Kate in a voice verging on shrill if you can take a break and dismount before she’s even answered you.

“She can sense if you’re on edge,” Kate reminds you, nodding to where Buttercup grazes in a nearby patch of grass.

“Well, I can’t help that much. I am on edge.”

She tips her head back to look at the sky and sighs before looking back at you. “Sit down for a bit then. It’s not a race.”

And you do, for a spell. You sit and rest with your back against the trunk of a tree that branches high above you, the canopy blotting out any sunlight save for the tendril thin strands that sink through like stones in water.

You’re striking a delicate balance between the needs of the flesh and the needs of the soul. What the soul wants is to push itself beyond the boundaries that formerly enclosed it; after a lifetime of servitude and desires suppressed, even a simple trail ride feels momentous. What the flesh wants, however, is to shade in the shade until the urge to retch wears off.

The walk takes the two of you by a farm with a large, fenced-in enclosure. A couple houses sit around the enclosure. The smell of the livestock is pungent at first and your nose wrinkles as you approach the farm, but you adjust after a time.

Recent weeks so far from home have spoiled you; back in the city, the pungent stench of waste and manure was commonplace, the sour cloak of tobacco stinking up the alehouses and alleyways as much as the parlors and lounges. You’d adjusted to it back then as well.

The grazing cows rumble and low behind the fence. It’s a pleasant bucolic scene, one lifted straight from a painting that you swear you’ve seen before, though the artist’s name escapes you.

Looking out into antediluvian pastures sets your heart at ease. When the farmer wanders out of the barn to greet the two of you, the two of you join him and his wife for coffee in the big house.

For a brief period of time, it’s like stepping out of your body; there’s no impetus to get a move on, and inertia doesn’t set in like a rolling fog leaving you stranded in no man’s land. Nothing like the late evenings lying in bed in your aunt and uncle’s apartment, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling and praying for something to change.

You, simply, have a coffee.

After bidding them farewell, the bulk of the afternoon is spent at Kate’s house, a tiny plot of land just outside of town surrounded by fields of ochre prairie grass. You’re wiped by the end of the ride, sweat running in rivulets down your back. While Kate brings the horses into her little stable to let them rest and eat, you fill up the porcelain bowl in her bathroom with water to wash your face.

It’s quiet. You help with a few affairs around the house and you learn, to your own internal amusement, that Kate hums through her chores. Soap stops by in the early evening to drop off Kate’s mail and stays for supper, glad for the company. You watch bemusedly as he scarfs down three corned beef sandwiches with ease, mildly nauseated by the way he talks with his mouth full.

“Can he even breathe?” you hiss to Kate while Soap is busy shoveling food into his gob.

She nods, unbothered by the display in front of her. “You should see him when he’s actually hungry.”

You pale when he belches, pushing your plate away from you.

“Ye tell yer man when he’s back what a good job I’ve done, Mrs. Price,” he says, licking a leaking trail of sauce off his thumb.

“Won’t the town still standing be sufficient evidence?”

“Aye, but it’s sweeter comin’ from the missus, ye dinnae think?”

Incorrigible boy. You shake your head, acquiescing even if only to get him to shut up. That mollifies him, gets him crowing about the raise he’ll get, or the commendation. You think he’ll start going on about lofty aspirations towards sheriffdom, but he never quite gets to that point. You wonder if the rest of your life will be similarly composed of assumptions that fall flat when you look at them too hard.

He takes you home at the end of the night as a favor to Kate, who watches you from the door until she disappears into the faraway. You only have to yell at Soap twice to slow down when he tries to goad you into a faster gallop.

You sleep better that night, but only just. This time, it’s the empty spot beside you on the bed that bothers you. His pillow is cold when you reach over to touch it. Your hand lingers on the pillow; there’s a passing thought that maybe the warmth of your hand will transfer into the pillow and trick you in sleep. You have another passing thought that maybe somewhere out there, wherever John is, he’ll feel a phantom hand creep across the bed to cup his cheek.

The blooming flower of daylight comes again to wake you up and the cycle starts anew.

The chores never end, but there’s some comfort in routine. Regularity breeds familiarity. Any contempt has long been bled out of you, almost without you even noticing.

The days pass slowly. A horse-drawn carriage. A robin nestled in the branches of a pine tree sings at evening twilight. You look up to find it stark against the dark green needles, the fir’s red heart.

A neighbor comes by with fresh strawberries that you eat from the bowl out in the sun, lying down in the grass by the paddock. You suck the juice out of a big one when you bite into it and it drips messy down your chin. When the achenes fleck off, you wipe them off on your dress.

Though you half expect Kate to come by, she never does. Perhaps she’s busy in town. You remind yourself that the brevity of your friendship can hardly measure up to competing priorities. Minding the shop, for instance, or stopping by to check on other acquaintances.

And then the waiting ends when you see a dark shadow on the horizon that you recognize all at once as a man on horseback headed towards the house.

Elation clambers up your throat. You very nearly shout at the sheer sight of him, but at the last second, you manage to reign it in.

You wave at John from the porch when you can finally make out the face of the man riding up the path. Despite the euphoric wave that washes over you at the sight of him, you feign composure, keeping your butt planted on the porch swing until he dismounts and heads down the path towards you.

There's something striking about watching him from a distance. Like Kate, you see him now from a new angle, an added weight to him. When he lumbers up the porch steps, you don't just see the man that dragged you to the court house and forced you to marry him, but a man in his prime. Square, masculine jaw; thick thighed. Something in your belly stirs when he rolls his shoulders back, accentuating the breadth of them.

When he reaches you, he grips you under the arms to pull you up, but your arms wind around his neck without any coaxing, meeting him halfway. Every inch of your body presses into his, and he smells and feels exactly as you remembered.

“Been missing you like hell, sweetheart,” John rasps into your ear.

“Missed you too,” you mutter, lips smushed into a kiss against his cheek.

And you did, didn’t you? You can say it for once without worrying that you’ll fall apart.

The two of you stumble into the house in a daze. Your hands are already trembling well before you fist them into John’s hair to drag him into a kiss. Desperation claws up your throat, need choking you when you go to tell him how much you missed him. You missed him bone deep.

He pulls away briefly, chuckling when you whine. “Darlin’, can I at least get cleaned up? I’m a mess.”

His beard has grown since you last kissed him, the mutton chops more pronounced now. It scratches your lips and cheeks when you tug him back down for a deeper kiss. He can clean himself later as far as you’re concerned. You’ve gone three days now without your husband and you can’t go a second more.

You can feel his smile when he breaks the kiss again. “Honey—”

“No,” you cut him off, a whine threading your voice. You tighten your arms around his neck, pushing your bosom into his chest. “Please, John, don’t make me wait; I can’t—”

“Alright, alright,” John sighs, and then hunches slightly to fit his hands under your thighs and hike you up his body until your legs wind around his waist. “Poor girl. Never seen you this needy before. You missed me that bad?”

“Yes,” you answer succinctly, already pressing kisses into the sweaty skin of his neck and his cheeks. His arms shake when he laughs.

He nearly trips up the stairs when you suck at the salty skin of his neck.

John smiles amusedly when you whip your dress off, nearly getting tangled in it before letting it pile on the floor by the bed.

In a different time, your eagerness might embarrass you, but you’re well beyond that now. It’s impossible to hear that distant voice in your head shrieking modesty when your husband watches you indulgently and unbuttons his shirt so slowly that you nearly bark at him to hurry it up. And then you actually do when he goes to fold his shirt instead of simply tossing it to the floor.

He laughs; it sends frissons of heat down your spine.

It’s unclear who pursues and who is pursued this time. All you know is that you either push him onto the bed or he pulls you down with him, clothes long since stripped and piled onto the floor. Your hands sink into the meat of his chest when you sit astride his lap, wet folds grinding on the hard shaft jutting up between his legs. John hisses through clenched teeth, already worked up, fit to burst. You wonder if he tended to himself at all on his trip, whether he even had time.

The hands tightening around your waist tell you that, whether or not he did, it’s inconsequential now when faced with the thing he’s been wanting most.

Your instinct is to lift your hips and line his member up with your sopping entrance before sinking down, but John surprises you by shifting up the bed and dragging you with him, not stopping until your pussy is hovering over his mouth.

It’s easy to panic over that, easy to grow skittish. You start when the flat of his tongue runs up the seam of your cunt, the only thing keeping you from tumbling off the bed altogether being the big hands clamped around your hips.

“You try to keep your pussy off my face and I’ll give you a licking you won’t like anywhere near as much,” John warns, and then pulls you down onto his face without further ado.

Your back arches at the first lick, his tongue burrowing into your hole, softened by the slick leaking out of you. His lips and tongue work you over until you’re a shivering, coiled mess on top of his face, hands braced against the wall and toes burrowing into the mattress.

A stiff tongue stabs up into your hole. The groan he lets out at the taste of you vibrates through you, making you clench around his tongue.

You’ve never been much of a drinker, but you feel drunk now, grinding on his mouth. Hands running through his hair. Blissed out, sex leaking, throbbing. Shameful noises pouring out of you unbidden, your inhibitions packed up and long gone by now. His upper lip glistens with your juices and when his eyes blink open, they’re nearly black with desire.

The hands on your bottom holding you over his head grip into you good and tight. He readjusts his hold on you whenever you try to pull off his face, yanking you back down and digging his fingers in harder, the tips wedged between your cheeks. You practically yowl when a finger prods at your back hole, worrying over the puckered flesh.

The time for gentle words is far beyond him. When you glance down between your legs, his hair is matted with sweat and disheveled, a flush high on his cheekbones. Blue eyes peer out through slits, locked on the dripping mess between your thighs. His nose presses hard into your pubic bone when he pulls you down onto his waiting mouth, lips parting and tongue sawing over your clit. That part you can’t see, but you feel the wet slide of his tongue over your slit.

You come with a finger lodged knuckle deep in your ass and his tongue rolling over your clit, coaxing it from you. Your whole body pulses and shivers. Chuckling to himself when you go dumb during it, slumped over him and panting hard. Tears dripping down your cheeks that John cleans up himself with his tongue when he drags you back down his chest and rolls the two of you over.

“God, you look so pretty like this, honey,” he coos when he’s got you under him, pinching your cheeks between his fingers until your lips go plump and pursed.

When he drags you into a kiss, his tongue still tastes of you.

He takes you on your back after that, knees over his shoulders and bending you in ways you didn’t think possible. Whatever control he had before is gone now. He thrusts in to the hilt the second he gets you flat on your back, taking three days of frustration out on you, near punching your cervix with the head of his cock.

“There we go— fuck—” John growls. “C’mon, squeeze me tight, honey; make me come in your pretty fuckin’ pussy.”

You feel like a creature turned inside of itself. All high yips, sharp pangs of pleasure, an ache in your hips that you know instinctively will worsen by morning, and a deep seated, unquenchable need. He mates you like a beast in heat, jaw clenched and brows furrowed; when your eyelids slip shut, he growls at you to keep them open, and you do only to find him staring down at you with that indelible, maddening intensity of his.

“Nngh, John—John—” you gasp.

“Just a little, darlin’—shh, c’mon, just take it. Like that, yes—that’s it.”

A dark urge flutters under your skin, blinking its eyes open. You stare up at him through half lidded eyes. “Gonna come in me and give me a baby, John?”

His eyes go black. “I’m gonna fill this tight cunt right up, you keep talking like that.”

You reach up to rake your hands through his hair. "Please give me a baby, John. Give me it, please."

His hips snap forward, knocking the breath out of you. He pounds into you with renewed vigor, lost in it, your nipples tagging his chest with every thrust.

If you could peel back your skin and tuck him into your ribcage, you would. He’s already in you anyway; everywhere it counts. Leathery musk wafting under your nose, sweat-slicked skin, his spend deep in your cunt and leaking out around his throbbing cock, the heat steaming off him and warming you from the outside in and inside out. His come spurts into you hot and viscous, so deep that you swear you can taste it at the back of your throat.

In the aftermath, you curl up against his chest and he traces a finger lazily up and down your spine.

“You’ve been so patient with me.” You don’t know what prompts you to say that, but you know it’s been sitting in your chest and waiting for you to put it to words.

His fingers pause in their ministrations, his hand resting flat on your back. “Patient?”

“Don’t play dumb, John. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Got some nerve accusing me of playing dumb,” he chuckles softly, leaning down to butt his forehead against yours.

You nearly go cross eyed. Doe eyed. Treacle tart soft in your chest. You wonder if you’ll look back on this someday in fear and awe, and think that is the very moment when you finally let him in.

This is how love suffuses into the girl: you wake up gasping to find it staring down at you.

You’re brave enough now to ask what it is that you need. The world flashes briefly before you: in it, you see every possible version of a girl, how she goes from animal skin to teeth glinting in the night. She is perforated and vibrating; lacunae as the voice drips back into the sea, papyrus crackling hot in the fire.

Maybe new love flounders again against the rhythms of the old, the song of you now sleeping beneath an alder tree, thickening with lemon and honey.

“I’m going to…—you know I’ll tell you. I just need time.”

“Darlin’, I know. There’s no use for rushing things. It happens when it happens,” John murmurs. He drops a bristly kiss on your forehead.

“…And if it doesn’t happen?”

He shrugs. “Then it doesn’t happen.”

It’s a shock when love finds you because you don’t expect it. You’d open the door to anything else in a heartbeat, but it’s love that finds you cowering under the stairs.

Love is not something you’ve ever touched, not even grazed. You recognize the insidious rot of lust or the gnarled grip of possession, but love? That has yet evaded your attempts on it. Not that you’ve ever given it a good go.

But now, when you think of it, it looks at you through blue eyes.

You sleep on it. You don’t contemplate when it’ll happen only because you know it’s inevitable. Your lips have already grown loose. When he eats you out in the early morning hours after a good night’s sleep for once since John left, you have to swallow back the wails of I love you, I love you, tell me you love me, please, please.

Your lips part, lax. Only sinking your mouth down over his turgid length after he’s made you come keeps you from accidentally saying the words. The soft, grunted fuck he lets out at that empties out any thought in your head.

Desperate times, desperate measures.

If John knows, he jealously guards your secret. Would take it to his grave you think. Just for him and you to know. Any temerity from the night before is squashed in the light of day, and you sit across from him at the table during breakfast wishing that he could hear the words in your head, if only so you didn’t have to say it out loud.

God bites the lip when you want it most to part. Isn’t that just the nature of life?

John leaves you off at the general store as always, dropping a peck to your lips before heading out on his way, but when you wander inside, you find Miles behind the counter instead of Kate. That dims the excitement in your chest a tad. It’s no fault of his, but you’d hoped to regale Kate with the revelation you’d had the night previous, omitting some of the lewder details. Instead you’ll be forced to wait until she’s back in town. When you ask Miles when abouts that’ll be, he shrugs, unable to give you a definite answer.

“Visiting a friend, she said,” he tells you, and you blink like you don’t know exactly what that means.

Her absence leaves you in a lurch though, little else to do but wander around the store. You’d leave entirely and try to find something else to occupy your time, but you feel a bit foolish coming in just to leave right away, though you’re sure Miles wouldn’t care either way. Still, you tell yourself you’ll linger for a few minutes before heading out to the library or down the road for a coffee at the inn.

The bell over the door jingles, but you pay it no mind.

You linger in the aisle with the fruit preserves and canned fish, gazing into the bottles. Tins with hand-drawn labels, branded packaging. On another shelf, you find oyster crackers,��National Biscuit Company on the label. Nabisco. If Kate were minding the shop, you’d pop your head around the aisle to ask her what corned beef brand she used the other day.

The sound of spurs jangling from behind you makes you frown and turn your head.

A hand clamps down over your mouth, muffling the yelp that leaps instinctively from your throat, and you go shock cold when the blunt muzzle of a pistol wedges against the small of your back.

“Bet you thought you were clever gettin’ me out of town, didn’t you, girl?”

Your eyes widen.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #captain john price

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romanteacism · 7 days ago

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Knight Aemond x Princess Reader Someday

Synopsis: The day of the Knight's Festival has come, and as it comes, secrets are revealed. Warnings: None (yet), Aemond and Princess (not so) Secret Relationship, Princess and Aemond thinking of their future, Fluff, PREVIOUS PART A/N: I'm baaack!

“Seriously, Aemond… you must be more cheerful! You’re acting as if we are welcoming just mere nobles instead of your family, who you had not seen for moons— surely you miss them, do you not?” You sighed as you could feel the quiet contempt in your knight as you two stood by the castle gates waiting for the wheelhouse of House Targaryen. “Now you’re making me wonder if you would react so coldly if you did not see me for a long period of time,” You muttered and straightened your stance as you saw horses in the distance. “I will have no chance to miss you— I’m always by your side.”

You turned to your sworn protector, who finally spoke after he had held back his tongue the past few days as he had grown quite annoyed with your insistence on inviting his family. He knew you came from a place of love— that you only wished for him to be surrounded by his kin as he was to receive such a great honor, so he held back his words as he did not want to unjustly pour out his grievances on you.

“Able to speak again, now are we?” You questioned with a raise of your brow as you had practically been speaking to a brick wall days prior. You did not take it to heart as Aemond stayed silent in your presence— he did not ignore you, nor was he indifferent. You understood that he was just reigning in his frustration at your insistence on inviting his family to court. “Look… I’m sorry if I had pestered you with this matter and did not truly take your reluctance to do it seriously. But I just fear that if you do not invite them, you’ll regret it and…” You trailed, not wanting to list your second reason, but Aemond’s lilac eye implored you. “And what, princess?” He questioned as he slyly stepped closer to you.

