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darlingsfandom · 1 month

Note

Could i please ask for a Tommy request where your his new assistant you’ve both been flirting and teasing each other with occasionally bumping into each other slight touch of hands until one day tommy decides to step over the line and fucks you in his office claiming you his.

Understand that you’r super busy and if this is something you can’t write I understand you can change anything.

You got it friend ✨

TW: swearing, cream pie, p in v unprotected, slight breeding kink if you squint !

Not proof read- also finished writing this at 2am!

It’s been over six months in the Shelby household. Six months of doing laundry, making breakfast, lunch, dinner and every Friday a nice dessert followed by doing the dishes, cleaning the rooms and making the beds. They do pay a pretty penny and since you’ve come so far for the position they turned a spare room into your bedroom , of course it was on the first floor by the kitchen but that was better than walking all the way home to turn around and return only a few hours later.

Every day you followed the same schedule of getting up, getting ready, made their breakfast , cleaned up then had your own breakfast before re cleaning the kitchen, did the laundry, dusted, took out the garbage , tidied up the rooms and made the beds (Polly made her own! She’s picky about it) after that you’d make a simple lunch and take it to whatever room the family members were in. You enjoyed it.

“Good afternoon Mr.Shelby.” You spoke softly walking into his office. Tommy was looking over some paperwork as you dropped off his lunch.

“Smells delicious as always.” He gave you a quick smile which made your heart flutter.

“Thank you Mr.Shelby, I’ll be back for your dishes in a little bit.” You nodded and made your way out of the room making sure to hide your blush as best as possible. It was no secret that you found him attractive , but you’re not the only one who has eyes for him. You’ve seen your fair share of the women who strolled in and out , but lately there’s been less and less. Usually he’d bring home two girls a night , every night! But it’s actually been about two weeks since you’ve seen him being anyone home.

You stood in the kitchen looking out the window watching the rain pour while the dishes sat on the rack air drying. It wasn’t usual for you to have some down time and the family didn’t mind since you did a good job.

“Anything interesting out there?” His voice made you jump a little before you turned to see him holding his dirty dishes.

“Oh Mr.Shelby, you didn’t have to bring those out here , I was coming to get those shortly.” You took the tray from his hands. His finger tips brushed over yours gently and that wasn’t new. Lately Tommy has been finding ways to touch you in soft ways for example he’d touch your waist when squeezing past you in the hall, how his fingers would touch your hand when handing you something, his eyes would linger on you when you’d bend to set his stuff down or when you’d bend over to grab something from under the sink, no wonder he’d stop bringing random women home.

“It’s the least I could do, gettin’ a bit borin readin’ paper work all day.” He smiled at you as you walked over to the sink .

“I suppose that could be borin’” you washed up the dishes as he stood there watching you carefully before stepping towards you and boxing you in against the sink. His hands rested on your hips making your skin crawl in a good way before his chin rested on your shoulder. “Mr.Shelby, are you feeling okay? Do I need to get you some medicine ?” You turned a little but he stopped you .

“I’m not sick darlin. Just need someone to hold. It’s been a minute…” His hands ran up your sides before pulling you away from the sink as you set the last dish on the rack. “Come with me.” Tommy held onto your hand as the two of you walked back into his office. “Please sit.” He set you down on the couch by the window before making sure the door was locked. “You enjoy your job yeah?” He asked sitting down next to you.

“I do Mr.Shelby. Your family is very kind to me and pay well.” You nodded rubbing your hands over your thighs. His hand rested over yours before lacing his fingers with yours which made your eyes grow wide.

“Please darling, don’t be shy.” Tommy leaned in and kissed your cheek before moving along your jawline up to your lips where he brushed them slowly. Your lips pushed back into kiss your eyes fluttering closed as his hand moved up your thigh. Tommy kissed you harder as he adjusted you so that you were on his lap. Your hands rested against his chest.

“Mr. Shelby … this is wrong. I’m just your help.” Tommy placed his finger over your lips to which you wrapped them around his finger while looking in his eyes.

“You’re not my help sweetheart, you’re simply mine.” His eyes darkened with each word while his tone shifted making you clench around nothing.

“I’m sorry , I don’t understand …” you tilted your head in confusion before you felt his teeth sinking into the side of your neck. Tommy sucked softly after biting making a small whimper leave your lips.

“It’s simple. What’s mine is MINE! And you darling are mine and I’ll make sure everyone knows it.” Tommy had pushed you back onto your feet before quickly lifting up your long skirt and bending you over his desk. He smirked at the wet patch on your panties as his fingers ran across the spot, his lips pressed into the side of your neck, your hands held tightly onto the desk with your head feeling fuzzy because there was no way it was happening. “You’re all mine.” He whispered against your skin as his fingers pulled your panties to the side so he could slide his fingers into slowly making you gasp.

“Mr.Shelby!” You looked over your shoulder to see the way he was biting his lip like a man being detained from his favorite meal.

“Please darling, call me Tommy.” His fingers twisted in and out of you at a pleasurable pace that you’ve tried to reach yourself. Tommy pulled his fingers out before licking them clean while fussing with his belt. The loud clank of the metal hitting the ground brought you back to reality.

“Tommy! We shouldn’t be doing this , you’re my boss.” His finger covered your lips to shush you again before he turned you to face you as his free hand ran over your stomach.

“I’m not your boss anymore… you’re simply mine and I can’t make it any clearer “ Tommy grabbed your hand and placed it on his chest while he lined the head of his cock up with your pussy and slowly pushed in making you scream , nose scrunching from the stretch of pain. “Unless I put a baby in ya.” Your eyes went huge in disbelief.

“Tommy!”