“And because I wish to know your family— more about you… I wish to know more about the man I love.” You whispered, and Aemond felt his heartbeat in his ears. Gods, he wanted to kiss you. To pull you flush against him and feel your lips dance their familiar dance. But as you two were exposed to the prying eyes of the court, Aemond could do nothing. He only took a mental note that when you two were once again in the privacy of your chambers, he would need to kiss you and show how much he loved you as well. Aemond took in a deep breath, restraining himself from doing something untoward, settling for the fact that it was him that you loved. Replaying the words you uttered in his mind to sedate himself.

You placed a pleasing and welcoming smile on your lips as House Targaryen’s wheelhouse came into view, a bit nervous as you would meet Aemond’s family. You waited silently as squires brought out a platform, and the wheelhouse doors opened, revealing a man dressed in fine green fabric with an embroidered gold dragon on his chest. “Brother!” Aemond’s sibling yelled, his words almost in a drunken slur, but as he drew closer to your side and went to embrace Aemond, the smell of wine was prominent enough. “Let go, Aegon,” Aemond gritted as his drunken brother hugged him tightly. “Still resisting affection, I see— though I’m glad you have not changed,” He laughed as you stood by the side, chewing on your inner cheeks to hinder your amused smile.

Aemond held a look of contempt, but from the side of his eye, he saw you trying to hold back your amused smile. “Princess, my brother, Lord Aegon Targaryen.” Aemond introduced his brother, who only now seemed to realize you were there. His violet eyes widened, and a smirk rose to his lips, a smirk that Aemond knew all too well and was not at all pleased about. “Your Highness,” he bowed and took your hand to place a kiss on your knuckles. Aemond resisted the urge to pounce on his brother as he had the gull to touch your skin. “Tales of your beauty are not at all lies— now I understand why my brother is so insistent on never leaving his post to pay us a visit,” He smiled, and Aemond’s hold on the hilt of his sword tightened. You glanced over your knight, unaware that he was requested home and had been using his post as a reason not to leave. You could only smile at his brother as you could not think of a reply.

Thankfully, the others that housed the carriage came into view. Your eyes first landed upon a woman with auburn hair that was wholly different from Aemond’s and his brother's. “Mother,” Aemond greeted, and you were shocked to find out that a lady who looked so young and with such different features was the woman who birthed Aemond. Aemond was not given a reply, his mother only cupping his cheek. “It’s good to finally see you,” She said quietly and slowly removed her hand from her son’s scarred cheek. You averted your eyes; in truth, you expected Aemond’s mother to show him a touch more affection, but you suppose each person had a different expression to show their love. Surely, you should have known that well by now.

“Helaena,” Aemond then uttered, a ghost of a smile on his lips that only you could detect. You turned to the last person to exit the carriage, a girl a few years older than yourself with the same features as Aemond and their brother. There was a constant look of sadness in her eyes even though a slight smile was placed on her lips. You smiled as her violet eyes landed upon you, a slight nod of your head as an acknowledgment. “Princess, my mother, Lady Alicent Targaryen, and my only sister, Lady Helaena.” Aemond introduced as the two of them curtsied before you. “It is a pleasure to meet you all,” You smiled charmingly, and you hid your excitement as they returned it. “I’m well certain that you’re all weary from travel; if you’d like, I can escort you to your chambers,” You offered as you glanced towards the squires who unloaded their trunks. “It’s fine, princess; one of the maids could assist them,” Aemond said coldly as he passed his judging gaze towards his brother, who unshamelessly eyed you.

“Nonsense! These are your most esteemed guests; we shall at least escort them to their chambers,” You say and lift partly the skirt of your dress to turn towards the castle, Aemond, and his kin quickly following behind.

Aemond looked over you from behind as you walked with his mother and sister, touring them around the castle and introducing them to the other nobilities you passed. He forwent his usual place by your side so he could walk and watch over his drunken brother. “I must say, brother, you made quite a name for yourself even if you had only left home barely a year ago.” Aegon hummed as he followed the gaze of his brother, who was consistently close to the princess. “Could you believe it? A mere second son, set to inherit nothing— threw away the comforts of his life to become an impoverished knight and less than a year later is to be bestowed the highest possible recognition for a knight of the kingdom! My, my, brother… how is that even possible?”

“If you don’t simply just sit on your ass and drink your weight in wine, anything is possible, brother— even if you are just a second son.” Aemond gritted as you glanced behind and smiled at him, as always. He could never understand how you did that— how, with just your smile, you could make him forget the anger and rage that was always constant in his veins. You had a possibility to calm his mind and body while barely moving— how is that? Aemond breathed out and bit his cheeks; maybe he shouldn’t wonder why and seek the question… perhaps he should just be grateful.

“I am quite fond of your sister,” you suddenly said as it was only the two of you roaming the halls, having just left his kin to rest in their chambers. “Hm, Helaena is the kindest and most gentle of us… though her shyness does prevent other people from knowing her more,” You nodded and threaded closer to your knight, earnestly trying to dissolve the damned gap. “You’re kin is very much quiet… “ You observed and Aemond felt a smile twitch to his lips. “And I am well certain that that would not be a problem for you… you have a gift for making even the most stubborn and tight-lipped individuals speak— I should know.” You bit your lip and smiled widely at him.

You and your knight were to proceed to your chambers, but as your name rang out through the halls, Aemond had a remembrance that that scene had happened before. You turned behind you, and your wide smile turned wider if it were possible, quickly holding onto your skirt and running to leap into your half-brother’s arms. Aemond stayed rooted in his spot as you were spun around while in the arms of your half-brother. Resisting the urge to grow jealous as he held you close, reminding himself that he was your brother. “You need to stop coming unannounced! We have not prepared your chambers!” You exclaimed, lightly slapping his arm, a cross look on your face. “I’m fine anywhere, cousin. You could place me by the stable for all I care.” He smiled, and you shook your head, glancing behind only to realize your brother had yet to be introduced to your knight.

“Cousin, this is Ser Aemond— he is to receive the Medal of Valor tomorrow.” You smiled and guided him closer to your knight, who bowed. “I know… everyone has heard of your heroicness in protecting the princess. Congratulations, Ser Aemond.” Your brother smiled, and you turned to Aemond, who looked like he was having difficulty returning it. You widened your eyes and implored him to remember decorum and that his coldness was certainly most unwarranted. “Thank you, my pr— my lor— I mean— thank you, my lord.” You bit your cheeks as your brother raised his brow as Aemond slipped with the deepest secret of your family. “Yes, well… I should find the king. I did promise to meet him the moment I arrived, but I knew you’d prefer to be the first to know that I am here.” You smiled further as your brother placed a chaste kiss on your temple before going about his way, leaving you and Ser Aemond.

“I really thought you could keep a secret,” You sighed as you two continued on your way back to your chambers. “I can! I—I…” He stuttered and pursed your lips as if you had never witnessed him this flustered. “I got confused! I just noticed how similar he looks like the prince and how you have the same eyebrows,” He defended as he opened the door of your chambers for you. You breathed out a laugh and turned to him, flushing your body as you circled your arms around his neck, him taking the initiative to seal the gap between your lips.

“You know, you are granted the days off during the feast; why are you still here?” You questioned as you two parted for air, Aemond’s eye still on your lips that had a nice hue of pink and was quick to grow slightly swollen. “Are you complaining?” He questioned as his arms around your waist pulled you closer as if it were still possible. “No, but I do wish you would rest.” You sighed, lowering your gaze as you toyed with the buttons of his armor. “I don’t need rest— I’d rather be with you,” You breathed out a laugh again, he always knew what to say to make your heart still and your knees weak. You smiled and rose to the tip of your toes to place a kiss on his cheek before parting from his arms, but he was quick to pull you back and kiss you again.

Aemond could go on forever— could spend all of his days with you in his arms and his lips against yours. In fact, he intended on it. However, there was always something that pulled him out of his fantasy, this time, it was the knock on your door. You quickly parted your lips and ran to your sitting area. You took a book into your hands and opened it to a random page, pretending as if you were reading, and Aemond shook his head at how quick you were to act. “Come in,” you say distractedly as the second knock sounded out.

“Ser Aemond… might you excuse us for a moment?” Your brother asked as he opened the door, your half-brother behind him, waiting for the knight’s response. Aemond glanced towards you, who gave him a nod as you straightened your back. “Of course, my prince,” He bowed, and your brother replaced his presence inside your chambers. Ameond stood closely stood by the door, eavesdropping on the conversation taht was to take place between you and your brother.

“I hear you’ve been telling secrets,” The prince smirked as he stood before you. “I have not!” You quickly defended, looking in between your brothers. But they only raised a brow at you, a family trait, it would seem. “Fine! But it was only Ser Aemond! And we can trust him… he has been sworn to secrecy!” You defended. “Are your lips swollen?” Your other brother suddenly asked, forgetting the matter at hand. “What?” You felt your heart drop to your stomach. “Your lips… they’re bigger than usual.” He said, but luckily, your other brother intervened. “But why did you need to tell him?”

You sighed and traced the embroidery of your dress. “He thought brother was a suitor, and it concerned him how all of you just let him walk me back to my chambers without an escort… I had to explain to him the situation and that nothing untoward was afoot,” you reasoned but the prince only shook his head. “Then say that he is our cousin!”

“Even so! Cousins get married, I had to tell him that he was our brother… and I do not like lying…” you pouted. Your brother sighed and pinched his nose, “You must make sure that no one else knows, and Ser Aemond would not slip up again,” He warned, and you nodded your head fervently.

You let out a breath as the matter came to a close, but you quickly felt anxious once more as your brother eyed you in question. “Your lips are swollen,” The prince observed, and your fingers consciously covered them. They felt warmer and plumper than usual. “Did you eat anything that does not agree with you?” He asked in concern, turning to your other brother, who had been studying to be a maester in the citadel. “Perhaps, maybe the cooks accidentally added shellfish to my soup,” you fibbed, already contradicting your earlier statement as you lied to your brothers.

“But do you not usually break into a rash when you consume shellfish, sister? That does not explain your swollen lips,” Your other brother remarked, going closer to you, and you traced the embroidery of your dress in nervousness once more. “I—I don’t know, perhaps it has taken into different effects,” You reasoned, and the prince shook his head, “I shall call the maester,” he muttered and moved towards the exit. “What? No!” You protested, not wanting to make a big fuss.

“Sister, the last time you consumed shellfish, you were itching for a week! Your throat almost closed up— we cannot risk it. Especially when we have the feast later this week, I shall return quickly.” The prince said and quickly left, you only saw a quick glance of Ser Aemond waiting by the door as your brother left before it was closed once again.

“You’re lying,” Your other brother suddenly remarked as it was only now the two of you. “W-what?” You asked in clear anxiousness. “Why would I lie about such a thing?” You questioned him, trying to be rid of the tone of guilt in your voice. He breathed out heavily and took a seat next to you. “Because you’re hiding something— look, sister, I have been studying the human body for years now, and I have seen all the ailments there are— the swelling of your lips is not at all an ailment.” He remarked, and you had no word of reply or defense as you were on the brink of being found out.

Your brother sighed at your silence, glancing towards the closed door. “How long?” He questioned, and you took a moment to think about his words. “How long what?” You asked quietly. “Do not even try to deny it, sister… I’ve noticed it ever since the ball— I must say, he is quick to get jealous… which explains why you had to tell him our family secret.” You fisted the fabric of your dress at the knowing tone in your brother’s voice.

“Tell me, how long?” He questioned again. You debated if you should tell him or deny the allegations. You knew the threat that would come if you told the truth, but at the same time, you were dying to be free of this secret, even if only one person knew. And it would seem it was only fair for your brother to know since you had told Ser Aemond about his own secret. “The day after father’s name day…” you whispered and lowered your head, fearing for his reaction. You hear him sigh. You could not even look at him; there was shame looming inside you, for you had been reduced to sneaking around and stealing kisses with your sworn protector.

“I will not tell a soul… you have my word, sister.” Your brother then said, making you look up. “Really?” You asked, searching his eyes for any falsehood. He smiled, “You two can trust me— as I trust you both to keep my secret as well,” he said, taking hold of your cold, clammed hands. You let out a breath and embraced your brother tightly. “Thank you, brother. And I truly am sorry for revealing to him your secret,” He shook his head, “It’s fine, sister. But I must warn you to be cautious— overly cautious, in fact. If any of the courtiers came to know… gods forbid, your mother, you’ll be married to the closest lord she sets her eyes on!” You nodded fervently, already knowing the risks if ever you and Ser Aemond were found out. “I know, brother… and we are!” You say, but he only looked at you unconvinced as it was quick for him to realize what was happening between you and your knight.

“You caught us on a bad day— but I swear, we are extremely cautious.” You defended. “I must say, you do surprise me. I wouldn’t think you would think him agreeable… certainly not enough to win your favor. Overly quiet and cold, and didn’t you say before that the man you wished to marry would have brown, curly hair and warm, kind eyes?” He mused, and you shook your head. “I was a child, brother; outward appearance does not matter much to me anymore, and he only appears as such, but once you get to know him… he’s kind, good-humored, and I…” You trialed. “You love him.” He finished your thought for you. You nodded, “I do.” You confirmed. “It’s easy to see, though it does concern me how easily I have realized it, but the court seems blind to the obvious… especially brother and father— which I suppose works in your favor.” He hummed, and you smiled. At least now you know someone will be on your side when the truth comes out.

You stood by the right hand of your father as the ceremony began. Knights across the realm line up in order of seniority. Kneeling before your father as he knighted them with their new titles and bestowed them the Medal of Valor. Aemond was at the back of the line, those before him had served the realm for years, yet he had barely a year of service. All clamored before this fact, and you could plainly see the ladies of the realm eyeing your knight, with Ser Aemond being the youngest and, in your opinion, the most comely of all. You felt a persistent twinge of jealousy in you, but you had to disregard it and place a pleasing smile on your lips as it could not be obvious that you and your sworn protector had a deeper understanding, and you did not want to dampen the mood of this joyous day. Your legs were starting to grow tired as you waited for Aemond’s turn, and when there was only one knight between you and him, you straightened your stance and discreetly met his eye.

As Aemond walked down the aisle, knowing at the end line you were waiting for him, he could not help but fantasize that it could be your nuptials. Even though you two stood at the opposite of the traditional way of a wedding, he disregarded that. He knew in himself that one day, it did not matter how— may it be a grand wedding with the whole kingdom’s eyes upon you two, or may it be a secret ceremony; he would marry you one way or another. He intended upon it, in fact. Everyone be damned, it did not matter that you were the princess and he was only your knight. One day, you two would be man and wife. But, of course, he’d have to wait. He’d wait all his life just as long at the end of it you would be his.

Aemond smiled to himself as he realized his thoughts. Never had he thought he would act as such. To be so… sappy and sentimental, especially when it came to a girl. But here he was, in less than a year, you had changed him. And he must admit, though it was first an unwelcomed change, he was now quite fond of it. Because if it weren’t for you, he would never know such profound love.

When it was Aemond’s turn, he bowed before the king and kneeled. You waited for your father to say the words and bestow him his new title and the medal of valor, but his silence made you reluctantly turn away from your knight. “I think it best you do it, my darling… he is your knight, after all,” The king smiled, and your eyes widened at the suddenness of his decision. You glanced towards the hall, expecting gazes planted upon you as your father tried to hand you the sword. “I—I don’t know the words,” You reasoned, still not memorizing the phrases he had repeated the whole afternoon. Your father smiled at you fondly, “It’s fine, I shall recite it once more.” He said, and you hesitantly took the sword and took your father’s place in the middle. Ser Aemond now kneeling before you.

You felt your stomach twist as you could not help but fantasize that this was him kneeling before you as he asked for your hand. Your hand held the hilt of the sword tighter. It was a fantasy that you could only hope and pray that would become your reality. One day. You swore to yourself. One day, I’ll be his, and he’d be mine completely… no more pretense.

You lifted the sword as your father began to recite the words, but the world faded as you locked with Aemond’s lilac gaze. You tried to tone down your smile as he smirked at you, a devilish smirk that only you knew the reason and meaning of.

Aemond stood straight as he was knighted with his new title. He watched keenly as the sword in your hand was exchanged for the medal. Aemond’s eye never left your frame as you walked towards him and pinned the medal on his armor. Aemond cursed that this was the only acceptable moment for you two to be so close with the eyes of the realm upon you both. But he let go of any frustrations and decided to savor the ever-so-quick moment.

As you stepped back, the hall erupted in cheers, but you two were deaf as you both were too consumed with the vision that one day, their cheers would be because of your union. Someday. You both swore.

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querenciasturniolo · 10 months ago

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chris or matt x fem!reader please !!! i legitimately cannot choose between them for my life so you can choose :) maybe reader’s also like an influencer and they have this secret sort of relationship for a while and its all super fluffy, but fans are already starting to speculate that they’re together and stuff, and then at the end they finally go public with a hard launch and/or live and everyone in the comments ( or chat if it’s a live ) is going FERAL

p.s. also i’ve loved your works for so long you DO NOT UNDERSTAND and i’ve finally gathered up the courage to send in a message even tho it’s sent in with a request !

hard launch ⮕ m.s.

word count: 911

warnings: swearing

summary: request

a/n: STOP YOU’RE SO SWEET 😭 please don’t be scared of me, i promise i don’t bite HAHAHA, ily are you kidding me 🫶🏻😭 also this was so fucking cute, i’m obsessed fr

everything written is completely fictional. the people i write for are written with characteristics and mannerisms that i made for them, this is in no way depicting what would actually happen in real life.

Watching Matt stream always had your heart stuttering in your chest.

The theme for Hogwarts Legacy was playing as he was adjusting his camera, your eyes watching him closely and trying to fight the smile stretching across your face. You were sure the viewers could see you staring, considering you were sitting in the chair directly next to him, on camera. His eyes dropped from the screen as he grabbed his controller.

“Alright guys, so, we’re playing Hogwarts Legacy tonight, but I have a special guest with me, as you all can see.” He turned his head and met your eyes, his own smile growing and his cheeks tingeing pink as he caught you already staring. Introduce yourself, he mouthed. You turned to face the camera, grinning wider than before as your eyes scanned over the chat.

“Hey guys, I’m the guest, obviously. My name is Y/n.” You said.

did anyone else see the way she was staring at matt ? they’re in love, confirmed

she’s so real, i’d be staring too

i can’t even handle this, she’s so cute

“Basically, Y/n’s going to play while I tell her what to do. She’s never held a controller in her life.” Matt teased, his eyes flickering between the screen and the chat as you pressed the button to start the game.

“Wait, I have to create a whole character?” You asked, glancing over at Matt as he placed the headset over your ears. He chuckled and nodded.

“Yes, you have to create a whole character, is that not what you were expecting when you begged me to play this game?” He teased. You rolled your eyes and adjusted the headset, making sure the ear that was on his side was exposed so you could hear him.

“This is ridiculous, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me I had to create an entire chara—oh my God I can have pink hair, I take it back.” You rambled, scrambling through the hair colors. Matt’s laugh next to you had you grinning as your eyes flickered between the screen and the chat.

this banter is only proving my point that they’re in love

i’m so glad she’s streaming with him this is so funny

has anyone else noticed that matt hasn’t looked at the screen once

You glanced over at Matt, meeting his eyes immediately. You couldn’t help but mirror his smile as you shook your head and faced the screen again. You created your character, groaning when you realized you had to go through a thousand cut scenes, even though you were thrilled to be playing this game.

“I never understood why you can’t see those weird horse things until that dude gets eaten by the dragon.” Matt said, catching your attention enough for you to glance at him with wide eyes and a slack jaw. You sighed through your nose and shook your head.

“I forgot, you’re a fake fan.” You said, interrupting him before he could fire back. “They’re thestrals, you can only see them if you’ve witnessed death, but they’re always there.” You explained, Matt furrowing his eyebrows as you faced the screen again.

y/n being a harry potter fan was not on my docket, but i’m not complaining

her humbling matt has got to be the funniest fucking thing i’ve ever seen in my life

i love this

The entire time you were going through the beginning quests, you and Matt had bickered back and forth, your smile wide with each comeback you shot at him. It wasn’t until a knock on Matt’s door that the two of you stopped talking. You paused the game, but Matt scoffed and unpaused it.

“You keep playing.” He demanded playfully, your own scoff leaving your lips as you shook your head and continued. Chris peeked his head into the door.

“Food’s here, just thought you guys should know.” He said, Matt nodding his head. Chris left the room, and Matt turned to you.

“I’ll go get it.” He said, standing from the chair as you turned to face him. Before you could process it, he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours firmly and turned to leave the room. You smiled and shook your head before facing the screen and realizing what just happened.

oh mY GOD I FUCKING KNEW IT

DID ANYONE ELSE SEE THAT ??????

WHAT IS GOING ON MATT JUST KISSED HER ON FUCKING STREAM

You ignored the chat, trying to play it off and completely move past what happened, thinking that Matt did it on instinct. Chats were flying in at such a rapid pace that it felt as though everything on the screen was lagging. It was completely screwing up how you were playing, not only your racing heart and shaking hands on the controller.

You completely short circuited, having no idea what to do as Matt walked back into his room. He was laughing at something Chris had said as he sat down next to you and glanced over at the chat.

“Oh.”

You looked over at him and raised your eyebrows, your skin on fire as you watched his eyes scan over the rapid chats flying in at once.

“Yeah.” You said, Matt finally meeting your eyes with pink cheeks. He smiled and shrugged his shoulders, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to your nose before he sat back and grinned widely.

“I guess that was one hell of a hard launch, huh?”

tags: @strniolo , @ssturniolo , @thetriplets3 , @stvrni0lo , @gabbylovesreading , @dwntwn-strnlo , @tylerscreat0r , @toyourloves , @lvrsparadise , @angelcake-222 , @20nugs , @obsessivencrazy , @lollibumblebee , @stargirlv0id , @jellybeanbby , @idontexistman , @emssturniolo , @soursturniolo , @bernardenjoyer , @mxqdii , @leah-loves-lilies , @mattsnutsack , @champangekisses , @floofparker , @lovelysturniolo

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo blurb #matt sturniolo fic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #the sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #querenciasturniolo

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bogleech · 6 days ago

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I am thinking once again about plausible speculative mammals that would weaponize their parasites, and in my mind, one of them would live in North America alongside skunks and porcupines, completing a long overdue trifecta of funny woodland critter with a deeply unpleasant defensive strategy. CLOCKWISE: 1) A very large rodent that has its own alarmingly large fleas, like the real life fleas of mountain beavers. Most of its body is hairless with thick, wrinkled skin that discourages flea activity, so they're left with no choice but to concentrate in its big, bushy tail. A high concentration of blood vessels in the tail keep the fleas fed, and a low concentration of nerves keep them from being too irritating. When this animal gets upset it curls the tail over itself, spreading its fur so wide that the fleas feel exposed. Parting the fur of a wild animal is incidentally a surefire way to get a bunch of fleas jumping ship to you and immediately biting you. Now look at this mountain beaver flea next to a more normal size flea and imagine the pain:

2) A big ground-dwelling cousin of the silky anteater. A combination of long, course, tightly interwoven hairs and a thick underlying layer of fluff are impenetrable to most pests, but a bald patch of thick leathery skin on its back is an ideal attachment point for its specialized ticks, kind of like right whale callosities and whale lice. The anteater can sweat a thick, suffocating grease from this area that forces ticks to let go and scatter in search of another attachment point (LIKE YOU!!!! Leave wildlife alone!!!). Maybe It has pouchlike hairless underarms to serve as refuges for even more ticks, or ticks in their juvenile stage? If they co-evolved closely enough, the ticks could have developed an instinct to migrate up to the back only with their final molt. Maybe they're even as neurotoxic (to other animals) as Australia's paralysis tick? Maybe the ticks are also brightly colored, so predators can tell at a glance to stay away. 3) A desman-like animal, but maybe it's a marsupial or even a monotreme? I feel this one would have an unconventional symbiote; like how beavers have the only fur-dwelling beetles, sloths have their own moths and hairless bats have their own skin-dwelling earwigs. None of those examples, however, are parasites! As far as we know, all three of those insects just chill on those animals and possibly clean them. So what if this one had fur dwelling blister beetles? Blister beetles are a huge diverse group of beetles whose defensive secretions can severely burn skin, and accidentally ingesting a blister beetle can be deadly to even large mammals like horses. This guy's matted wool would be thick enough near the skin to shield it from its own insects, keeping them in the matted outer fluff, where they would maybe feed on whatever sustains beaver beetles (we actually aren't 100% sure! We just know it isn't blood!). If you make this thingy angry, it curls up like a pangolin, and anything that keeps messing around with the big hairball is probably going to keep pissing off, damaging or accidentally eating the worst beetles to ever do anything of those things to.

I also want to say I didn't think of names, but if one or all of these existed I wouldn't want them to get names like "tickbacked antsloth" or anything like that. They'd deserve their own original words like squirrel or fox or bear. But I think it should sound as nasty as they are to mess with. Like a vlykus or a thobb or a snentch. Probably any of these could be a snentch maybe. Nobody tell me if that's already an urbandictionary word for something worse, let me have snentch.

#animals #biology #art #nature #specevo #speculative evolution #sketches

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doubleddenden · 1 month ago

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So the stories leaked from gen 4 development are certainly interesting, eh? I'm sure everyone has their own feelings about it- some of you are apparently ECSTATIC about fucking your Machokes. Good for you, my guy. Some are horrified, thinking something's been defiled (it is fiction and most importantly non canon, you're fine, get a grip).

Me? I think the lady (yes, it was a lady) that wrote all of these is REALLY PASSIONATE about her craft, and was also referencing real world mythos and how they portray similar instances- I think we all know that Zeus has probably done worse on all giving and receiving ends of these stories, as well as Poseidon, Loki, and probably some other myths from Europe, China, and definitely JAPAN- key word there. In fact, the Typhlosion story is probably a reference to a similar story about a badger yokai that can alter its face to appear human, and the Octillery story is definitely a reference to- well, tentacle porn is a thing for a reason that goes pretty far back as a way to get around censorship in hand painted porn. The contents of the story aren't really much different or more terrifying than mythos we'd see in the real world (or if you're in the bible belt like me, probably EXPOSED to with morning bible studies before class growing up), and it's mainly just shocking to see it in the context of Pokemon.

And I think that's kind of the point. Sinnoh is already a pretty dark region in terms of lore and myth, and has surprisingly religious undertones considering the family friendly nature of Pokemon and its general target audience. Obviously none of the horse, badger, sloth monkey, octopus, god, or... Lapras fucking made it to the final cut, although in Japan they still reference People and Pokemon being so equal at some point that they could marry- that's even kind of referenced in Legends Arceus with I think a diary written by a man kidnapped by a Froslass? its been a minute, but you probably know what I'm referencing.

I think an interesting question would be "How did we get to these terrifying stories?" Especially Typhlosion and Slakoth.

Its important to remember this: None of this was meant to see the light of day outside that office circa 2003 to 2004ish. Yeah, surprisingly you weren't supposed to see the story of a man fucking an Octillery BEFORE throwing it back out to sea in a rated E for everyone game, and you didn't! You saw it via twitter, reddit, 4chan, tumblr, discord, or your local weed guy who all spread it from someone who got it from confidential office logs we wouldn't see unless someone took that info from Game Freak's darkest depths of other secrets they'd prefer to keep hidden. Every game and media company has this, good and bad, to various degrees of sfw and not. Did you know Disney has an entire vault of actual PORN that animators would make of their own anthropomorphized characters? Locked nice and safely, too... with uh, some exceptions breaking containment, I think?

So with that being said, we understand this is meant to be privileged info only a handful of people were supposed to see. That means they can use words and stuff you normally wouldn't see- Adventure time for instance had Finn and Jake saying "fuck" in story boarding, kinda funny- because its meant to be workshopped and tinkered with, refined until you get something desirable.

In fact, creators will often propose darker ideas than what they actually want so that they can more easily talk censors into an outcome they ACTUALLY desire. Alex Hirsch did this a few times in Gravity Falls' production, and you know Disney was a bitch to deal with (although he probably didn't propose stuff like this, but you get the idea). So this being said- Obviously nobody wants a story about a Typhlosion engaging in a non-con relationship with a minor it kidnaps. Nobody wants to read a story about humans MUTILATING Slakoths for fun and then getting revenge impregnated by a Slaking, only to give birth to a Slakoth and have it killed and thus kill yourself out of grief for your lost child (people reading this without context- ho boy you guys have missed out on some crazy shit that's popped up). So what is okay from here?

Maybe a little Pokemon death after going a while without it and accruing a reputation of being safe for kids? Mention of Pokemon bones being picked clean of meat and put back into a river so it can come back reborn? Some darker undertones of Pokemon being tormented by Team Galactic? How about a story of a boy slaying Pokemon with a sword, but less detail of mutilation of Ursaring and Slakoth? All of this made it into Diamond and Pearl, didn't it? Add in a little Human and Pokemon "Marriage" that is easily scrubbed out and replaced with "eating at the same table" for the more sensitive Western audience, and you have some pretty believable, dark, somewhat uncomfortable but child friendly lore for Pokemon.

Not to mention, a lot of this was probably pitched just to get a feel of the vibe they were going for in the game. If you read back through the stories, bits and pieces end up being used in other, non Poke-fucking stories, or recontextualized. See the above.

While its certainly a relief that they're non canon, it is a rather interesting look at the development of gen 4 lore and actually makes it feel more... realistic, in a way- again, comparing it to real world mythos and religious tales. That, and honestly? The religious backstory is actually, unironically amazing- HEAVILY based on real world religion, but plenty of real world religions steal from other religions and mythos anyway (coughchristianitycough).

Its actually a bit sad, because in any other JRPG, Arceus becoming a wounded woman that an ordinary man cares for, Arceus falling in love with this man because he treated her so tenderly, bearing human twins, the twins becoming Dialga and Palkia to fight some Titan that would become Mt Coronet, and Arceus loving this man so much that she took his soul to create Azelf, Uxie, and Mesprit to spread love and joy throughout the world? That would literally be INSANELY GOOD world building. Plus! Arceus was a human woman when she did this! It was also consensual! Can you imagine what the world would have been like if we had gotten not only FEMALE Arceus- god of all Pokemon universes- but also a HUMAN INCARNATION of her? And this was BEFORE Giratina came into the picture, apparently. If anything, we got robbed a bit of some deep lore and potential story telling from this being cut, imo.

But one more thing to consider is this: All the stories, even if they did make it to the final cut, would still be stories within a story. Fictional folktales within a fictional setting. If we judge the above by how relevant the ACTUAL content that made it into the games were to the actual overarching plot... It'd be overall kinda useless beyond some flavor text. That's kind of the sad fact of it. Pokemon Players especially, grown adults too, are not exactly known to be well read and some play the game by rapidly A pressing every ounce of dialog they come across, even in brand new playthroughs. I'm sure some remember that one idiot on twitter that thought he made the discovery of the century when he found Snowpoint Temple in Legends Arceus, right? So understandably, especially when you're working on a clock, on limited space, on new and unfamiliar hardware, and trying to be as broad and reachable to audiences as you can- things get cut. Even... Some of the coolest lore building of all time SERIOUSLY A FUCKING PANTHEON WHAT THE HELL.

And I lied, there is one more thing to consider, especially for anyone actually morally offended by some of the content mentioned- Keep in mind that this is in 2003 to 2005ish Japan, with Game Freak (who we know are pretty out of touch in some regards, even by today's standards), before twitter, before tumblr, during a more edgy time for... well, everyone alive at the time, and especially adults. That's 20 years ago. Some of you may not have been alive at that point (did you finish your snacks and juice, lil guy?), some of you probably had a lot of your formative education influenced by the more puritanical side of tumblr or twitter, but it was simply a different time and place. That's it. The people involved in this have moved on and have probably grown into better people, and probably haven't made more fics like this. Maybe. Who knows. It's fiction anyway, and nobody real got hurt from it, and that's what's most important at the end of the day.

So that's my thoughts on it. I think I'm more annoyed by the fact that one of my favorites got a worse Vaporeon treatment than anything, and there's possibly the risk of Nintendo/TPC/Game Freak overreacting and gatekeeping Typhlosion out of the games for a bit. Sigh. My first pokemon, man. Well, anyway, try not to take it too seriously if you see the jokes and memes about it. It'll pass.

But hey, sexy Latina Skyla is canon! Shadow the Hedgehog wins!

#pokemon #pokemon leaks

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howlett-n-morgan · 6 days ago

Text

Take Me Home

6. Down The Road

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: i just was scrolling through tumblr and saw a post that a girl on twitter made and it was talking about a hot dad and I was like 'that's so me' and then at the end of the post it talked about how he called her miss aven and I threw my phone across the room because my name is also aven and i guess I am not the only one but anyways yeah all aven's are hot if ur name is aven ur hot.

Summary: The men of camp have begun to act strange, and Arthur seems to be the only one standing out... until a particular train job goes terribly wrong, then all bets are off.

Warnings: Not many, just some angst, canon typical violence, misogyny, and arguing... oh and some blood :)

WC: 12.5k (I went very insane last week)

He sensed your awkward reaches, even if he didn’t see them. He adjusted himself on the saddle before meeting your hands behind his back and pulling them around his sides to hold on. Your breath caught in your throat from how casually he’d done it, and how softly he touched you. “That’s a nice flower in your hair, by the way,” he muttered, not even looking back before grabbing the reins and leading the horse out of camp.

It was nearing fall again, and a year since you first arrived at camp, but things were beginning to get hectic. Not just with the attitudes of people in camp, but with the local law of Agua Fria getting more involved in the jobs the gang was pulling. You weren’t quite sure if you should be thankful for the distraction, or worried that it could make things worse for you. As far as you know, there’s not been bad feelings towards you, but there certainly weren’t friendly ones, either. It’s strange, since right after everyone found out your secret, they almost revered you in a way they hadn’t before. You supposed the walking on eggshells had to cease eventually.

The only people brave enough to talk to you now are Arthur and Hosea… you can’t say you don’t understand why. The lies finally caught up with most people, and it seemed to only get worse as time went on.

The men weren’t the only ones shunning you, either. The women, minus Tilly, were very straight and to the point if they had to speak with you, and if they didn’t, they just avoided you at any cost.

It was beginning to feel more lonesome, almost like before you joined up with the Van Der Linde’s.

The moment that all of it came to a head was around the campfire one night. You hadn’t spoken a word in fear of being over-talked or interrupted. You wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of cutting you off.

Bill was the first to become irrationally drunk. Sean and Mac were next. You could swear Javier was drunk, too, but with every drink he took, his guitar rhythm never stuttered. Arthur was teetering on the edge of drunkenness, but the man was a unit, and it took a lot of alcohol to turn his mind.