“Don’t worry darling , I won’t put a baby in you… yet.” He pushed himself all the way inside making your hands grip onto his shoulders. Tommy let you adjust. The way your heart was about to burst out of your chest scared you because there was no way this was happening! Thomas Shelby was fucking you on his desk, to be fair you’ve thought about it a million times in your own bed but you didn’t think it would actually happen.

The two of you stayed silent for what felt like ages. Tommy slowly started pumping in and out of you while looking into your eyes. Your hands ran over his chest before gripping the fabric of his shirt to pull him in deeper and smash your lips against his. You’re not sure what came over you but you wrapped your leg around his waist as he started to pick up the pace. Hearing his groans deep in your ear made you moan right into his ear as he held you tightly. His scent of tobacco and whisky intoxicated you along with how he switched it up by pulling your other leg up and angled himself deeper into you making you cry out.

“Oh Tommy! I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“I know darling , I know! I’ve wanted you too.” His words made you melt. Tommy looked into your eyes before kissing you hard , biting your lip as he pushed harder into you.

“What took you so long ?”

“Had to make sure you wanted me too. Do you know many girls see me just for the money?”

“You mean the whores?”

“Yes! They meant nothing, mindless sex.. this though… this feels real .” He stroked your cheek.

“Tommy, I love this soft side but could we have this talk after?” You pleaded before he looked down to see his cock glisten with your juices.

“Sorry darling, see you get me feeling so many things.” He chuckled before adjusting you on the desk and holding your legs up and wide open so he could drill harder into you.

“Fuck!” Your eyes closed shut as he took no mercy in holding back, letting all the tension ease out into you. The way you moaned below him with the cuteness on your face how pink you were, how your nose scrunched, the way your lips stayed parted, you were the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

“Darlin, I can’t last much longer.” Tommy was a panting mess above you. His face tightened as a loud groan escaped his throat. His thighs shook as the grip on your ankles tightened , his organs hit him hard , filling you up with his cum Tommy looked down at you to see that look in your eye. He knew your own orgasm was on the edge so he used his thumb to reach down and rub your clit with slight pressure at an alarming pace. The coil in your stomach snapped making your back arch as you cried out for him digging your nails into his desk.

“Shhh, I got you.” Tommy pulled you up and wrapped his arms around you to keep you close. He kissed the top of your head while you panted in his arms. The two of you stayed in each others arms comforting each other until his office door came flying in.

“Thomas … have you..! Oh!” John covered his eyes with a smirk on his lips.

“Oh be a man John, it’s not like you haven’t fucked a girl before.” Tommy rolled his eyes before brushing the hair from your face.

“Of course I’ve fucked a girl, just never our staff.”

“Well from now on, Y/N is not our staff ! She’s my love.” Tommy kissed your cheek.

“Yeah yeah that’s great and all but for the love of god can ya get dressed , we have a meeting.” John waved his hand before stepping out of the room. Tommy shook his head before slowly pulling out of you. You could feel some of his cum drip out of you before he fixed your panties. Tommy tucked himself away before pulling you back by your hips.

“Move into my room tonight.” He rubbed your hips gently.

“Yes, Mr.Shelby.” You gave him a wink before he gave a little pat on the ass as you made your way out of his office and down the hall to your new way of life.

#thomas shelby x you #thomas shelby blurb #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x fem!reader #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby drabble #cillian murphy #peaky blinders blurb #thomas shelby peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #emsblurbs

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slutforln4 · 1 year

Text

libertine — joel miller.

synopsis. you've been having sexual fantasies about the substitute professor at your college. when the opportunity to get a better mark on a shitty essay you wrote arises, you take it. quite literally take it.

pairing. professor!joel x student!reader/fem!reader

warnings. smut, a smidge of fluff at the end, masturbation in a public bathroom, joel's got a southern accent that i tried to make obvious in the fic (if it's crappy, 'm sorry), oral (m receiving), unprotected piv, inexperienced and virgin reader, age gap (reader is in their early 20s and joel's in his late 40s), dom/sub dynamics praise kink, dirty talk. idk what else there is...

goes without saying but this is 18+, MDNI. i'm not responsible for what typa media you consume, but beware for your own good.

word count. 2.6k

author's note. i haven't written smut before so here's my shot at the self-indulgent professor!joel hc that i have... hope you enjoy ❤️ part two in the makings if this does well!!

Classic literature didn't come easy to you, but fucking your professor did.

It started off as every normal day at college did— you flow through your entire schedule, some free time here and there, during which you manage to take a nap or catch up on missing assignments, and at the end of almost every day, you were met with the class you hated, but also loved, the most… Classic literature.

The class itself is fairly easy. All you had to do was read some novels, write essays based on topics from said novels and also write a thorough analysis of it. Easy stuff. But you struggled with the essay writing, it just wasn't your thing.

However, you can't say that you didn't enjoy the class. The most interesting part of it being that substitute professor, Mr. Miller, that just transferred in. Him and that Texan accent of his, those deep, brown eyes, that salt-and-pepper hair trailing down his jaw, those luscious thighs and whatever's hiding behind the zipper of his jeans… You can't stop thinking about it.

It’s been occupying your mind for however long he's been working at your college, and you can't help but have those thoughts when it comes to him. From the way he looks, down to the way he talks about love, he’s attractive inside and out. The way he talks about women, though, was the thing that caught your attention the most. He speaks so highly of them that it almost seems like he worships them, which makes you want to fuck him all the more.

The day you decided to put your mind to rest and have your body do the work, Mr. Miller had put up another assignment.

You dreadfully open up your email at the beginning of class, and groan when the body of it reads “Essay about the importance of expressing love in current youth based on your analysis of Romeo and Juliet due next week Thursday, midnight.”

Turning off your phone, you assert your attention back to your professor. He stood there, in his suit and all, looking more delicious than ever as he reminded your class to check their emails. The stern tone in his voice made your insides flutter, and the way he held onto his waist… God, you can't help but rub your thighs together to hide the throbbing between your legs, already feeling the wetness in your panties.

“Alright, pull out ya laptops and open up that website I told y’all about,” Mr. Miller says, and you’re the first one to obey his order. He gives you a look and when your eyes lock with his, he smiles at you. “As I already mentioned in the emails, we’ll be readin’ and analysin’ Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.”

The more he spoke, the less you could pay attention. Your eyes travelled all over his face, his chest, down to his crotch. Even without a hard-on, there was an imprint in his dress pants. Mr. Miller was the type to speak with his hands, resulting in you ogling at the way his fingers move in the air.

Mr. Miller begins talking about how love is portrayed in the tragedy, his tone changing with each point he makes. You stare at his lips, silently wishing they were on your body, somewhere. Anywhere would be fine as long as all his attention was on you. On all the parts that long for his touch.

You try your best to focus on what he’s saying, writing down what you need to remember. Your thighs are clenching together again when Mr.Miller scratches the back of his head, his bicep visible through the sleeve of his jacket. That’s about as much as you can take.

You hesitantly get up from your seat, mumbling a quiet “excuse me” as you walk out through the doors. It must've looked weird, since you ran out the door in such a rush, but you didn't care. Your main concern was finding a bathroom before all the thoughts about your professor fucking you into oblivion could make you cum on the spot.

You hurry past all the staff that are scattered across the halls and barge into the women’s bathroom. It's quiet and you’re sure you're alone, but you still check. “Hello?” No response. You hurry yourself into a stall and lock the door.

You don't even lift the toilet seat when you sit down on it, your skirt and panties on the floor. You spread your legs and put your fingers into a V shape, spreading your lips open. Using your other hand, you gather some of the arousal that’s been leaking out of you for the past twenty minutes and use it to coat your clit as your finger slowly rubs circles on it.

"That’s it,” you can almost hear Mr. Miller talking in your ear. “That’s my girl.”

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, feeling yourself getting more horny with the flood of thoughts that won't stop. Your finger rubs circles on your clit, increasing the pressure from time to time. Subconsciously, your hand unbuttons the shirt you’re wearing to reveal your bare chest and begins twirling your hard nipple. You imagine it's his hands, that he’s the one pleasuring you. Your finger’s now working at a pace you can't keep up with, quietly moaning out your professors last name when you use the hand that was rubbing your clit to finger yourself.

One finger in and you’re already gasping at the image on the back of your eyelids. You’re imagining it's his fingers in you, his cock in his other hand as he jerks himself off. You put a second finger in and start thrusting it in and out, when the image changes to his hips clashing into yours as his dick hits spots your fingers could only dream of. Your hips jolt against your fingers at the image of his veiny cock so vividly throbbing in your imagination.

You bring your other hand down to your clit, rubbing the throbbing nub once again. “Fuck,” you whimper as you feel your climax nearing. Your fingers curl inside you, and you’re about to let go.

“Attagirl,” the voice in the back of your head says and that’s the last push for you to cum all over your own fingers, your juices leaking out onto the toilet seat. You continue rubbing your clit until your climax wears off.

When you’re back in the classroom, everyone's already left, only Mr. Miller’s sat at his desk, typing away. His eyes look up at you when you enter through the door. “Oh, hey. I kept your stuff safe, since ya left in such a rush.” A comforting smile decorates his face. He’s so considerate it makes your clit throb again.

“Uh, thank you, sir.” You mumble shyly, packing your stuff into your bag and getting ready to leave. Mr. Miller’s eyes are on you when you turn back towards him.

He clears his throat. “I also wanted to speak to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Alright, what is it?”

“Listen, sweetheart. Y’know the last essay I assigned you to write?” He asks, eyebrows raised in question. You bite your bottom lip as you think back on what the last assignment was. When you remember, you nod. “Alright, well… You didn't do too good on it.”

“I know,” you laugh awkwardly, trying to hide the shame you feel. “It wasn't my finest work.”

“Yeah.” He laughs with you in an attempt to ease the situation. “But, uh. You can rewrite it and I’ll raise your mark. Whaddya say?”

You think it over for a moment, before shaking your head. “I think I could…” You’re not sure where this confidence is coming from, but you’re suddenly approaching him. “Get my mark up another way…” Your eyes glance down at his crotch and you bite your lip. When Mr. Miller realises what you’re insinuating, he shakes his head, but his eyes say different.

“Honey, it goes against teacher-student policy, you know that.” He reminds you, but you’re already on your knees in front of him and under his desk, batting your long eyelashes at him to get your way. His bulge grows right in front of your face and you don't think anymore, you just do. Your fingers are unclasping his belt, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. “Sweetheart-” he gets cut off by his dick springing up after you pull his boxers down, precum already leaking out of it. “Fuck.”

You look at him, not sure of what to do. You’ve never sucked a dick before, and the one in front of you would surely end up somehow fucking up your throat. You contemplate just sitting down on it, riding it like you did to your pillow when you woke up from a wet dream about him. That is, until he speaks. “You gonna stare at it or suck it like you wanted to?”

The tone in his voice changed from formal and sweet to deep and dominant, and you’re wet again from just the sound of it. “I’ve never, uh… done this before.”

Mr. Miller nods his head towards you. “Put your lips on the tip,” you do as told, your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock. “Just like that,” he says, his voice wavering. “Now put it in your mouth,” you hesitate to do so, instead wrapping your fingers around the base of his large cock. “Don't be shy, you want your mark up, don't ya?”