You felt relaxed enough to hit the bottle that Sean had set down, but then all eyes were on you.

You forgot. The women don’t drink unless there’s a special occasion, though you aren’t quite sure why. You set the bottle down and let your eyes stay on the ground when you do until the conversation starts back up again.

Arthur doesn’t really participate, he stays out of most of it, as do you. If you’re being honest, you don’t know why you sit at the fire with them anymore, because they don’t seem to give a shit if you do, and don’t seem to revere you like when they hadn’t been exposed to your secret.

When the drunken chatter of the Agua Fria women comes up, you’re glad you took enough of a swig to boost your confidence.

“I think they’re fine and what not,” Bill stumbles over his wording, barely making any sense. “Them girls in Charleston Town were better…”

“Better at what exactly?” You chimed in, finally taking part in the conversation.

“Screwin’, mostly… other things too I guess,” he coughed a little after speaking, taking yet another drink out of his mug.

“Why’s it matter?” Sean started in, and though you understood he was a good kid and just mildly outspoken, you hated how these little talks seemed to only have started now that they knew about you. Almost like they’re pushing it in your face.

“Maybe because it don’t sit right with me, comparin’ girls like that,” you shook your head. It’s like talking to a sack of bricks, and it won’t change anything, but you try anyway. It angers you, how they used to talk about interesting things around the campfire. Sure, sex came up from time to time, but it was never just about their views of women and the only things they’re good for.

“You don’t needa worry, we ain’t comparin’ you,” Bill laughed, and even got the Calendar boys snickering under their breath. They should be keeping their mouths shut, since they were out of camp when everyone found out about you in the first place. They didn’t even realize it when they came back.

“That’s because you’ve never had me,” you argued, and you could feel Arthur tense up beside you, almost like he was bracing himself for what he knew was coming.

“I could if I wanted to.” The pure audacity, and all because of some drunken words. Bill was never your favorite amongst camp goers, but he’d grown on you when he got to know you as Charlie… Now it seems he hates your guts and will do anything to antagonize you. “I bet you’re nice n’ easy, huh darlin’?”

“You’re the last person in camp I’d let have me, jackass.”

Some colorful words for a pretty girl like you. At least Bill thought so.

“You say that now… but I bet it didn’t take too much convincing to get you to spread 'em’ for Arthur,” he motioned to the gruff and stone-faced man beside you.

“Knock it off, Bill,” Arthur chimed in, knowing that if he didn’t, the man would push you to your limits and then maybe you’d shoot him. Knowing that you didn’t miss your shots was a good reason to step in, even if he knew you could hold your own.

“You can tell me, ol buddy,” Bill kept on, leaning forward. “Was it smooth as silk, or drier than the texas desert?”

Everyone else in the circle was pretty damn quiet by this time, just watching as Bill repeatedly made a bigger fool of himself. They had participated, but only to a certain degree… but this felt too messy, and they didn’t wanna chance stepping in it. Especially where Arthur was concerned.

“I said knock it off,” Arthur was more stern, but felt the need to defend your honor further, and clear your name. “She ain’t done nothing with no one in this camp, ya hear me?”

Bill let out a low and long whistle, looking back to you and seeing that your face was flushed. You were thankful for Arthur sticking up for you, but with the look on Bill’s face, it may have been just a touch too far.

“Alright, Arthur… I believe ya,” he chuckled, eyes narrowing in while everyone still watched on. “You know, seein’ things clearly makes me think you’re the opposite of what I said.”

“What do you mean?” You furrowed your brow in concern. You should have never asked.

“Boys,” he laughed out, nudging Mac to his left and slapping his knee in gleeful manner. “I’d say we’ve got ourselves a virgin.”

Your eyes widened, and immediately you were panicking. You’d never felt unsafe in the camp until right now, with the gaze of half the men in camp beginning to take you in as if it were for the first time. The way you reacted, they knew it to be true, and you weren’t sure what you could even say or do to hide it at this point.

“You ain’t got any idea what you’re talkin’ about, Williamson,” you tried to defend, and Arthur jumped on the bandwagon.

“That’s enough,” he grumbled, standing to his feet, offering you a hand to yours. “You’re all too damn drunk to even be livin’ right now.”

He issued a few less kind words that ushered them off to bed, and they dispersed from the circle, most of them to their sleeping arrangements.

Arthur went with you to your tent, and at first you weren’t sure why he stayed so close. When you went inside and he tried to close the flaps you stopped him.

“I can close up, I’m not quite tired yet…”

He gave you a respectful nod, but still held the flaps in his hand. “I just think that maybe you should close ‘em. I’ll stay outside here for a while just to make sure nothin’ happens,” he explained, but now you were fearful.

“What would happen?” You ask with the same amount of fear creeping into your voice.

“Nothin’, I won’t let it,” he assured you, but even though he brought some ease to your mind, he didn’t answer your question.

“Arthur, what would happen to me?”

“I don’t know… I don’t think they’re stupid enough to try anything, but…” he trailed, his voice leading off into a soft spoken tone.

“But?”

“Bill is very drunk right now, and he’s had some problems in the past,” he didn’t want you to think Bill was some sort of evil man, but if only for right now, he wanted you to be cautious of him. “Just want you safe, is all.”

You looked at him for a moment before concocting an idea. Probably a bad one, but that remains to be seen.

“Would you come sit with me a while?”

He looked back outside the tent, where across the camp, a few of the men still lingered, watching from a distance. Looking back to you, he couldn’t say no. It’s been part of his new curse, unwilling to see you upset or in need of anything at all. He doesn’t even know why, but his brain won’t let him function like he used to.

“I s’pose, but it’ll fuel their rumors that we…” he let his words fall off, but you knew what he was getting at.

“That’s the point,” you told him, a nervous smile on your face. “If you don’t mind the rumors, that is.”

“M’not understandin’,” he shook his head. Wasn’t that the whole reason he had to interject in the first place? To clear your name of any intimate relations with him that had been suspected?

“Even if it’s just lyin, maybe they’ll leave me alone,” you explained. The thought of people thinking you were impure was a strange one, but you’re sure it beats the feeling of being hunted like prey.

“Alright,” he nodded, looking at you with a decent smile. “Yeah, it’s alright with me, Red.”

You smiled in relief, suddenly all too focused on how he was looking at you. His hat was tipped slightly, so the brim framed his eyes in the moonlight from outside. You closed the flaps and sat back down with him, trying to think of something to say.

“How long do you think we oughta stay in here for?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the furthermost tent pole. “For them to actually believe it? I’d say a few hours…”

“Oh, really?” you teased, crossing your arms and giving him a cynical look.

He smirked, nodding his head around some. “I’m only kiddin’... mostly. But you can kick me out whenever it suits you.”

“So long as you’re willin’ to help me, stay as long as you want.”

He smiled again, genuinely, and though he could barely see your face in the dim light of the closed tent, the small hole in the fabric ceiling made for the prettiest glow in your hair. He got to thinking, and of course that’s a dangerous thing, but he had to ask.

“If you don’t mind sayin’ so… why haven’t you uh-?” His gesture towards the campfire outside, still going but soon to be snuffed out by the desert winds.

“Honestly?” you searched the files of your mind for something that didn’t sound too privileged. You knew you had it good growing up, and no one here could compare, but you still had issues that eventually changed your entire life. “My mother taught me to save myself for my husband.”

“Oh,” he furrowed his brow. Your wild and careless nature didn’t match what you were saying. “I didn’t take you for someone who would.”

“I’m not… but, I’ve been Charlie Brooks ever since I ran away, and no one ever knew me otherwise until you.”

He seemed surprised, but it did make sense when he pieced it all together. You’d gotten so good at playing the role of a young man, that countless people believed it. So much so, that you’d never been able to take a lover, though multiple women tried.

“And what about now? You ever thought of it?” He asked gently, his questions, though a bit intrusive, didn’t feel hard to answer. You knew he was curious, and after what just took place, you felt you owed him at least a few things to be resolved.

“I have, a few times,” you admitted, your voice becoming softer when you realized what you were about to share. It didn’t really matter, though, you trusted him more than anyone else in this world as it were, and knew he wouldn’t mock you. He acts all tough, but he’s a soft and gentle creature deep down. “I think I’m still gonna wait until I can give it to someone I love.”

He dipped his head. He definitely understood, and only wished he’d been wise enough to do the same. There was a time in his life before where he wishes he’d waited for a certain girl… but that was ages ago, and he knows his count is higher than it should be.

“Do you think you’re close to findin’ that someone?” his voice was just above a whisper, now, and he knows that the question he’s asked is risky. He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer, but without thinking, you give it to him.

“Real close,” you told him, looking down at your hands when his dim-lit stare became too much.

“Yeah?” he smiled, genuinely and with a hope he hadn’t felt in a while.

You nodded to him, tilting your head as you took him in. Not tonight… you’re not ready, and you know you won’t be for a while. It’s just then, however, that you’ve decided it will be him. You nearly decided that on the day you first arrived at camp. That day when he teased you and you swore on your life that you didn’t like him all that much… but then the very next day he went and surprised you. His kindness and gentleness will never be forgotten.

“Thank you for doing this, Arthur. I know I’m probably dooming you to a whole list’a questions tomorrow, but I’m grateful.”

“You don’t needa thank me,” he shook his head, being his generous and benevolent self. “I’ll always help you, whatever ya need.”

You stayed silent for a moment until he chuckled under his breath. “What?”

“Oh nothin, just thinkin’ of the look on Bill’s face tomorrow.”

You gave it a single thought and it made you laugh, too. It would probably be a terribly inappropriate slew of nasty questions after a round of congratulations, but he would deal with it, not you.

You crawled over next to him, sitting on the ground by his side, and leaning your head on his shoulder. He didn’t mind, nor did he say anything. He just picked up your hand that was laying strewn on your lap, and threaded your fingers together. It was a silent action, but both of you understood immediately what it meant. We’re gonna be something, just give it time.

You sighed in contentment and turned your head to look at him. His profile stared on into the edge of the tent wall, until he could feel your eyes on him. He looked back down at you, but didn’t make a move. That’s not what tonight was about, and there would be plenty of time for all of that soon, he was sure of it. He squeezed your hand and turned back to face the tent wall, dipping his hat a little. Maybe he’d fall asleep here, and it would be the perfect crime scene for everyone to experience the next morning. You’d no doubt let him slumber here throughout the night, but you’d likely drag him into the bed, knowing how sore his back got every now and then.

You wanted to make sure he was comfortable, you wanted to take care of him. You knew by now all of his little quirks and strange necessities, and were willing to bend over backwards to make sure he got them. You were willing to do anything it took to make sure he smiled at you like he’d just done seconds ago, to keep that look on his face whenever your eyes met, even in a crowded room.

You’d lasso the moon for him if he asked, and pull it down so he could know its beauty from a closer perspective. You’d come to the conclusion that no matter which way you framed it, you were in love with Arthur Morgan. Had been for some time, but denial was a strong presence within you, and you were stubborn as hell when it came to admission.

You both eventually fell asleep like that, leaning against each other on the ground, and no effort of getting into the bed came about.

Bill’s face was indeed priceless, but you think you got more of a laugh from Sean. You didn’t even need to see his face, you heard his hollering from across the camp. You’d been cleaning rifles when the other redhead’s bellowing voice made you giggle. You’re sure that Arthur was annoyed as hell, but you’ll thank him for putting up with everything later.

The strangeness of the men lingered only a bit longer, but when a few days passed, and Arthur started acting more protective out of nature towards anything that was said about you, they backed off. In their minds, you were Arthur’s girl… Off limits to everyone else.

There were of course more than just the men who had heard about your ‘all nighter’ with Arthur.

The women, albeit a bit nosy, were actually quite fun to gossip with. It seemed like faking the loss of your innocence with Arthur did wonders for the whole camp and their acts of shunning you. Did it bother you? Only slightly… it would have been worse if you’d actually gone through with it and appeased the camp

“Is he a good kisser? He did kiss you, right?” and “Did it hurt? I bet it hurt, he’s a big man…” were your favorite contenders for questions asked. You did as you needed to, alluding to the facts without actually saying anything of substance. To be very clear, nothing happened in the tent that night, or in the morning before he left. You had no actual idea if anything you were hinting at was true, but that was the fun of it.

“You measured your cycle, didn’t you? You don’t wanna end up like me,” Abigail chimed in, Jack thrashing around on her hip while he cried. He was a sweet baby, but sometimes he was just a mess to deal with, and being in a camp full of outlaws didn’t help anything.

“Yeah, I did…”

“Did he uh… prepare you first?” Karen chimed in with her own curiosities, and a small giggle followed. They knew that Arthur was the best of the men, and he was good to women… but none of them had gotten up close and personal proof of that fact.

“Yes?” You answered with a bout of confusion… preparation? Your mother never mentioned nothing about damn preparation.

“Lucky girl,” she sighed out, her eyes rolling dramatically. “You really are, I hope you know. Arthur’s the best of the men.”

“Oh I know, trust me,” you snickered at just how lucky you were. These girls were drooling over the details you gave them. All were false, but you knew he’d own up to every single one of them, because he was just that good and kind to you. He was like a loyal dog, Dutch said, and he was right. You were more than lucky to have his care and protection, and it started to feel intimate in a way that sex never could.

There was a word for that, you think… devotion.

“So, are you Arthur’s girl, now?”

That one caught you off guard, because even with a fake answer, you weren’t quite sure what to say.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you answered truthfully for the first time that morning, and it was almost refreshing to speak something that wasn’t just a blatant lie.

“It was just a one off, then?” Abigail furrowed her brows. Since she’d rejected Arthur’s offer, she’d been starting to feel some regret. He was indeed the best of the men, and she’d turned him away in favor of a man who left her. How silly that was… but she knows it’s too late, now.

“I hope not,” you said nervously, again with truth.

“You’re fond of him, we can all tell…”

You looked at them with surprise and a bit of alarm. “Since when?”

Karen leaned in on her elbows with a small giggle at your reaction. She quieted herself as to not draw more attention to this side of camp, in fears Miss Grimshaw would come force them all to start back on the chores.

“It’s funny, when we found out you weren’t a boy, everything kinda made sense,” she chuckled.

Abigail kept nodding along, her smile broadening. “You used to follow him around like a puppy, we all thought it was because you looked up to him, wanted to be like him.”

“Even I could tell, and I’d been pretty blinded by my own fondness of you,” Tilly joked, nudging you in the arm as you’d come to the realization that even under the guise of Texas Red, you had absolutely no subtlety.

“Was it that obvious?” you asked in annoyance with yourself. You dipped your head into your hands when they all nodded in the affirmative.

The girls were about to start round two of questions when Dutch and Hosea came out of the center tent, Dutch commanding the attention of all the members in the camp.

“Everyone, listen up!” His large and brutal steps seemed angry, and you waited patiently to find out why. “We’re moving camp!”

Everyone was immediately caught up in the new announcement, conquests of nights past becoming completely forgotten. Questions of ‘Why?’ and ‘What happened?’ were uttered, as this seemed very sudden. The cash flow from Agua Fria was rather booming, and it didn’t seem like there needed to be a move.

“I’ve just gotten word from Davey that the Pinkertons know we’re here. They’re looking for the camp as we speak, so we’ve got to go.”

His intense speech was followed by everyone leaving where they were, running around and trying to get things packed into the wagons, tents included.

You were new to the ‘being on the run’ part of outlaw life, as even before when you were just a gunslinger, the law never chased you. You’d earned a reputation for killin’ folk, but the law deemed you harmless when they found out that you only shot those who wanted to shoot you first. You’d not ever committed a real crime among the citizens, and even paid your way for everything. It was only after becoming a Van Der Linde that you figured you were about to be in trouble.

You had your entire living situation torn down and packed up within the hour, tying it all together and slinging it in the back of Arthur’s wagon. You came around the corner and saw that he was still packing up. Being here longer meant he had quite a few more belongings to take care of.

“Need some help?” You smiled at him, ready to lend a hand.

“You done already?” He responded to your question with one of his own, pleasant surprise in his expression.

“Not much to pack away,” you reasoned, no longer waiting for him to answer you as you started dismantling his cot and rolling up the canvas around the iron bar pieces.

You were happy to help him get done faster, you’re sure with his strength and size he’d be needed elsewhere soon. You did have a few questions for him, though.

“I don’t think I ever asked… When did you all get here?”

“Not long before you did, I reckon. We used to be able to stay years in the same spot, the law would never catch us…” he shook his head, tossing some picture frames he had into a sack. “Times are changin’ for folk like us.”

“You were here before me?” You asked in confusion. Obviously they were at the camp before you… but you’d been in Agua Fria for over a year yourself.

“Yeah, and we’d all heard the stories about Texas Red before we even met ya,” he chuckled, his speed increasing the more he saw other members of camp rushing with panic to get moving before sundown. “The day Dutch brought you back, I almost thought he was kiddin'.”

“Glad to know I made a good impression,” you teased, a laugh being huffed out with slight annoyance while you heaved his clothing chest up and into the wagon. Probably a heavier item you should have left for him, but then that wouldn’t be helping.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He assisted you in shoving the chest further in the wagon, since you struggled just slightly, and didn’t want to bend over in your skirt. “I just had it in my head that you’d be all big n’ scary.”

“You mean more like you?” you taunted, giving him a smirk to show you didn’t actually think he was big and scary.

“I guess so,” he shook his head, throwing his sack of belongings in with the other junk. “But then I first saw you, talkin’ with Tilly and Abigail… you looked all scrawny and what not. I thought, this can’t be the kid I’ve been hearin’ about.”