You nod, slowly opening your mouth to put more of his cock in. When it hits the back of your throat, you gag a bit. “Breathe through your nose, babygirl.” You do as told and the gagging goes away. “Now, slowly bob your head up and down. Yeah, just- just like that, fuck.” You're bobbing your head up and down on his dick, your fingers working at the base of it. His hips buckle and his dick thrusts deeper in your throat. A moan rumbles in your throat and vibrates on Mr. Miller’s dick, and he has to refrain himself from shoving his whole dick down your throat.

“Fuck, just like that,” he moans. “Good girl.” The praise makes you that much more wet, and you moan against his dick again.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Mr. Miller sits up, looking at whoever entered his classroom. Your mouth doesn't leave his cock, you simply thrust it in your mouth harder, using your tongue to caress his shaft. “Good evening,” he greets the janitor who came in to clean the classroom. “I, uh, I still got some,” Mr. Miller balls his fingers into a fist as he holds back a moan, trying his best to focus on the conversation with your mouth still sucking him off. “I’m still workin’, gimme thirty more minutes.”

The door closes behind the janitor and Mr. Miller leans back against his chair, his eyes half-lidded and looking down at you. He feels his orgasm nearing when you begin pumping the base of his cock again, along with thrusting his dick into your mouth. “I’ll be cummin’ in your mouth if you don't pull away right now, sweetheart.”

Your mouth leaves his cock, but your fingers still jerk him off. A deep moan leaves his lips as a string of hot cum shoots out in loads onto your clothed chest and neck. You’re still pumping his dick when he motions for you to get up. You stand up from under his desk and he’s immediately pulling you closer to himself. You're sat on his lap, dick still hard and rubbing on your belly as his lips connect with yours. He can still taste himself in your mouth and he smirks at that.

His hands are on your knees, but with each kiss, they inch closer and closer to where you need him the most. When he reaches the wet spot on your panties, he grins against your mouth. “So ready for me, hm?”

You nod, whimpering at the soft contact of his finger to your clothed clit. “Yes, Mr. Miller, please-”

“Call me Joel,” he mumbles as his fingers wrap around the waistband of your panties and tug them off of you. He slowly grabs you by the waist and aligns his cock with your dripping cunt.

“Wait-” you pause kissing him when you feel the tip brushing up against your folds. “I haven't- Y’know…”

Joel smirks. “You a virgin, baby?” You nod, slowly. “I’ll take care of ya, I promise.” You feel his finger rub over your hole, gathering some of your slick to rub it on his dick.

His hands slowly lower your waist down, his cock slipping past your folds with ease and you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up. It’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. He’s so big that it feels like you’re being split open. “You okay?” He asks you with a kiss to your collarbone. You nod, your bottom lip between your teeth and hands tightly gripping onto his shoulders. “Good, ‘cause this ain't all of it yet,” he says, voice low and taunting, before lowering you all the way down. You whimper as you feel his cock brush against your cervix.

“Fuck,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his lips as you adjust to the size of him. Joel just holds you there, not moving you until you’re ready. His fingers find your throbbing clit and start rubbing it, your lips still connected. “Mmh,” you moan, your hips jolting towards his fingers and moving his dick deeper inside of you.

You begin pushing yourself up and slipping back down, a string of moans leaving your lips. “Attagirl.”

You’re riding his cock, feeling each and every inch of him filling up your insides. You can feel every throb of his veins pulsing inside of you and you catch all his moans with your lips. His hands are gripping your hips, pulling you down with more force. The classroom is filled with sounds of skin clashing on skin. You’re moaning and whimpering, his cock threatening to tip you over the edge. “I’m… I-” you can't even speak.

“You what, baby?” He asks, his thumbs digging into your hips with the intensity of your thrusts. “You gonna cum for me? You gon’ be a good girl and cum all on my dick?” You can't manage to speak so you nod, tears spilling from your eyes as you feel your climax approaching.

He’s thrusting up at you, now, his climax approaching him again. You're a moaning and whimpering mess, begging him to make you cum with the broken words you’re mumbling. “Ple- Please… Fu-uck, Joel…”

“Let go for me,” he coaxes, his lips right by your ear. “I got you, pretty girl.”

With a loud moan, you’re cumming all over his dick and you feel his hot liquid fill up your insides with a couple more thrusts of his hips. Joel kisses you again. Like a starving man that hasn't eaten for days on end. He kisses you with passion, with more than just lust behind those eyes.

When you both pull away, he makes sure to clean you up. “You were so good for me, sweetheart.” He praises. “So good.”

You’re not sure what to say, so you just kiss him again. And again. And one more time. Until he’s kissing on your neck again, but he inevitably stops and leans into your ear. “I gotta get to work, baby.”

“Okay,” you say with a sigh. “Thanks for helping me with the essay,” your lips pull into a small smirk as you open the door to his classroom.

“All thanks to you.” He returns the same smile. “Couldn’t have finished it without you.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “You’re so unfunny,” and close the door behind yourself.

#joel miller #the last of us #pedro is daddy #joel x reader #pedro pascal #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #professor!joel #student!reader #pedro pascal fic #joel miller x you #praise

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thegratefulsouth · 6 months

Text

If we were only friends, would it'a

hit me in this moment, quite so much, your flesh easin' in mine, your shadow o'cloth barely distractin' us. Takin' turns to roll the same damn near breath in an instant. Got swept up by some mist that doesn't exist, except between us. We were close, so close, our hearts alignin' an' I'd a'never known it was too much for me then, if we were only friends, if my hands hadn'ta stopped working like my breath in that moment. And we both know, back then, I ain't had the sense in women enough to think for a second 'bout what I could be startin'.

So when you smiled that way, your little tease and said those things, I was already flakin' an' backtrailin', thinkin' mistakes were ahead a'me. 'Cause I didn't want you to see that in me. 'Cause I'd never felt quite that way an' I couldn't understand it for the life o'me. S'why I was so quick to protest, believed you were jokin' when you said what you said. And why I put up that wall and we laughed and my knees quaked with intensity.

If we were only friends, you wouldn'a

leaned that way against my cell for me, when I came back. I feel that now, seen it time and again, others couplin' up around us, that way they move in the beginnin', like you did. Still, I could be imaginin', was just a sliver of a momen'. Was oblivious then, why you did it. Just saw it. You pushin' yourself, your ... yourself forward, like that, for me. It's the only indication, unspoken, of a spark you wanted somethin' more, that I've ever seen.

Noticed it though, locked it away with the good memories. Why else would I 'ave

driven myself into you? That same way you arched to me, like I'd wanted to, for so damn long, to find some chance to meet you like that, in that way. If we were only soulmates without any other needs?

And we were so damn close to startin' somethin', 'fore you were sent away. All this time and events but still, we never got back what never was, and shoulda been. Was never the same with us for such a long time, tryin' a find you again

and you me

with things happenin' the way they did, you runnin', an' me railin' against the wind, tryin' to square up wrongdoin's.

And when that stopped for awhile, I'd lost almost everythin'. Would I 'ave even gone away if what you did hadn't hurt? Not your fault, you was just livin'.

But if what we had was enough, nothin' more'an solidarity? Would I a'stayed away so long? 'Cause that hurt, too, to see you bein' another you, see you finally bein' all the things you needed to, havin' things I couldn't give you, 'cause I didn't know how to.

Would you 'ave tried so hard to push me away, set me up, settle me down with someone who didn't carry the baggage we had, who didn't doubt themselves and every scratch o'hope we'd gathered in the before times, that still haunt the sleepless hours.

And if we were only friends, would I 'ave tried so damn hard everyday to change an' grow for you, show you the man of honour you said you wanted

'til you threw it back at me. 'Cause y'know that's all I want to be, what I want you to see in me. I need you with me. Wish I could make you feel what I feel.

If we were only friends would I 'ave taken every chance I could, to look at you, drink you in, let each stroke and pulse, and touch, each heartbeat win. Just give in

no matter who else was noticin'. So I could live.

All this best friend shit, will I ever admit to you, what I, in waves tell others in every other second word, with my eyes, with my silence an' my breath, while I scream inside, and threaten and hide from you?

What I wouldn't do, and believe me I would, I will, if somethin' ever happens. Same as you'd do.

This ain't platonic Carol, ain't no cheap romance neither from the dollar bin, not like them ones you been readin'.

It's fuckin' special what we have, and I want more.

And I'll love you with my dyin' breath, and after, the way Rick said, as walkin' dead, even though we ain't them, not yet, not close. There's more. Will always be more.

We'll always be more than that.

TGS

Companion piece from Carol's perspective

Still images AMC and #1 unknown, #3 businessinsider.com, #4 riveralwaysknew

#caryl positivity #caryl #caryl is endgame #this needs 10 more gifs #maybe i can add them in the comments #they are best friends though #and soulmates #but they want what they want

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twola · 1 year

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if you're still open to requests, HH!Arthur forced to endure the classic "only one bed" trope with a petite, bookish F!reader? still an outlaw but much more suited for infiltration than shootouts and analyzing difficult paperwork. maybe spectacles even, go wild with the idea!! love your other works ❤️

Accounting and Other Arts

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You're not one for gunshots or drunken brawling, as Arthur learns one night in Saint Denis.

Saint Denis reeks. The whole damned city. It either smells of horse shit and rotting garbage or of obnoxiously over-perfumed rich men and women traipsing about thinking that they are above the common folk.

The mare beneath him grunts as the dirt road turns to cobblestone, a high whinny as her hooves clack on the road. Arthur clicks his tongue to calm her down. Upon reaching an alleyway to the west of the market, he slides down from the saddle, grabbing his horse’s reins and tying them to a wrought-iron hitching post. He pats her mane gently as he eyes the alleyway. Stepping toward it, he strides past men and women heading to market, finding a quiet, shadowed spot and leaning against the brick wall of the alley.

“You’re late.”

Arthur snorts, pulling a cigarette from his satchel, and strikes a match against the arched brickwork in the alley. Lighting it, he eyes you from under the rim of his black hat.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you glare from the golden rims of your spectacles at him. Clad in a dark velvet vest over a maroon blouse, your matching skirt swishes as you stalk angrily in his direction.

“My apologies, ma’am.”

You scowl as you approach, looking up the alley past where Arthur leans against the wall.

“Y’get what you need?” He rumbles as he takes the cigarette from his lips, letting a plume of smoke float into the air.

You nod, pulling off your spectacles and tucking them into the breast pocket of your vest. “Tomorrow morning - the money’s going to be moved from the poker room back to one of Bronte’s safehouses. Be there a half hour before a half hour before six. Only supposed to be two men there.”

Arthur takes the cigarette from his lips and blows smoke to the side. “How much is the take?”

“If my calculations are correct, twenty-three hundred dollars.” You reply, straightening your skirts as you lean back against the brick wall in the alleyway.

Arthur drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot.

A strand of hair escapes from your tightly pulled bun, and you huff as you tuck it behind your ear. You’ve been told the hairstyle makes you look severe, you’d take it. In this world of guns and robbery and stealing you live in, you feel the need to do anything to make yourself look serious.

Guns weren’t your weapons. Numbers were. You ran scams and cheated men out of money. You assisted Strauss in his loansharking.