“And what do you think of me now?” You asked honestly, stopping the haste of the afternoon for only a moment to share a gaze with someone special to you. He stopped too, a side smile pulling at his lips when he answered.

“I think you’re much scarier, now…” he trailed, reaching his hand to touch your hair where it had grown just below your ears.

“You think I’m scary?” You raised your eyebrows in disbelief, his eyes meeting yours.

“Terrifyin’...”

He started to get closer, and in the setting light of the day, you almost thought he might close the small gap, but then-

“Arthur!” Pearson’s shrill voice rang out loudly, and you flinched away from the moment, coming back to reality. “I need you over here!”

“Just give me a damn second!” He shouted back, but by the time he’d turned his attention to you again, you’d jumped away from him from the startle, and the moment was cut short. “I better get over there…”

“I’ll finish up for you,” you waved him off, moving to the barrel with his shaving kit. It was one of the last things that needed packing.

“I’ll owe ya,” he nodded, tipping his hat forward before having to run off.

He wouldn’t owe you a damn thing.

The gang traveled north and west for several days, until coming to a clearing in a nice little town called El Paso. What could be so great about this town? Well, for starters, the law was mighty thin in this region, and there were roads nearby that had rich folk traveling as well. Dutch said it was like an outlaw’s paradise…

He’d also mentioned there was a railway station in the next town over, something to look into.

Arthur had done so right away, leaving the newly set up camp for a few days to scope out the area and put on a good cover. He was always the best man for the job, so you couldn’t complain about him being away, but there was of course a downside. Neither you nor Arthur pulled a stunt in the new camp like you had at the old one, and with him being gone, it gave the men a bit of leeway to behave as they did before.

It wasn’t as sexual as it had been, but their bad attitudes towards you, and now that you’re seeing it, the other women as well, was atrocious. You’d been so blind to it all when you didn’t have to deal with it first hand, but now that you did, it was constant.

Bill was the worst, as you knew him to be. He often didn’t even wait for Miss Grimshaw to collect the laundry anymore, just throwing dirty shirts and trousers in your direction and telling you he needed it cleaned the next day.

“Not my job, not my problem,” you threw the articles of clothing at him every time, and every time he’d just scoff and go to the next woman, who would do as she was told because, even though you’d lucked out in skill, the others still had to earn their keep somehow.

Lucking out in skill didn’t even seem to be helping you recently. Every job you suggested you could help with, Dutch turned you down. It had even caused a fight with Hosea, who wanted you to go in his place.

Hosea had kept his distance with you when your secret was first revealed. Not to be cruel or unfair, but because you’d been embarrassed about the whole thing, and he could sense you didn’t want to open up to anyone right away.

He did, however, become far more acquainted with you on the journey to El Paso.

“I think you’re a mighty brave person, you know,” he’d struck up the conversation.

“Me? Brave? I just shoot folk,” you shook your head, watching the horses in front of you both as they towed the wagon you sat on. “Ain’t nothin’ brave about that.”

“Not for shootin’ folk… I think you’re brave for bein’ on your own as long as you were. Especially a young woman.”

“Well, I appreciate you sayin’ so… but nobody knew I was a young woman, it sort of helped.”

He’d nodded sweetly, giving you a smile and a pat on the shoulder. The gentle and comforting talks between you became common from then on.

Arthur had come back to the camp one morning, when everyone had woken, bringing a few different things. His first stop was Dutch, obviously, giving the intel over so a plan could be formed. The next job was going to be important. If it went down well, then this little town could be a great place to settle for the months to come, but if not, it would allow you all to know just how involved the law in this town actually was. You’d heard it wasn’t much.

When Arthur came out of Dutch’s tent, he made a beeline to you… or more specifically, your tent. He actually didn’t even see you sitting across from your living quarters when he approached it, but you watched him with great curiosity on what he was doing. He’d been distant since leaving Agua Fria and arriving here, and you wondered if he was trying to rectify that.

He left your tent just as quick as he went in, and met your eyes with a small nod and a soft smile. He’d been caught. He just went on his way after that, and didn’t even bother to greet you properly.

You furrowed your brows, dropping the rifle you were cleaning before going inside your tent. He obviously didn’t take anything, you knew that. You didn’t keep anything of value except for your pistol, thirty-two notches now carved into the stock, but you always kept it on you...

When you looked at your cot, you found only one thing out of place. A pretty orange flower laying against your rolled up woolen blanket. Its bottom petal was slightly bent, and you wondered if he had kept it in his satchel on the ride back to camp.

It was very sweet of him to think of you, and bring it back. You don’t think you’ve ever told him how much you like the color orange, but you reckon he just brought back the flower without even thinking about the color.

You wanted to go and thank him, to talk with him for the first time in several days. You missed him whenever he was gone… you always hoped he missed you, too. He probably missed everyone, but he brought you an orange flower.

He was somehow already on the other side of camp, hassling Pearson about something nonsensical you’re sure, getting the man riled up over probably nothing. Pearson was a decent guy, but he was a little obnoxious, so teasing him was something you could definitely condone. You thought about just marching up and breaking up the scene, but then thought it might be better to instead make a lesser deal of it, just like he did.

The men left the flower with no words to be said, so you’d thank him for it the same way… unless of course he broke the silence first.

You tucked the flower behind your ear, letting the orange color sit nicely against the similar shade of your hair. You ran over to Arthur’s shaving barrel, close to the edge of your living area, and checked how it looked before walking nonchalantly towards Pearson’s kitchen.

They were still grobbling over nothing, but when you came to the table, leaning forwards on it they both stopped.

“What can I do ya for, miss?” Pearson asked, having become a much kinder, albeit a little bit more sarcastic person to you since your secret came out.

“Just wondering what’s for dinner tonight…”

“How about that, Arthur, she wants to know what’s for dinner,” the man laughed, hands on his hips when he looked back to the younger counterpart.

“I’m goin, I’m goin,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, clearly knowing he was the one responsible for hunting today. He’d just gotten back, but of course they made him do damn near everything. “You wanna come with me, Red?”

“Me? Huntin’? I’ve never been, I’d probably scare ‘em off…” you resisted slightly, but knew that if he asked you a second time there would be no hesitation.

“I’ll teach ya,” he offered, nodding his head towards the horses. “Not like they’d get far with your shootin’, anyway.”

You followed him immediately, picking up your skirt and rushing up behind him. Hunting with Arthur seemed like a mighty good idea at first, until you realized Dutch would probably be upset with you for not finishing the rifles… Tossing it over in your head for only a moment more, you neglected the prospect of the rifles.

You could tell that Dutch was slowly trying to keep you out of the shooting jobs, even if you were the fastest gun in camp. Somehow learning you were not a man had tainted his idea of you… the one he’d spoken so highly of that first day to Arthur and Hosea. You supposed that going along with Arthur could only help you in the long run.

You went to saddle your horse, but he stopped you, a gentle hand on your wrist, letting go as soon as he had your attention. “We don’t need ‘em both, just ride with me.”

You nodded, doing as you were told and trying not to make a big deal out of it. He’d helped you up first, hands placed carefully at your waist when he heaved you upwards. He climbed up in front of you, and suddenly you didn’t know where to put your hands. You’d never ridden behind a saddle before, you never needed to.

“That’s a nice flower in your hair, by the way,” he muttered, not even looking back before grabbing the reins and leading the horse out of camp.

The train job had been decided, but not without long and strenuous arguments about the roles to be played.

The first draft of said plan excluded you, and you didn’t even have to wonder why. None of the other women were included, either.

The second draft of the plan included both you and Abigail, but as mere pawns instead of actual roles.

The final plan will go as follows:

Abigail is going to make it so that a certain man never boards the train with his colleague. Fair enough, she is definitely the woman for the job, as even having her in the near vicinity of a man is distraction enough. You will board the train with the colleague, and lead him to believe that you’re frightened of the journey ahead, getting him to drink with you and become more ‘comfortable.’ After that, it’s up to you to lure him to the back of the train, where Arthur, Bill, and Dutch will be waiting to interrogate this man, and find out where his private safe is. From there, Javier, who will be at the front of the train, will cause it to stop by sticking up the enginemen so you all can hop off at a designated point.

From there you’ll go find the man’s safe, and rob him before he even has a chance to understand what’s happened to him. This is the only chance you will have at this job, since the man in question will be leaving El Paso once and for all.

It sounds like a solid plan, except for the fact that it was suggested you don’t even need a gun.

“Of course she needs a gun, Dutch, she’s the fastest one here,” Hosea argued, a hand running over his face.

“If we’re not planning on shooting, what makes you think she needs to bring it with her? It could blow our cover,” Dutch insisted, arms waving around for emphasis. He didn’t even make a good point, because as it were, you always kept a gun on you in the holster on your thigh, a little present from the man you gave you flowers.

“You’re sending her to do the most dangerous part of the job, she needs a weapon.”

“If Abigail doesn’t need one, then she doesn’t need one, either,” Dutch reasoned, but that just made you chime in.

“Abigail should have one, too. Everyone involved on a job should have protective assurance, just in case,” you shrugged, uncrossing your arms and leaning on the table. “I don’t even leave camp without my pistol.”

Dutch sighed, having dug himself into a deeper hole the more he kept on talking. He was smart, and he had a way with words, but he wasn’t going to be able to pull something like this and now he knew it. You’d been attached to that pistol for far longer than you have been to the camp.

“Alright,” he nodded, continuing his explanation of what happens after they find the man’s personal safe.

The man in the plan was named Albert Templeton, and he apparently was a very wealthy man, looking to make it big in the west by covering as many territories as he could with his canning factories. From what Dutch says, he seems to be a very selfish, very ambitious, and very rich man.

You agree to this job, unknowing of the way it will unfold, but when you finally board that train, handing over your ticket with your hands shaking, you don’t know what to do, suddenly.

Everything is going according to plan, except for the fact that you have absolutely no experience in trying to get a man drunk on purpose.

“You look, a bit frightened, miss, are you alright?” Mr. Albert Templeton asked, right after you ‘accidentally’ bumped into him.

“Yes… Well, no… I’ve never been on a train before,” you huffed out, your stressed tone coming across perfectly for the job. “You seem like you’ve been on many.”

“That I have, my dear,” he smiled eerily, moving an unwanted hand to your hip to try and guide you to the bench he was sitting at. “Come and sit with me, perhaps I can ease your mind.”

“How gracious of you,” you played along, sitting down beside him in the seat closest to the window. You didn’t like feeling trapped between him and the wall, but there was no difference. You still had a gun up your leg if he tried anything stupid.

“So, where are you headed?”

“Oh,” you had forgotten to think of a backstory, so as quickly as you could, you made one up. “I’m going to visit my aunt. She’s very Ill, otherwise she would have come to see me. She knows I don’t like trains.”

“How unfortunate for her,” he nodded, snaking his arm behind you on the back of the bench seat, caging you in further. “I’m sure she’ll be happy for your company.”

“I hope so, we’ve always been a great comfort to one another.”

The conversation kept on like this for a while, until you realized you were getting closer and closer to the point of which Dutch needed him in the back, but he hadn’t even gotten to the bar of the train car yet.

“Would you have a drink with me, sir? I feel that maybe it would ease my nerves a bit.”

He laughed, a smile on his face when he leaned back to you. “I never drink on trains. But I would be much obliged to buy you one, yourself.”

You started to panic from there.

You smiled at him and nodded, getting him to stand up… however, before you got him to the bar, you tried to carefully and quietly take your gun from its holster, pressing it against the rib of the man before you. He froze, knowing what was happening immediately.

“Don’t make a sound. Just keep walking until I tell you to stop, you hear?”

He nodded, making his way to the end of the car, going into the next one, and the next one after that until you could see three familiar faces sitting and waiting for you.

“What the hell is this?” Dutch asked, his eyes narrowing in on the gun in your hand.

“He wouldn’t drink, had to come up with something else.”

Arthur ran a hand over his face. This is why you usually rode with him. You did things the way he would, and not with the gentle and intelligent touch of a female outlaw like Abigail. For all intents and purposes, you'd always been a man, and this was breaking the cycle for you.

“Please don’t hurt me, I have nothing you could want.”

“The hell you don’t,” Dutch manhandled Albert onto a cargo box, pulling his own gun and holding it to strike fear into the man. “We’ve heard about the safe.”

“What safe?” He played dumb, and then Dutch immediately got angry.

“You see? This is why he needed to be drunk!” Dutch took out his anger for the situation on you, even though the majority of this was not your fault.

“Told ya, she should be back at camp fixing buttons and shit with the others,” Bill shook his head, and you were about to pull your gun in his direction if he said another word.

“He wouldn’t drink, it ain’t her fault. She still got him to us… I say we make him talk,” Arthur stood up, clenching his fists and intimidating the man by coming closer. “S’nothing I ain’t used to.”

“Do what you can, Arthur… and you,” Dutch pointed in your direction, his brow still angry. “Go back up there and make sure no one saw you pull that gun.”

You nodded, taking yourself away from the scene in order to keep your composure. Arthur stood up for you, but you could tell that even he was upset about straying from the plan. This was a big job, with many key elements. One thing going wrong could ruin it all.

You made your way back, but saw Javier rushing towards you in the bar car, his gun out as he tried to reach you.

“Brooks,” he started to shove you back to the car you came from, and just over his shoulder you could see the men trailing not too far behind, looking like train security. “We have to go, they know we’re here.”

You started rushing for the last car again, tripping over your skirts here and there. This dress was not practical, and was far too formal for a job like the one you were pulling. You much preferred the one Arthur bought you, but Dutch insisted it didn’t ‘sell the story’ that you were trying to tell.

“Why in God’s name are you back here?”

Dutch didn’t have a minute to grill you, because Javier took the floor first.

“They know we’re here, there’s about five men heading this way, now. Maybe more.”

Arthur sighed heavily, pulling his fist back to his side. He’d only hit Mr Albert Temlpeton a few times, but it seemed the job was going south, and he hadn’t said anything anyway.

“Arthur, turn him loose, the rest of you, find cover… we’re gonna have to shoot our way out.”

Albert taking off through the doors only allowed the train guards to know exactly where you all were hiding. With guns blazing, the five of you were able to get past the small group that had headed for you… but once you got to the civilian travel cars, there were more, and they had bigger guns, too. You got scared to pull a gun in a heavily crowded train car, especially one that had innocent men, women, and children inside. You held your aim, like always, but got scared when the second round of guards came for you.

“Drop your weapons!” The man at the front of them shouted. “Get on the ground, now!”

“Or maybe we could walk right through,” Dutch was the first to shoot, nailing the man right in the face. It was challenging to stay focused on the task at hand, when so many people were screaming.

A child was crying, and most everyone was just trying to duck in their seats as the bullets flew. You were too scared to shoot at first, seeing the windows break around you, and the high speed of the train causing the winds to blow inside the car, making it hard to hear anything.

You tried to hold your ground, knowing you were a better shot than anyone here… but there comes a time in everyone’s life, when the chaos prevents them from doing the one thing they know how to… this was that moment for you. Everything was caving in. You’d completely ruined this job, and it was going haywire because of you. You put your friends, no, family, in a very dangerous position, and most of all, you put innocent men, women, and children on the front lines to fend for themselves. All because you strayed from the plan.

You saw it, but it was too late… the man had pulled his gun directly towards you, and you barely had any time to react this time. You still fired first, and still shot him dead first, but his bullet still left the barrel, skewing downwards because of your own shot, and hitting you directly by your left hip.

You collapsed into a seat, trying to get yourself back up. You started bleeding profusely with every steep movement you made, and once the last Guard had been shot down, Arthur saw what happened to you.

“Red!” he shouted, reaching for your body, making sure you’d not been hit badly. He was relieved to see it was a hip shot, but the amount of blood concerned him greatly. “Can you stand?”

“I can try,” you groaned out, holstering your gun before using him as a lift.

The others went to the front of the car, not wasting any time, but as soon as they looked through the broken window, they could see more men quickly approaching.

“Shit, we can’t stop the train.”

“We’ll have to jump from the back of this car,” Javier responded to Dutch, who was pacing back and forth, glaring daggers at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“Are we close enough to the exit point?”

“It doesn’t matter, the ground is even now, we need to jump before the bridge.”

Arthur was freaking out, trying to hold pressure to your hip and hold you upright, while they were talking about jumping off a train. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so stressed out about a job before.

You start to get light headed suddenly, and sway in his hold, trying to keep yourself balanced, though the train is making it hard to do that anyways.

The sound becomes fuzzy, but you can here when Dutch calls everyone back to the door of the cabin car.

“Stay with me,” Arthur tells you, watching your head tilt forward and your eyes get heavy. He knew you would pull through, because even though you were losing a decent amount of blood, you were still on your feet, moving along with him. You were a fighter, he’d known since he met you. Probably because you liked fighting him on damn near everything he said.

He stood at the edge of the rail, the only thing separating the gang from jumping the transport was a little dingy chain that hooked onto the edge of the cabin car.

“It’s up here!” Javier shouted, removing the chain and getting ready to disembark.

“We gotta jump, Red,” he tried to keep you conscious, and you nodded, but you were clearly too weak to do this yourself right now.

You felt yourself being tucked closer to Arthur, his arms coming around you. You finally closed your eyes, unsure if they would even stay open on their own anymore. Then there was a lift and a jump. You felt the air around you flying fast until the wind got knocked out of you, hitting the ground. Arthur took the harder fall, but to be fair, he hadn’t been shot.