“Where y’been stayin' here in town?” Arthur asks, his hands gravitating to his gun belt.

“Shitty little place off the docks. Not much, but at least we can rest there until you have to go out in the morning.”

He nods, holding out his arm down the alley, “Lead the way.”

A hot, heavy, night has fallen in South Lemoyne - stifling in its haziness and the heaviness in the air. You’ve stripped down to a chemise and your bloomers as you climb into the old bed, the darkness outside staved off by a solitary oil lamp on the bed.

Arthur’s boots scuff the dingy floor of the room you’ve been renting, the sound of him dragging the rickety old chair next to the small fireplace grates in your ears as you try to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

Instead, you reach for the book that you’ve been reading from the bedside table, cracking it open as Arthur mercifully quiets down, pulling his hat from his head and placing it on the mantle as he sits down.

“Whatchu' readin’?” Arthur asks from across the room, pulling his boots off and tossing them near the door.

You look up at him over the rims of your spectacles, “I’m sure nothing you’d be interested in.”

He snorts, pulling his hat off his head and placing it on the table next to the fireplace.

“The Wealth of Nations.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raise, “That certainly ain’t one of Mary Beth’s pillow books.”

You shut the book and frown. “No. It ain’t.”

Arthur stares into the unused fireplace, rolling his shoulders.

“Get into the bed, Arthur. You’re the one who's gotta get up in the morning.” You eye him over those gold rims again, scolding in your tone.

“Ain’t terribly proper,” Arthur mutters under his breath.

“We’re both adults. And it ain’t like I take up much room. Just shut up and lay down.” You pull the spectacles off of the bridge of your nose and fold them up, leaning over to place them on the bedside table.

You unwind the tight bun you have your hair pulled into - your tresses falling in curls down your back, and completely miss the dumbfounded look he gives. As you shake out your hair, you shake out the severe look about you, your spectacles gone for the night.

It’s then, under the dim oil lamps of the saloon’s room, that he discovers that you’re beautiful.

The moment passes quickly as you begin to look up at him, and his eyes dart away as not to be caught staring.

“Get in bed.” You command, looking at him for a second longer before turning over in bed and reaching for the lamp. You don't wait for him to make up his mind, plunging the room into darkness when you turn off the light.

After what seems like an eternity, the mattress sinks down on the other side of the bed.

You awaken far before dawn, a shout from outside jolting you from your sleep. Thinking it’s a fluke, you close your eyes again only for them to snap open as shouting continues again.

A crash fully awakens you, and you begin to lean up on your elbow, looking toward the window a few steps away. A large hand finds purchase on your belly as your entire frame is pulled backward in the bed.

“Shh,” Arthur whispers, curling himself over you as he listens to the shouting outside. Glass breaks. Threats made. The sounds of a fight echo through the street, but now all you can think about is the fact that you’re tucked into Arthur’s body as he listens to the fight, ready to jump up and grab his revolver at a moment's notice.

Glass crashes again against the brick wall of the building you’re in, not terribly far from your window, and you turn inward from the noise. You may be a criminal, a fraudster, but you certainly aren’t one for violence. You don’t shoot and you don’t kill.

“ ‘S okay. I’ve got you.” Arthur mumbles, leaning over you to listen more intently to the scuffle outside. You bury yourself into his embrace, your face tucked into his neck as his hand pats your hair gently, ready to whip around and grab his revolver from the table if needed.

The fight in the alleyway dies down, fortunately, and as the agitated voices fade into the night, Arthur gently unwinds his arm from across your shoulders, his hand finding its way to settle atop your hip. Your fingers clutch at the worn fabric of his union suit atop his broad chest.

“Jus’ a drunken fight.” He whispers, patting your hip in a calming manner.

The men outside are the farthest thing from your mind at the moment. No, Arthur’s hand upon your hip and yours against his chest - that's all you think about. The rapid beating of your heart is all you can hear. This isn’t rational. It isn’t logical. But deep in your core, you burn. You’re driven by something completely different, animalistic, emotional, needy.

“Y’oka-” Arthur murmurs before you shove your mouth against his. It's only half a heartbeat before he’s kissing you back.

You throw your leg over his hip, and he takes a large hand full of your rear, pulling your hips against his. You are unable to hold back the moan from your throat as you feel his cock thickening against your lower belly.

For several moments, your bodies tessellate against each other until he yanks the hem of your chemise up to your belly.

“Christ,” he groans, and it’s just another moment before he rolls you underneath him.

“Y’ever done this?” He pants as he peels your bloomers down your legs, tossing them somewhere on the floor before his hand trails up between your thighs.

“No… but I have an idea-ah-!” Your sentence is cut off when you uncontrollably moan, a thick finger having immediately parted your folds and pressed against you.

Well, this feeling wasn’t something you had read about. You mewl into Arthur’s shoulder as his pointer finger moves back and forth between the seam of your body, pausing to circle the hooded nub that makes your toes curl.

Arthur sucks gently at your earlobe, his panting growing louder as his finger travels along your body, pausing for a moment once he’s reached the rim of your cunt, weeping slick as you want to die from the stimulation.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and he growls in your ear as he quickly draws back and sits up on his knees, unbuttoning his union suit with the ferocity of a caged beast. You’re barely able to catch your breath before watching him tear his arms out of the sleeves, bunching the fabric at his waist, and pushing it down, baring himself completely.

Certainly, sketches in anatomy books had nothing on the real thing. Sketches weren’t hewn from decades of labor and violence. Sketches weren't tapered waists and the outline of solid muscles under pale, scarred skin that told stories of robberies past. And sketches assuredly were not so well endowed.

He’s back on you in an instant before you can even react - slotting himself between your legs as his mouth attacks your neck, sure to leave a mark that will show in the morning.

Arthur’s large hand moves to once more cup your core, and your breath hitches.

He presses himself against your thigh and you shudder as you feel how hard he is, how big is - Christ, how the hell was that supposed to fit inside you?

His finger pushes inside and your mind goes blank. You cry out wantonly as Arthur’s finger curls within your core, and he quickly begins to pump within you. Your back arches uncontrollably as he adds a second finger, and thrusts his hips against your body.

“Fuck, fuck. Y’sure you want this?” Arthur pants against your ear, unable to stop his hips from rutting against you. His cock settles in the crease of your thigh and god, he’s so close to where you need him.

Christ, maybe you should have taken Mary Beth up on one of her dirty romance novels.

“Y-yes, Arthur please-”

He presses inside you and there aren’t words for the feeling. No vocabulary to adequately describe the stretch, the filling, the connection one has when that last bridge is crossed. Though sex is simply an action, a physical coming together of body parts - the emotions that want to burst forth from your chest - you want to envelop him the same way he envelops you.

“Y’okay there? C’n I move?” He whispers into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple.

Are you okay, are you okay? All you can respond back with is a needy gasp as you turn your head to the side to find his mouth, desperately shoving your tongue inside as if to mimic the fact that he’s buried inside of you.

As your tongue delves into his mouth, you wish the thoughts flying through your head could possibly come out, but with him between your legs, his weight pressing you down into the mattress, his flesh parting you deep, all you can do is moan.

So much more than okay. How do people stand being apart? How can they not bury themselves in each other all day, every day? I want… oh god, Arthur, please, please move.

Somehow, he understands. His elbows brace himself on either side of your head as his hips retract, in a glorious swell of movement, he presses back in.

You whine needily into the column of his throat as he grunts, finding a rhythm as your legs wrap around his waist. Arthur grinds your hips into the bed, your small frame engulfed by his large one, and each thrust seems to take you further and further away. Gasping, tensing, shuddering.

A desperate noise leaves your throat, and if you weren't so preoccupied with how the tip of his cock keeps hitting a spot inside you that makes you want to scream, you’d be mortified.

“Come for me.” He orders, voice sex-hoarse and demanding, and your body immediately complies.

Every muscle, every tendon, and fiber of your body clenches at once, and your cry is loud and needy into his shoulder. Tears burst forth from your eyes. He groans into your hair in response, his rhythm faltering, and it’s only a moment more before he wrenches himself from you, his cock smacking against your belly as he jets his hot spend across your pale skin and hiked up chemise.

Arthur pants, nearly out of breath, for a moment, before leaning his forehead against yours and taking your lips in a slow, languorous kiss.

Your fingers card through his hair and one of his hands finds its way to your face, palm warm against your cheek before he finally pulls back.

Arthur immediately frowns when he sees the tracks of drying tears. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling, “When can we do that again?”

He snorts in amusement, rolling off of you and onto his side, “Let me go get our money,” he kisses your forehead, “Then I’ll get us another day here.”

“Sounds amenable.”

“You and them fancy words.”

Your smartass retort is drowned out by his kiss.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #red dead fandom #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #voluptatem

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kaunis-sielu · 9 months

Text

Dangerous Places: 8

You don’t see Steve for almost a week. You meet several of the women, they seem nice enough and happy, but you’d seemed happy too.

Wanda had taken your grocery list and bought everything you’d needed, no hesitation. She was a soft woman, and the one you felt most comfortable around. You knew that Nat was reporting back to Steve on you. Those piercing green eyes of hers seemed to notice everything and it’s unnerving.

Your feet have healed well, the Doctor, a soft spoken man they call Hulk, had come by and checked in on you. He’d also offered to get you a system that would test your blood so you didn’t have to do your finger all the time, something that sounded more than a little appealing.

You’re a little surprised to see Steve enter after he knocks on the main door. You’ve got some music playing from an old radio you’d found and are reading a book. One that Carol had lent you.

“Hi Bunny.” He says putting a box on the counter. “Got you some sugar free cookies from a bakery I like.”

“Thank you.” You’re surprisingly touched by this.

“I hope they’re good.” He says dropping down into the arm chair with a heavy sigh. “How’s your week been?” When you level him with a look that pretty much screams really? “Right, sorry. Things have been interesting, hectic but I’m getting closer to destroying Hydra.”

“Good.”

“Good?” He seems surprised, “there’s no one there you were friends with?”

“No. Friends don’t help a monster keep you prisoner.”

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“No.” You tell him with a racing heart. Last time you’d said no to Brock he’d beaten you so badly you couldn’t sit comfortably for days.

“Okay, will you at least think about it?” He asks and you nod, you’ll think about it. “Thanks Bunny.”

“You can use my real name if you want.” You offer, not looking up from your book.

“I know.” You glance over at him and see a little smile on his face, “what are you reading?”

“Something from Carol.”

“Ah, sexy book then.” He says and your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

“Wh-what?”

“Sexy book. Carol makes us all read them, is that the one about the baker and the doctor?”

“Um, yes.” You know he can see the embarrassment on your face.

“Nice. Some things in that one I’ve wanted to try for a while. Let me know if you’re interested.” He flirts but you can’t even look at him. He turns on the tv and you continue to read for a while, you’re reading a more, spicy, part when he hums and you look up at him.

“You’re at the part in the kitchen aren’t you?”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“The look on your face, and how far along you are in the book. I just read that one.” You snap the book shut, keeping one finger in between the pages so you don’t lose your spot. “Aw, come on Bunny. Keep readin’ for me.”