You opened your eyes in a rush of adrenaline, but once you caught your breath, it started to fade again.

Everyone stood up, including you, but you were still wobbling back and forth.

“Well,” Dutch looked to Bill and Javier, “We’re alive, but we got nothing.”

“S’all the girl’s fault,” Bill spat out some blood from his bleeding lip and shook his head.

You didn’t even have the motivation to call him out right now. Didn’t have the energy to stand, either. Before Arthur could even steady you, your head started throbbing, and you hit the ground again, hand over your open wound.

The sounds were familiar when you came to. The usual ruckus of the camp, nothing strange or out of the ordinary… except for when you tried to sit up you were immediately pushed back down. You had a look around and saw that you were not in your tent, but lying in Arthur’s cot. His gentle push was what kept you laid back, and you saw the look on his face when he found out you were awake.

“Don’t get up, I gotta fix you so ya don’t bleed out.”

You didn’t say anything, just obeyed his instruction.

He’d gotten that stupid puffed sleeve nonsense off of you, leaving you in a corset and chemise and a small petticoat. Of which he was having a hard time figuring out how to untie.

“I’ll get it,” you leaned up slightly, groaning when you did. You untied the petticoat, and worked off the corset while you were at it. Being in a chemise and bloomers in front of the camp wasn’t an irregular thing, as it was standard sleepwear when on the run. There were not many normalities when being an outlaw, but even still, you nearly felt embarrassed being in such a skimpy state of dress, especially when he wasn’t even done.

He looked to you, his hands on the hem of your chemise, and you nodded to him in permission.

He pulled it back, only enough to see where the blood was seeping through. His face twisted in disgust of the wound before shaking it off and getting to work. You laid back and waited, knowing that when all was said and done, you didn’t want to watch yourself get stitched up. You’d never had to do it to yourself before, and thank God for that.

“It was stupid, what you did…” He brought up, cleaning the wound with some whiskey on a rag.

“I know,” you winced, squeezing your eyes shut. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

He paused his wording, unsure of what else to say to you. He’s sure getting shot was a revelation for you that you weren’t invincible, but he also wanted you to know you weren’t blameless in this endeavor, either.

“You got some innocent folk killed today.”

When the first and second stitch went in, you were about ready to die. Him telling you this was not helping with the outstanding pain.

“You know I never meant for it to happen…” you trailed, thinking about those poor children that you heard screaming in the train today. Such a sad and significant moment, and you’ll never forget it. You knew you’d been the one to cause them such distress, and some of those innocent folk were dead now.

“You sure about that?” He looked up at you from his task, his hands still gently working your skin back together. His actions and words confused you, because they were so opposite right now, and you didn’t know why.

“What do you mean?” You met his gaze, a furrowed brow on your face.

“As I see it… you used to kill a lotta folk just for fun before I met you.”

Why is he even bringing this up? You’d told him why you did what you did, and how much of a toll it took on you… so why now, when all this has transpired, would he bring up the origins of your gunslinger facade?

“Arthur… I did what I had to. They would have killed me first. I ain’t never started a duel in my life, n’ you know that,” you reminded him, and he seemed to understand that it was wrong of him to say. He didn’t apologize, though… just kept on with what he felt he needed to say.

“Look, all I’m sayin is… you had one job today, and it felt like you went off the road just to spite Dutch,” he argued, tying off the thread that pulled your skin closed. There was still cleaning to be done around the wound, and some sort of bandage would need to be applied, just in case of excess bleeding… but you sat up, stopping him from finishing anything.

“Is that what he told you?” you asked, referring to Dutch, of course.

“No, I was wonderin about it myself.”

“I wasn’t tryna get anybody hurt. Dutch used to put me riding with you, remember? I always did good. Now he wants me to do a job he thinks a woman is suited for, and I’m not so good anymore. Why do you think that is?” You asked, the annoyance written all over your face and dripping in your words.

“You could’ve called it off. We could have just told Javier to come back and wait it out until the next station. We’ve bailed on jobs before when it got too dangerous…” he explained, his voice raising just slightly again to meet your level of ferocity.

You took a second to breathe when he spoke. In all honesty, you’d never had to leave a job before, because when you started riding with them as Texas Red, the jobs always went through. No one told you about the bail out rule.

“I didn’t know that...”

“Well you should’ve at least told us he wouldn’t drink. Then you wouldn’t be to blame.” He didn’t quite meet you at the calm state, his anger still peeking, even when yours had come down. Saying what he just said was about to make matters so much worse, though.

“You think I’m to blame?”

“I think you played a massive part in this shit hole, yeah…” he huffed out, nodding his head and looking at you as if that should somehow get you to agree with him.

“I don’t wanna hear this anymore,” you scoffed, standing to your feet and grabbing your belongings. You felt the sting of the stitches pulling, and tried to be mindful of them, but the way he was speaking to you, especially while you bled on his cot, was not something you could take.

“Get back here, I ain’t finished cleanin’ you up.” He stood to his feet, trying to take steps after you, but even injured, you were stubborn and quick on your feet, pulling away from his reach.

“Abigail will help me.”

“You stubborn ass, why can’t you ever just listen when you’re wrong?” He shouted after you, which had you turning on your heel to shout back to his face.

“Maybe because I’m not!”

Your face didn’t even read anger as much as in did pain. Not the physical kind. The ailments you faced with your body, you took like a champ… but this pain in your heart and mind was far more complicated, and when he saw how saddened you were by him, he didn’t know what to do… but of course, his anger was still rising, though yours turned to something else.

“Damnit, Red… you’re gonna find yourself in a nice deep hole someday, and you’ll have pushed away everyone that cares to help you out of it.”

“I can climb out of it myself, then.” You muttered, taking the steps back to him so he could really look you in the eye when you said this… “I used to think you cared about me… wanted to help me. But you’re just like him.”

“Like who?” he asks, jutting his chin out for a moment to seem tough.

“You’re just like Dutch… just want me to play the part of the sweet little pet that lures the men into your jobs. I won’t do it… I can’t do it, clearly.”

“That ain’t what this is about,” He grabbed your wrist as you went to turn away again, and you pulled it loose. “You know I think you’re talented with that gun.”

“Then why don’t you ever fight for me to use it? Why is it that every time Dutch wants to make me into something I’m not, you stand by and watch it happen?” You weren’t meaning it as a hypothetical question, you really wanted an answer. Standing here, the camp noise having been drowned out by your argument, you watched as he searched for something to say, but he couldn’t find anything… nothing that could save him, at least. “That’s what I thought… just stay away from me, Arthur.”

“Red?”

“Leave me alone!”

You took to the new town, the argument with Arthur the days prior still fresh on your mind. You knew you’d messed everything up, and it was most definitely your fault. You can only see it now, Dutch giving a big speech while you’re away to convince everyone that you shouldn’t be doing big jobs anymore. If only he’d just given you Javier’s place on the train, and had Abigail or Karen go after Albert Templeton, the gang might be a couple thousand bucks richer right now.

You’d not just taken to the town as the girl they wanted you to be, because that girl didn’t exist.

There was only the girl you grew up as, and Texas Red, no in-between. It wasn’t the sweet Miss Brooks going into the bustling saloon of El Paso, it was Texas Red, the unkillable.

Maybe that’s where you’d gone all wrong. Wearing dresses, letting your hair start to grow, and even wiping the muck off your face whenever it gets there… you’d practically handed them a reason to treat you differently.

All of this is your fault. The mistreatment, the exclusion, the job gone wrong, everything.

It’s the heavy weight on your mind when you roll up to the bar, gun hanging heavy on your hip, the now thirty-three notches becoming a bigger and stronger presence every time you reach for it.

“Whiskey, double,” you knocked on the wooden bar slab, a grimace on your face while waiting for the drink. You put the money down immediately, just as always. It became a habit as soon as interruptions became common anytime you went for a whiskey.

You threw back the first drink then ordered another, throwing that one back, too. You got into a steady rhythm until there was a tap on your shoulder.

You turned around, eyes becoming glazed, and hands becoming tightly fisted. Whoever was bothering you has no idea how much of a mood you’re in, but if they aren’t careful, they’re gonna end up dead.

“Hey, I know you,” the man spoke. He looked to be about early forties, with silver lines in his dark hair, and smile lines over his cheeks.

You gave him a look, up and down, before you decided he was mistaken.

“No, you don’t.” You turned back to the bar, but he tapped your shoulder again, and the pistol at your side was feeling oh so heavy, waiting for your hand to pull it.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you,” he laughed, a broad and excited smile. “You’re that Texas Red fellar from down in Agua Fria.”

“Just ‘cuz I got red hair, it don’t make me Texas Red,” you slurred, slightly, the alcohol buzzing your senses, but not your reflexes. Your hands are practically itching to shoot something, or someone, and this guy seems like the perfect target.

“Nah, I know s’you,” he seemed a little drunk, too… but probably not drunk enough to walk away. “Seen your face when you shot that farmer.”

“Farmer?” You don’t even recall a farmer-

“Robert Sims… good man that fellow,” he droned on, seemingly hesitant to get to the point. “But you were the better shot.”

“M’sorry if he was a friend’a yours,” you gave condolences, hoping it would shoo him away, but as you remember, they never go away. “I didn’t wanna shoot ‘im.”

“Nah, he wanted to shoot you,” the man nodded, backing away only slightly before pulling his coat back, revealing a pistol of his own, right on his hip. No notches. “I wanna shoot you, too.”

You rolled your eyes and heaved a breath, looking to the man with a direct gaze. “You’re too drunk, you’ll die.”

He tapped the wooden counter, where your unfinished drink was sitting. “You’ve been drinkin’ too, been watchin’ ya.”

“So you think it’s fair?” You laughed, knowing you were nowhere near drunk enough to miss even a moving target, and be fast enough to hit him first. Maybe your fingers had been itchin’ for a reason, and this was it.

Shooting this man may not bring you joy, but it would bring some security. You’re still as good as they say, despite Dutch and some of the others back at camp. You’re still Texas Red, and you’re still unkillable. Earning the respect of this town, just as you did in Agua Fria would bring you that feeling of confidence that you had slowly been losing in the gang.

“I think I like my chances,” he quipped, earning some oohs from the crowd in the bar. By now you both held almost every ear within the reach of your voices, and the attention was deafening.

They always say that… Why do they always say that?

“Alright,” you turned back to the bar, slamming your drink. “Let’s take it outside.”

The cheering, followed by the chants of your challenger’s name were louder than you expected. They don’t know you, but they will.

You set your pistol, taking thirty paces away from your opposer. As soon as you turn around, there’s a silence amongst the whole town. You watch the man’s hands, the alcohol doing nothing to stop your trigger fingers from getting ready. You never draw first. It’s already an unfair fight, why make it worse?

“Need me to count?” the man says, and you shake your head, thinking you ought to just shoot him. He’s an obnoxious bastard, but he’s cocky and confident, you’ll give him that.

“I ain’t one for countin’,” you yelled, and saw that he almost seemed a little nervous, now. He was always nervous, but now it was on his face. He was drunk, and this was stupid. You should just shoot him in the hand and let him walk away… but you don’t.

You’ve been angry since what happened with Arthur, and you have to take it out somehow. If you can’t drink in peace without ass-hats like this bothering you, then you just have to take care of the ass-hats.

Suddenly, you see his hand dip, gripping the stock and beginning to pull it. You reacted like always, your hand on autopilot while your brain was elsewhere.

The man was dead in less than a second, and you came back to reality with a hammering soberness once the shot rang out.

Thirty-four....

It was the adrenaline, finally kicking in, only long enough to give you a moment of clarity… and looking up from the dead man, across the way by the general store, stood Arthur. He was probably getting supplies for the camp.

He’d stopped to watch, a look of disappointment on his face. He doesn’t think himself a good man, but he’s never had to go from town to town, striking fear into those he meets. He tries to be kind when he can, earning the trust of people, unlike you. You haven’t even earned the trust of the people in camp. You’ve lied to all of them.

The crowd’s cheers and encouragement pull you out of your haze, and a man jumps in front of you, separating your vision of Arthur. You didn’t want to see his sad eyes, anyways.

Everyone pulls you back inside the saloon, and the music strikes back up again… maybe this ain’t so bad after all.

Ten drinks is a lot for anyone, but especially for you, who already had multiple drinks upon first walking into the saloon. No one else dared challenge you, nor did they want to. The drunker you got, the crazier you seemed to act, your reserved gunslinger facade melted right away, and you turned into something of a wild man. The people were very entertained by your stories, the ones about Agua Fria, and then of course traveling with a gang to explore the west. You left names out, of course. Just because you were drunk, didn’t mean you were stupid.

It was after you started stuttering over your feet that two working girls came up to you. They were some of the most gorgeous women you’d ever seen, busty around the chest, with low necklines, and stunning faces framed by their bouncy brushed out hair.

“Can I help you ladies?” You tipped your hat to them, a smirk on your lips from the last joke you told to the crowd.

“We were hopin’ we could help you,” The blonde one spoke, and with a smile she started to lean against your arm. “We’ll knock the price for two…”

“That’s very kind’a you, but I ain’t gettin’ a room,” you told them, the same excuse you always had used for women of the night in Agua Fria.

“We’ll get the room, handsome… just pay the price of one for a night,” the brunette girl said, trying to hang off your shoulder, running her hands over it. You had to slide back into the bar to avoid getting her hands on your chest. If she did then you’d be in deep shit.

“How about I make a trip back here some other time, then I’ll come n’ see you two?”

The blonde girl didn’t seem to be holding back, her lips trailing mighty close to your ear. You always knew how to play the part, but you never expected that women would be falling over you this way. It was both alarming and reassuring.

“You sure? Why don’t we just take a ride out back?”

You were getting woozy, the way they pulled at your arms while you were leaning against the bar was swirling your head.

“There ya are, Red!” Came a familiar voice from the side of you. “Knew I’d find you in here…”

“Arthur?” Your vision was only slightly fuzzy, but you could always make out the clear silhouette of the most towering and strongly built man you knew.

“Thanks for findin’ my brother, girls,” he played it off, reaching for your arm to pull you forward. You resisted him at first. “C’mon Red, let’s get you a nice place to sleep tonight.”

“No,” you pulled out of his grasp, unwilling to be manhandled by the same person who told you all those awful things just a few days ago. “I wanna stay with my new friends.”

“They ain’t your friends, kid. C’mon, let’s go.” He tugged you forwards, heaving you up to stand on your own two feet, before picking you up like a hay bale, letting you dangle under his arm as he made his way for the stairs.

“Hey! Let me down!” You cried, squirming in his hold.

He’d already paid for a room for the night, but getting you up there was hell. “Would you stop fightin’ me?”

“No, I wanna go back downstairs…” You trailed, getting stood upright again as he shoved you into a room and closed the door.

“If you do that, Texas Red is as good as dead.”

He locked the door and made sure to put a chair under the knob. He didn’t necessarily know how the folk in this town behaved yet. You’d seen more of it than he had since arriving.

“Ain’t no man ever killed me,” You droned on, your words pouring out like that of a child, with little to no thought.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You mean them pretty girls that wanted to take me for a ride?” You laughed, letting him push you until you were sat on the bed. He knelt down and helped you take your boots off before tugging your hat from your head, throwing it in a chair.

“S’not the kinda ride you were thinkin’,” he sighed, unsure of if you even knew how drunk you were.

“You mean the other kinda ride?” Your obnoxious and bellaring voice could nearly pierce the walls when you were this inebriated.

“Would you stop bein’ so damn loud? Whole place is gonna hear you n’ yer blabberin’...”

“You’re just jealous cuz the girls were fallin’ all over me instead’a you.”

He rolled his eyes with a scoff. Those girls were seein’ an easy target. They thought you were a man they could distract and rob, and maybe have a little fun with along the way.

“I’m sure that’s it… lay down and shut up, will ya?” He shoved you back into the bed, and you groaned, your head hitting even the soft pillows was jarring, and you were sure you’d be feeling it tomorrow.

You figured you better do as you were told, with this situation feeling less ideal the more sober you got. Each minute passed by made you realize just how much shit you would be in with him once you woke up tomorrow. Still, you were drunk enough to start raking over all the earlier thoughts that lead you here in the first place.

“Arthur?”

“What?” He laid back on the other side of the bed, crossing his arms and trying to rest… but of course you weren’t done.

“Do you think I’d be better if I were a real man?”

“No, I do not.” He huffed, his tone flat and his motionless figure unchanging.

“Why?” You turned on your side to look at him, and boy, he looked handsome in this light. Barely illuminated through a window, but you could see the dark outline of his features.

“You’re just fine as a woman,” he claimed, still unchanging in position.

“But everyone hates me as one, they love when I’m him.” You liked being him, too. You were confident as Texas Red. Stronger, Faster. Braver…

“They don’t hate ya, they just have different ideas about ya… not that it’s right.” He thought that maybe you’d drop it from here, maybe pick it up another time when he was less tired, and you were more in your right mind.

“What are your ideas?”

“Huh?” He finally turned to face you, unsure of what you were even talking about.

“About me… what are your ideas?”

“Well… I happen to think you’re real strong, and smart. I think you’ve got gifts that even I don’t understand, and you’re good at using ‘em… I also think you’re a caring person, even when you shouldn’t be.” He listed only the things that came to mind, but he knew there were so many more that he was only not remembering.

“Those are all good things…” You supposed.

“Guess so,” he nodded, watching your face contort, as if you were debating on telling him something. You were still stone cold drunk, even if there was a hint of normalcy to you at this point. You wouldn’t remember any of it tomorrow, of that he was sure.

“I think I love you, Mister Morgan,” you let out, looking at him, but not waiting for a reaction. Even in your tarnished state, you’d just wanted him to know what you were feeling.

“No you don’t, s’just the whiskey,” he argued, his whole body tensing up in fear of how to respond to this drunken revelation. Drunk words are sober thoughts. Everyone knows that.

“I do, I love ya more than anything,” you rambled on, completely entranced with the silhouette of him against the cool light of the moonlit windowsill.

“If you really do, you gotta tell me when you’re sobered up,” he instructed. He wanted it to be true, hell, he’d thought it might have been true when first arriving here… but the train job seemed to put you both at square one again, and he was getting tired of it. There was so much he wanted to say to you, but he couldn’t risk being wrong about you feeling the same way. He’s lost too much love in this life to blindly pursue it again. He was tired of getting his heart stomped on.

“I’ll tell you… Swear it,” you crossed your heart, giving him a doe eyed smile. “Do you love me?”

“I can’t tell you yet,” he shook his head, looking back up to the ceiling.

“But I told you…”

“I know, sweet girl… just be patient, alright? I’m gonna get there, promise.”

You nodded, turning on your own back and staring up at the ceiling, a single crack in the painted plaster going along the corner of it, keeping you distracted enough to stop thinking about Arthur and fall asleep next to him.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you

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idkyetxoxo · 2 months ago

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Daeron Targaryen - Flawless

Summary - A commoner and a prince defy societal norms but as their secret affair is exposed, they grapple with intense emotions and the fear of their love being destroyed. They must choose whether to defy the world for their love or succumb to the pressures tearing them apart.

Pairing - Daeron Targaryen x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2130

Masterlist for Daeron • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

I fell in love today. There aren't many words that you can say that could ever get my mind to change. She's enough for me, she's in love with me.

"If we're caught, there will be a heavy price to pay," I whispered, my lips grazing Daeron's as we huddled together in the dim stables, the air thick with the earthy smell of hay and the soft snorts of nearby horses.

My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a reminder of the risk we were taking, and yet it only deepened the pull I felt toward him. The danger was intoxicating, fueling my desire for the man before me.

"I do not care," Daeron murmured, his fingers tender as they traced along my cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear before cupping my face.

His touch was so gentle, it made my knees weak. His violet eyes, those piercing, otherworldly eyes, locked onto mine with a fire that sent shivers down my spine.

Then, without warning, his lips claimed mine. Familiar and firm, the kiss ignited something deep inside me, a flame that only he could kindle. The taste of him, the warmth of his hands moving against me, sent waves of longing through my body.

I surrendered to it, letting him guide us down onto the soft, hay-covered floor.

His hands, rough yet achingly tender, roamed over me, sending sparks of electricity with every touch.

The tension between us was palpable, the thrill of being discovered heightening the already burning heat that simmered in every breath we took.

"Here?" I asked, my voice a breathless whisper as I momentarily pulled away, gazing up at him. My heart raced, not from fear, but from the sheer weight of my feelings for him.

Daeron wasn't just a prince to me. He was more than the silver-haired, violet-eyed fantasy I had dreamt of. He was real, here, with me, like something out of a story too good to be true.

I had always thought him untouchable, a man destined for greatness far beyond my reach, and yet, in this moment, it felt like we had defied the world and carved out a place for just us.

"Do not deny me," he breathed against my skin, his lips brushing along my neck, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

Each kiss, each small bite, left me trembling, and I knew I would carry these marks long after the moment ended—a visible reminder of what we'd stolen from time.

"I wouldn't dream of it," I whispered back, my fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer as he fumbled with the laces of my dress.

The anticipation between us built like the brewing of a storm, the tension rising, until it felt like we might shatter from the force of it.

But the storm came differently. The stable doors creaked open, a sound so mundane yet terrifying in that moment. We froze. Too late.

"Daeron!" A voice boomed through the quiet space like a thunderclap. My blood ran cold as I shoved him off me, scrambling to sit up.

My hands shook as I tried to lace my dress, my fingers clumsy with panic.

In the doorway stood Gwayne, Daeron's uncle, his large figure casting a dark shadow over the stables. His face, twisted in disappointment, was a mask of barely contained fury.

He looked at us as though we were children caught misbehaving, but there was something crueler in his eyes—contempt, as if we were something beneath him. Filth.

Daeron rose first, and I hurried to follow, my cheeks burning with humiliation as I fumbled to fix my dress, every second stretching into an eternity of shame.

"What is the meaning of this?" Gwayne's voice was as cold as winter's first breath, each word cutting through the air like shards of ice.

He looked between us as if we had committed some great sin.

"Nothing," I mumbled, my voice barely audible. I couldn't bear to meet Daeron's gaze, though I could feel the tension radiating off him.

I wanted to explain, to defend what we had, but the words died in my throat.

"It is exactly what it looks like," Daeron said, his voice steady as he met his uncle's glare, his shoulders squared in defiance.

For a brief moment, his boldness sent a flicker of warmth through me, but it was quickly drowned by the flood of shame that pooled in my stomach.

Gwayne's lip curled in disgust. "If you're going to indulge in such... affairs with women like her," he spat, his words dripping with disdain, "at least have the decency to be discreet. Or is that too much to ask?"

My heart twisted at the words. Women like her. The insult stung like a slap, his meaning clear.

In Gwayne's eyes, I wasn't worth Daeron's time. I was nothing more than a passing indulgence, something beneath Daeron's station. A common girl. A nobody.

Daeron's hand reached for mine, but I stepped back, my entire body stiff with humiliation.

"Women like her?" Daeron's voice was tight, strained with disbelief and hurt. "She is not—"

"You know exactly what I mean," Gwayne cut him off, dismissing his defence as if it were beneath him.

Tears stung at my eyes, the weight of my reality crashing down around me. Of course, this was how it would end.

Daeron, a prince destined for greatness, and me, the blacksmith's daughter, foolish enough to believe in fairy tales.

How had I let myself think, even for a second, that we could ever be more than a secret tryst?

But then Daeron's voice, soft and urgent, broke through the chaos. "I love her."

The words stopped me cold. I looked up, shocked, searching his face for any sign that this was some cruel jest.

But his eyes—those beautiful violet eyes—held nothing but sincerity. He meant it.

Gwayne, however, was unimpressed. "Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, dismissing Daeron's declaration with a wave of his hand.

"You think this is love?" Gwayne's voice dripped with venom, his gaze flicking over me like I was dirt under his boot. "This is folly. A prince does not sully himself with... commoners."

It was too much. The weight of Daeron's love, the sting of Gwayne's scorn, the sheer impossibility of our situation—it all overwhelmed me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stay.

Without a word, I turned and fled.

Daeron's voice called out to me, but I didn't stop. Not until I reached the empty streets beyond the stable did I let the tears fall, silent and unrelenting.

Tears for what we had, for the love I had found—and for the reality that had torn it apart.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A week had passed since that treacherous moment in the stables—a week that felt like an eternity. Every day, Daeron sought me out, and every day, I found a way to avoid him.

Each time I caught sight of his silver hair in the distance or heard the familiar lilt of his voice in a crowded street, I slipped away before he could catch me.

I knew that if I saw him—if I let him speak—my resolve would crumble. I couldn't afford that.

Not if I wanted to move on, not if I wanted to survive this heartbreak, I needed distance.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I found myself at my favourite place, opposite the riverbank, away from the prying eyes of Oldtown's streets.

Here, I could think, breathe, and mourn the love I could never truly have.

The gentle sound of the water soothed my soul, the quiet trickle of the current carrying away my unspoken pain.

I held a small daisy between my fingers, twirling it absentmindedly as I stared at the water. My thoughts were scattered, filled with memories of him—his touch, his smile, his violet eyes that seemed to see straight into my soul.

I didn't know how to stop loving him, but I had to try. It was the only way to protect myself from a heartbreak that already felt inevitable.

But the peace I'd found was short-lived. Footsteps crunched behind me, slow and deliberate.

Someone sat beside me, and without turning, I already knew who it was. His presence was as familiar to me as the air I breathed.

Daeron.

I glanced over to see him, his silver hair catching the fading light, his violet eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my breath hitch. He was silent, watching me, waiting for me to react.

My heart pounded, and instinctively, I moved to stand, to flee, but his hand shot out, gently covering mine, the warmth of his touch rooting me in place.

"Please, don't leave," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. His plea wasn't just in his words—it was in his eyes, the way his fingers trembled ever so slightly over mine.

I sighed, unable to meet his gaze for long. "Daeron, you know we can't do this," I began, my voice breaking under the weight of the truth. "We were never meant to be."

"No," he interrupted sharply, his voice laced with frustration. "Don't say that. Don't you dare say that."

I shook my head, the weight of the world pressing down on me. "Your uncle was right," I whispered, my eyes fixated on the moving water. "I am flawed. I'm not—"

"Stop," he said firmly, cutting me off with a fierce determination. He reached up, cupping my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him.

His touch was tender, but his words were anything but. "Do not ever think that. The only flaw here is that you're flawless. Too perfect for a world like this, for people like my uncle who are blind to your worth."

His words hung in the air, leaving me speechless. The walls I had built around myself, the ones I'd spent days fortifying to keep him out, began to crack.

I could feel the warmth of his hands on my skin, the urgency in his touch, and despite my better judgment, my resolve began to weaken.

"Daeron, I can't—" I started, but he silenced me with a look, his thumb brushing my cheek as his gaze bore into mine.

His love was a gift I didn't know how to accept. I wanted to believe his words to trust the fire in his eyes that promised a future I never thought I deserved.

But how could I? The world wasn't kind to girls like me.

"I love you," he declared, his voice trembling with an intensity that left no room for doubt.

"I do not care what anyone thinks or what anyone says. I will defy them all. I will defy my uncle, the court, the world if I have to—because I cannot live without you."

My breath caught in my throat. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his words.

He spoke with the conviction of someone who had decided to throw caution to the wind, to face any storm for the sake of the one he loved.

His declaration was a promise, a vow. And in that moment, I realized he meant every word.

"Please," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "don't shut me out. Don't leave me again. I will fight for you, for us—just let me."

Tears welled up in my eyes, but this time, they weren't from pain. They were from the overwhelming rush of emotions his words stirred in me.

I had been so afraid, so convinced that I wasn't worthy of him, of this love. But here he was, on his knees beside me, begging me to let him love me.

I nodded, my throat too tight with emotion to form words. "I'm sorry," I finally managed to whisper, my voice barely audible. "I'm sorry for pushing you away."

He shook his head, dismissing the apology without a second thought. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Before I could say anything more, he pulled me toward him, his lips finding mine in a kiss that was desperate and raw, as if he feared that I might vanish if he let go.

His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, and in that moment, everything else faded away—the judgments, the fears, the obstacles that had seemed insurmountable.

All that mattered was him. All that mattered was us.

As we sat there by the river, the world around us fell into silence, and for the first time in days, I allowed myself to believe in a future where we could be together.

A future where love, not fear, guided our path.

Because Daeron had chosen me. And no matter what stood in our way, I would choose him too—again and again, for as long as I lived.

The only flaw, you are flawless but I just can't wait for love to destroy us, I just can't wait for love.

A/n - Inspo of course came from 'Flawless' by The Neighbourhood, I need them to come back desperately :(

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #hotd #hotd x reader #house of the dragon x reader #hotd one shot #hotd season 2 #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #team green #daeron targaryen #daeron x reader #daeron the daring #hotd daeron #daeron targaryen x reader #hotd x y/n

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eiightysixbaby · 9 months ago

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HEYYYYYYYY i have a request forrrr toxic! eddie 👏👏👏👏👏 can we have him manipulate reader into staying w him like i just had this thought okay so either he like sneaks his phone and records orrrrr he goes live on HER insta so her hoes can see snd when she finds out shes mad but hes like 🙂

oh and this is all while they are hu

i guess this is more modern! eddie but who better to ask UR MY FAV WRITER IN EXISTENCE

you’re so sweet 🥹 thanks for the request. I hope I did this justice, toxic!eddie is kind of new territory for me. 🫶🏻

18+ only! toxic/manipulative eddie. do not read if this makes you uncomfy! secret recording during sex, blackmail, unprotected piv, creampie

Eddie can feel you slipping away. It’s only the slightest bit, but he can sense it. He was scared this day would come, when you’d get sick of him, decide that one of the other guys who fawn over you was more worthy of your attention.

And he knows it’s fucked up, his incessant need to have you in his grasp, but he can’t control it. You’re everything to him, the perfect girl. If he’s honest he’s not always sure how you ended up falling for him at all, but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He can’t stomach losing you, and so he simply won’t.

You’re snippier when you arrive at his trailer this time, shorter in your responses. He knows you like the back of his hand, though, and he’s using it to his advantage. Turning you to putty right on his sofa, making you weaker for him until you’re begging him to fuck you. This is how it usually goes; you come over or he goes to yours, maybe you’ll watch a movie or order a pizza, smoke a joint, but it always ends with him inside of you. It’s arguably his favorite place to be, ever. And how dare you think you could take this luxury from him.

Carrying you to his room, he lays you down on his mattress, undoing the belt on his jeans with haste. You set your phone on his bedside table, pulling your shirt over your head and exposing your pretty tits. No bra, tonight. It’s like you’re trying to hurry this along.

Once he’s shirtless, pants pushed down far enough to free his aching cock, he moves to hover over you, necklace dangling in your face as he starts to kiss you. It’s rough, bitey, his teeth pulling at your bottom lip. His tongue prods into your mouth, licking at yours and making you arch your back, craving more from him. His lips trail downward, sucking harsh marks into your neck and collarbone.

You wriggle in his grasp. “Ed,” you whine, gasping when his teeth dig harder into your sensitive skin.

“Don’t act like you can’t handle this,” he growls, low and raspy as he moves down to your breasts.

He plays with them only for a moment, pinching at your nipples before sucking on them. You’re impatient, wanting him to fuck you already, and he can sense the urgency in the way you keep raising your hips to meet his.

“Bein’ such a fuckin’ brat today,” he says, sitting back on his heels. “Get on all fours for me, now.”

You oblige, nodding pathetically, stripping out of your pants and underwear before positioning yourself how he’d asked.

He strokes his cock where he sits behind you, his free hand caressing the globes of your ass. Two fingers dip into your folds, collecting some of the wetness that threatens to drip down your thighs. “So fucking wet,” he chuckles, smug, before lining himself up with your entrance.

He pushes in, nearly all the way, punching the air from your lungs. You grip his bedsheets tightly in your fists, crying out his name. God, he loves having you like this. Completely pliant for him, soaked and screaming. He starts his thrusts slow, torturously so. You wiggle your hips, whining beneath him, trying to get him to move faster.

He doesn’t like it, the way you seem to be in a hurry.

As if on cue, he watches your phone screen light up. You’re paying it no mind, nearly delirious where your face presses into his pillow. But he watches intently as another guy’s name appears on the screen, attempting to call you. The call is followed up by a couple of texts, someone desperately seeking your attention. He recognizes the name, because he’s seen you texting him before, when you thought he wasn’t looking.

A threat. A threat to Eddie’s time with you. And so he does something he knows he shouldn’t.

Keeping his pace so as not to alert you, he reaches beside him where his phone lays face down on the mattress. Opening the camera, he presses record, smacking your ass to start the video off nicely. You’re a moaning mess, and he makes sure the camera captures the way his cock drives in and out of you, your cream pooling around the base of his shaft. He gives it to you harder, more relentlessly, anything to keep you from turning around and catching him red handed.

“Fuuuuuuuck you suck my cock in so well,” Eddie groans, punching shrill noises from your mouth with each thrust he gives you.

You, blissfully unaware of his recording, are practically drooling on the pillow beneath you. Hurtling towards your release, crying out his name over and over again like a prayer.

You had to admit, you’d miss this after tonight.

Within a few minutes, both you and Eddie are tumbling over the edge, your walls clenching around him as he fills you with his cum. Every bit caught on camera, sure to document the way his seed drips from you and how his fingers fuck it back in.

He sets his phone down discreetly, cutting off the video, moving towards you to kiss you. You barely let him peck the corner of your mouth before you’re sliding off of the bed, finding your scattered clothing to redress.

“What’re you doing?” he asks, his voice laced with something you can’t place. He pulls up his jeans, securing the belt as he watches you.

“I need to go, Eddie,” you say, pulling your shirt over your head.

“Where are you going?” he moves to stand with you, his frame towering over you. His eyes are dark, expression stern.

“Why does it matter? I’m going out, Eddie.” you huff, trying to move around him. “And we need to stop doing this. I can’t have this kind of relationship with you anymore,” you say.

It’s kind of cute, how you think he’s just going to accept that. It’s also cute how you think he believes you want to be done with him. The way your thighs press together when he steps closer to you tells him otherwise.

“Do you have a date?”

“It’s none of your business, Eddie,” you snap, reaching to grab your phone from his nightstand, but he stops you with a firm hand around your wrist.

“If you leave right now, that date isn’t going to go very well,” he challenges, and your face scrunches in confusion.

“What?”

Picking up his phone, he unlocks it, and he sees your eyes start to widen in panic.

“I took this little video,” he starts, turning the screen to you and pressing play. “And if you leave right now, I’ll send this to every other fucking guy you’re talking to.”

“What… what the fuck,” you whisper, hands reaching up to run through your hair. “What the fuck Eddie!? You recorded us?” your voice grows louder, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re fucking sick,” you spit, and he has the audacity to laugh.

“Sweetheart, you think anyone can give it to you better than I can? You think I don’t notice how you completely fold for me?” he pouts, tilting your chin up with his index finger. “In fact, I bet you’re soaking your panties all over again thinking about everyone seeing our little sex tape.”

You swallow, lips parting and closing again, lost for words. The sickest part is that he’s right, you ache for him all over again. No one could do it like he does.

“I’ll cancel the date. I’ll text him right now and tell him I’m not coming,” you say meekly, nearly trembling under Eddie’s intense stare.

“Good girl.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fanfic

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i-dont-even-know-anymore976 · 4 months ago

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things i need from season 8

the diaz sisters - at this point the only thing that can help eddie is the not-so-silent judgement of a younger sister. ideally, one of them will show up and be like "you left chris with mum and dad?????? wtf??" and for him to flounder while she tells him chris is now spending the summer with his other aunt and cousins while she deals with whatever "this is" as she makes vague gestures towards him

a pet for buck - maybe dog but honestly i think he should adopt a number of the ugliest cats you've ever seen and have it be an ongoing joke that no-one ever sees the same cat so you don't know how many he has (truthfully i want someone to give that man a baby but ugly cats are the next best thing) (if we could get one shot of him [and tommy😉] waking up in a bed completely covered in cats it would make my year)

karen to be allowed one free punch at councilwoman ortez (and obvi to get mara back)

hen also gets a free shot but i almost feel karen deserves it more - she puts up with so much shit

taylor kelly redemption - maybe its just that i imprinted on her like a baby duckling but i want them to bring taylor back and have her do an expose on ortez & gerard

recast michael and bring him back - give bobby back his friend and let them resume their shenanigans!!!! honestly maybe they do the initial research into ortez&gerard and poor taylor has to work with them to make it into an actual news story

previously stated monster truck accident

more ravi - i need a ravi, begins episode more than i need oxygen

just like more silly calls - a toddler who's got their leg stuck in a stair railing, a grown man stuck up a tree trying to get down a cat (the cat jumps down easily by itself right in the middle of the rescue), MOUNTED POLICE!!!! i have just recently learnt that there are mounted police in LA (thank you the rookie) and WHY we haven't had a call with them and buck being a secret horse whisperer i'll never know but i need it

athena/bobby honeymoon redo - they deserve one nice vacation okay!!!!!

hostage-negotiator!may - i think the actress has gone to uni (good for her) and i also don't know how long it takes to learn to be a hostage-negotiator but i just think that she would be good at it and it would be fun (also i really just want may back! i love and miss her 😭)

and more jee!!!!! i love her too!!! and the enormous wendy house i hope buck, eddie, and tommy build for her

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monstersandmaw · 1 year ago

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Werewolves who think they're lap dogs despite looking like what would happen if the canine family tried to evolve a shire horse

My hand slipped and this happened, since it so perfectly fits the character.

Here's Teo and his boyfriend from the Wolfmaw story (spoiler free). I loved your shire horse comment!! Made me giggle.

___

“No.”

The enormous, honey coloured wolf sitting on the floor between the sofa and the television looked up at him with huge, dark chocolate eyes, and cocked his head, ears pricked.

“Ohhh no. Do not… Do not. Do. That.” His resolve crumbled even as he kept looking down at him. “Please…”

Teo’s tail thumped once.

“No.”

That ‘no’ sounded suspiciously like a ‘yes but don’t make me say it’, and Teo knew it.

His jaws parted and his tongue lolled out in a happy smile, and in a swift, victorious motion, he reared up and plopped his paws down on the slender thighs of his patient and extraordinarily lenient boyfriend.

Without waiting to be swatted away by an elegant hand, Teo sprang up onto the couch and nuzzled furiously against his hip, wagging and shuffling to find the perfect spot.

“You’re shedding. Everywhere,” came that sultry voice that was aiming for unimpressed, but it carried secret volumes of fondness that only Teo knew was there. Vampires, after all, were not supposed to be seen with werewolves, let alone dating them.

Teo sneezed and wiggled around onto his back, his paws in the air and his belly completely exposed. God, if anyone in the pack saw him now, they’d have kicked him out probably. No, Luca would never let that happen, but still.

Grudgingly, a pale hand extended down to him and scratched along the line of his ribs and up his chest, catching him just-so. His right hind leg beat a rapid tattoo against the sofa arm and he tipped his head right back to expose his chin and neck too, groaning with ecstasy at the barrage of delicious sensations.

“Dear God, remind me why I adore you?” the vampire purred.

Teo sneezed again and opened one whisky-gold eye to regard the porcelain face regarding him with one pale eyebrow raised. Laughing his silent, wolfish laugh, Teo twisted to lap his tongue against the fingers of the hand that had been scratching behind his ear, and he heard a gentle, fond sigh. “You’re a menace, Teo.”

Teo nipped him for that, but only gently.

Leaning forwards, the vampire left a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I really do, you know?” he said, sounding wistful. “Adore you.”

Teo wiggled deeper into his lap and turned onto his side so he could cuddle him too. Vampires might be cold, but this one was far from heartless.

Teo had his back to the door, and had just exposed his belly to a creature that was probably twice as deadly as he was, and he couldn’t have been happier or felt safer.

“You’re still an overgrown menace of a lapdog.”

Teo just wagged his tail and got even comfier with his head across his thighs.

Wolfmaw is a WIP at the moment and you can find out more about it here.

#werewolf #werewolf headcanons #werewolf x vampire #mlm exophilia #wolfmaw story

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

Text

| ❤️ | The Headless Horseman | ❤️ |

| Pairing | boyfriend!woozi x fem!reader w/ a cameo by fanboy hoshi

| Summary | Your secret identity as a street racer is exposed when your boyfriend's best friend, a superfan of yours, unknowingly drags him to one of your races.

| Genre | fluff w/ an eyedrop of angst

| Word Count | 2.4k

| Warnings | drinking, kissing, general adult situations

| A/N | @rainisawriter put in a request for this specific storyline and theme ages ago so love you forever for waiting 10 years for me to get my life together and finish it. I know you wanted something fun so I went for it. Hope you like it!

“Come in. Sit. Sit. Sit” Hoshi insists, gesturing toward the couch he’s had Woozi trapped on for the past five minutes. Grabbing your beer from the coffee table, you flop down on the couch beside Woozi, throwing your legs across his lap. “What’s his deal?” you tilt your head to whisper into your boyfriend’s ear. Woozi wraps an arm around you, bringing you into one of his infamously cozy hugs. “It’s the street racing thing again. Something about a headless houseman.” “Horseman!” Hoshi corrects, pacing the floor in front of you.

This is as excited as you’ve ever seen him and, as amusing as it is, he’ll set fire to your carpet if he keeps pacing like this. “Alright, alright. Take a breath and tell us about this Headless Hou..." "Horse, baby” Woozi whispers, resting his head on your shoulder. “Horseman.” Hoshi stops in his tracks, waiting for one of you to poke fun at him. When neither of you does, he sits down on the edge of the coffee table, leaning in a bit like an older brother about to torture his siblings with a scary story.

“Okay, so, she’s…” “She?” Woozi interrupts, “I thought it was a man.” “Yes, she!” Hoshi continues, “She was the best street racer in the underground. They called her the Headless Horseman because she always wore a helmet to hide her identity. No one and I mean no one has ever been able to figure out who she is.” For a fleeting moment, the playful expression on your face turns to one of panic. It’s a blink and you miss it kind of panic. The guys blinked. They missed it. But your sweaty palms and racing heart didn’t.

“So...what? You plan on solving the mystery?” The question comes out sharper than you intended. “You’ve always been good at things like that” you add, attempting to soften the impact. “Oh,” he smiles, surprised but flattered, “Thank you but no. I’ve tried though. She was my favorite for a long time. Still is. I’ve never seen anyone drive like that before. It got to the point where most guys hated racing her because she was unbeatable.”

“What happened?” Woozi asks, more invested in the tale than he anticipated.

“Hmm?”

“You keep saying ‘was’ like something happened.”

Hoshi’s eyes widen, “Yeah, well, uh, she disappeared.”

“Disappeared like died?”

“Disappeared like into thin air. Some people thought she died. Others thought she just quit but there’s been talk...” “Of?” you ask, fiddling with the rose quartz ring dangling from the silver chain around your neck. It was a gift from Woozi for your birthday that you never take off for anything. You reach for it whenever you need comfort and it's never failed you even once. “A comeback at tonight's race. That something happened to bring her back and now the Headless Horseman will ride again.”

The way that he tells it, this really is starting to feel like a horror story. Especially for you. The only one here with something to hide. “I was thinking of going to check the race out and I thought...” “No” you and Woozi groan in unison. “No?” “No” Woozi repeats, “I’m not going with you to an illegal street race to chase an urban legend. What if it gets raided? My baby’s too pretty for jail.” You can’t help but blush, kissing him on the cheek, “No, you’re too pretty for jail.” Woozi starts to blush too and the overload of cuteness makes Hoshi want to vomit.

“You guys never wanna do anything fun” he pouts, “It’s one race.” Getting up from the couch, you stretch your limbs, letting out a yawn. “The threat of jail time aside, I’m exhausted so I’m heading to bed. Why don’t you boys go find something safe to do?” You glance back and forth between the two of them, making it clear that your question had, in fact, been an order. “Yes, ma’am” Hoshi mumbles, forcing a smile when you pinch his cheeks.

You lean in to give Woozi a goodnight kiss and his arms are around you again, nearly dragging you back down onto the couch. He’d come crawl into bed with you if he could but he’d feel bad leaving his best friend hanging and you’d never ask him to do that. “Goodnight, my love” you sing, skipping off to the bedroom. “Goodnight!” Woozi shouts down the hall, his eyes lingering where you once were. Hoshi takes your spot on the couch, batting his eyelashes at Woozi, “Goodnight, my love.”

A part of you, every part of you if you're being honest with yourself, feels bad for keeping this from your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. Your partner in crime. You share everything. Everything but this. There was once a time when racing was the only way that you could feel alive. When you weren’t behind the wheel, burning down the winding roads the local cops were too corrupt to monitor, life felt empty. If the only thrill you could get had to come from risking your life you were willing to do it but falling for Woozi changed all of that.

With him, you felt genuine love for the first time. He made colors brighter, melodies sweeter, and food more flavorful. You finally had something that made you love your life without putting it on the line so you quit and never looked back. At least not until an old friend came asking you for a favor. Keeping your identity a secret was no small feat. Your success relied heavily upon the few women you'd grown close to on the scene.

One in particular, a fellow racer, was as sweet as could be but had a gambling streak that got her into trouble more often than not. Her most recent run-in was with a new racer. One just as good as you were. Some might say better. She put her car up against his and lost it. A man with an ego impossible to satisfy, he would’ve happily raced her again just to see her suffer. There was no way she’d beat him though, she knew that, but you could. You could’ve turned her down. Maybe you should’ve but it's too late for second thoughts now.

Your opponent’s heavily modified muscle car screeches to a halt beside yours at the starting line. He winks at you, blowing a kiss, “I’ve heard a lot about you sweet thing. You’ve got quite the reputation. Too bad I’m gonna have to ruin it.” The roar of the crowd, hundreds of people gathered around for the return of a legend, drowns out whatever he says next. “Hey!” your friend shouts, tapping the hood of your car. When you turn to her she jiggles your seatbelt, and checks that your helmet’s secure, “Kick his ass.”

The flag girl dips between the cars, taking her position just beyond the starting line. You grasp the ring around your neck for good luck before taking one last look at the smug face of your opponent. Kick his ass? Not a problem.

Pushing his way to the back of the crowd, Woozi holds his phone to his head and listens as it rings once, twice, three times. Hoshi sneaks up on him, snatching the phone away. “What are you doing?” Hoshi asks, ending the call and holding the phone up out of Woozi’s reach. He’s tempted to try to grab it but, with this height difference, it’d be a waste of energy. “I told her we were going to Mingyu’s place. I have to let her know there was a change of plans.” “Oh my god, you’re so whipped.” “At least I’m not single” Woozi snaps, “Now give me my phone!”

The tearing of rubber against pavement sends clouds of smoke into the night sky, drawing the immediate attention of everyone around them. “Look, she won’t care that you came with me. She’s not like that but she’ll kill you if you wake her up. So just relax and have fun” Hoshi begs, “I’ll tell her it was all my fault. I promise.” As much as Woozi hates to admit it, Hoshi’s made several valid points, the most important of all that you’d rip his head off if he woke you up. “Fine. Whatever.”

“Yes!” Hoshi yells, dragging him back to the front of the crowd just in time to see the cars disappear down the road. At first, Woozi struggles to get comfortable. Hanging out at the edge of an abandoned highway after midnight wasn’t on his 2023 bucket list for fun things to do. As time goes on though, he finds himself having fun, knocking back drinks, and meeting some of Hoshi’s other friends. The adrenaline that pumps through the drivers during lap after lap bleeds into the audience, into him, and he understands now why Hoshi gets so pumped to come to these things.

As the end of the final lap approaches one car closes in on the other. It’s so close, we’re talking splitting hairs close, and then it’s not at all. The Headless Horseman picks up an unreal amount of speed, flying past the other car and ripping through the finish line. A celebration erupts amongst the masses who bet in favor of the Horseman while the few who didn’t prepare for financial ruin. It doesn’t matter to you either way. You’re so high off the thrill of being behind the wheel again that everything around you exists only as a blur of color.

As you make your way out of the car, smiling faces come to congratulate you. Shaking your hand. Hugging you. Patting you on the back. You rush them along, desperate to find yourself an isolated corner where you can get this helmet off before you suffocate. “Horseman!” Hoshi cheers, cutting in front of you before you have time to escape. It can’t be. You must be hallucinating. It really is too hot under this helmet. “So nice to meet you. You were amazing! This is my friend---” he rambles, pulling Woozi over by the collar, “It’s his first time.”

In the old days, the mafia used to put cement blocks on dead bodies before they threw them in the ocean to make sure they didn’t resurface before they became fish food. The sight of your boyfriend standing in front of you makes you want to run but the invisible cement bricks hardened around your ankles won’t let you. You’re fish food. “Hi” Woozi waves, his cheeks rosy from one too many drinks, “You did really well out there.” “I, uh, thanks,” you say in a high-pitched voice, attempting to conceal your own.

Like magic, the weight lifts from your ankles and you start to make a run for it only you aren’t moving. Something else is holding you back, a hand around your wrist. Woozi’s hand. “Where’d you get that?” he asks, eyeing the ring dangling from your neck. You pull away again. It’s no use. He won’t let up. Hoshi takes a closer look at you, the gears turning until it clicks, “No way. I can't believe it. This is just like in those spy movies. Are you a spy? Wait, don't tell me! No, tell me!”

Ignoring his best friend's enthusiasm, Woozi digs his phone out of Hoshi’s pocket and dials your number. There’s nothing you can do besides stand by as the ringtone you personalized for him sounds in your jacket pocket. The tightness in your chest is unbearable. This is how you die. You pop your helmet off, tossing it to the ground. Woozi pours his drink out beside it, his brain too scrambled to add another sip of vodka into the mix, “I’m too drunk for this.”

Waking up the next morning you find the bed empty and your house quiet enough to hear a pin drop. You’d come home separately last night. You in your car and Woozi in Hoshi’s. Actually, when you stop to think about it, you aren’t sure Woozi came home at all. From the looks of things, he hasn’t. His keys aren’t on the nightstand and his shoes aren’t by the front door. The usual scent of him cooking Saturday morning breakfast doesn’t fill the apartment and…

“Aah!” you scream, tripping and falling onto something soft. Well, someone. The body of your severely hungover boyfriend is stretched out on the kitchen floor, keys in hand and shoes still on his feet. Carefully rolling off of him, you make no attempt at getting up from the floor. You just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling as vulnerable as you ever have. “Where am I?” he mumbles, wiping the drool from his cheek. He lifts his head up, squinting to look around the kitchen before lying back down.

“You okay? You need anything?” you ask, knowing how tough hangovers are on him. “From you or the Horseman?” “Really? Is that how we’re handling this?” “Last I checked I wasn’t the one living a double life.” You can’t even argue with him. He’s right. If you found out he’d hidden something from you, no matter how small, you’d be irritated too. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Sitting up, you bury your face in your hands, letting a symphony of frustration spill out. “It’s a part of me I wanted to bury. I only dug it up to help a friend” you admit, “I was afraid if you knew it might change how you see me.”

Woozi sits up, releasing a few pained groans of his own, “Change how I see you? Nothing could ever change how I see you. I need you to trust me enough to believe that.” “I do. I just…I get in my own head sometimes and I don’t know. I’m so sorry.” Woozi kisses you, the lingering sweetness of some late-night snack he must’ve eaten coating your lips. “It’s okay. Apology accepted…under one condition.” You perk up, prepared to do whatever it takes to make things right, “Whatever you want. Just say the word.”

Leaning back against the refrigerator, he makes space for you to sit between his legs, “Tell me everything from the start.” “Everything?” you ask, sliding over to him, “Well, it all started when…” You lay your head on his chest, gearing up to spill every detail of your origin story, only to be met with the sound of light snoring. You contemplate waking him up but decide he’s in need of some rest and, with Hoshi no doubt on his way to make you tell this same story all over again, you let yourself drift off with him, figuring you do too if you plan to survive that.

#woozi x reader #woozi x you #woozi fluff #woozi angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #seventeen fluff #svt x reader #svt x you #svt fluff

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