“No more comments.” You tell him attempting to make it sound like a question while it’s really a request.

“Alright, but I’m watchin’ still.” You sigh heavily but don’t argue, you open the book again and start reading.

The scene is hot. There’s no arguing that, and annoyingly now you can’t get the vision of Steve as the male character out of your head.

He lets you read in peace for a half an hour before he says, “what should we do for dinner?”

“I was going to do leftovers.”

“Ah, what if I cook for you?” You bite your lower lip and look down into your lap,

“I have so many leftovers, I don’t want anything to go bad.” You close your eyes waiting for the anger.

“Good girl Bunny.” He practically purrs and butterflies dance in your stomach. “I love when you set boundaries with me. Do you mind if I just find something?”

“That’s fine.”

“Thanks. Hulk said he was going to get you set up with some other stuff for your diabetes. Has he done that yet?” He asks as he makes his way to the fridge.

“No, I think he ordered it.”

“Good, anything else you want to do?”

“Leave.”

“Bunny.” He warns lowly and you glare at your book.

“The brand.” You say after a few more minutes of silence.

“Hmm?” He hums from where he’s looking into the fridge,

“I’d like my brand removed.”

“Did you talk to Bruce about it?”

“Who?”

“Oh, right Hulk.”

“Um, no. I don’t even know if it’s possible.”

“We can ask him, I can’t imagine it’s going to be pleasant.”

“I think that’s why he does it. Brock’s a monster. He likes inflicting pain on other people then,” you take a deep shaky breath, “he blames you for your pain.” You whisper and you hear Steve moving quickly.

“I’ll be right back Bunny.” He says through clenched teeth. The door slams shut and after a few seconds you hear the sound of something shattering. When he comes back into the house, his body is tight like he’s angry. He stalks over to you but freezes when he sees how you curl in on yourself.

“I’m coming over there Bunny. I’m not mad at you, you need to know that okay?” You nod and he comes over and crouches in front of you on the floor. “I need to know the things he did to you. I need to know so I can punish him when I destroy Hydra and I need to know so I can help you heal.” He says softly, “I am furious with how you were treated. It’s unacceptable.”

“It’s hard to talk about.” You whisper as tears fill your eyes.

“Maybe I could bring in a therapist for you?”

“You’d do that?”

“Yea Bunny. You’re mine to protect and that means from everything, past trauma included.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know. When I figure it out I’ll let you know.”

Tag list:

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#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers au #mob boss au #mobster!steve rogers #mob boss!steve rogers #mobster Steve rogers x reader #captian america x reader #captain america au #dangerous story

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princessimotep · 2 months

Text

Tienes Mi Corazón - Chapter 7

~*~ 18+ content. Minors do not interact. Longest chapter so far. Buckle up ~*~

God rays descended upon the land of Lemoyne. The evening sun beginning to set. Sky was golden across the lake, ripples of the light’s touch floating away to the horizon. It was as though the area had been blessed by the heavens. A truly angelic scene before the souls in camp. Mary-Beth stood on the shoreline with Miriam; the two women just enjoying the view.

“Ain’t it beautiful?” Mary-Beth said, sighing dreamily. “It’s just like that book you’ve been readin’. You know. Before they go save the girl?” Miriam sighed too in contentment.

“Yeah. I love that part.” Mary-Beth gave Miriam a coy smile.

“Well at least one of us already has a knight willing to rescue you at any given moment.” Miriam blinked at Mary-Beth.

“How do you mean?” The freckled woman elbowed Miriam.

“You know… Javier…” Mary-Beth teased.

“Shhh!” Miriam loudly proclaimed, looking around to make sure no one had heard her.

“Oh, c’mon now! I can see through y’all so clearly.” Mary-Beth widely grinned, loving the idea of gossiping with her close friend. “You can tell me, Miriam. I won’t tell a soul.” Miriam looked away, staying silent. Mary-Beth begged. “C’mon!” She grabbed onto Miriam’s hands, hunching over to whisper. “From one hopeless romantic to another. Do ya like him?”

“I…” Avoiding Mary-Beth’s eyes, Miriam looked to the water debating whether it was a good idea to let down her walls. However, when she looked back at her friend, seeing how gleeful she looked, Miriam couldn’t help but place her trust in her. “Yes.” Mary-Beth squealed in a high-pitched tone that would surely alert anyone nearby. “Shhh!” But the bubbly woman couldn’t help but feel giddy happiness for her friend. Mary-Beth’s hands squeezed Miriam’s tighter.

“Does he know?” Miriam’s eyes widened in shock. She shook her head almost violently.

“Of course not!” Mary-Beth then had a revelation come to her.

“You have to tell him!”

“No.” Miriam immediately shut it down, pulling away from her friend’s hands. Keeping her head down, she walked further along the shore.

“Oh c’mon, Miriam! You have to.” Suddenly another voice joined the women’s conversation.

“She don’t have to tell anyone, shit.” It was Sadie. The blonde woman had a hand on her hip, her cowboy hat blocking the sun from hitting her eyes. She had a new look to her. A new attitude. Her heart had time to heal. She wasn’t going to let anybody walk all over her, or Miriam for that matter. “Not if she don’t want to.” Sadie looked to Miriam who clearly looked uncomfortable. “What’s this about?”

“Miriam likes Javier!” Mary-Beth whispered loudly, squeaking this time.

“Mary-Beth!” Miriam scolded, looking at her young friend in disbelief. So much for not telling a soul.

“It’s only Sadie! If anyone is gonna knock some sense into you, it would be her! I won’t tell anyone else I promise.” Miriam sighed, feeling so incredibly bashful all of a sudden. She had her arms crossed over her chest, one hand rubbing over her eyebrows.

“I know, Mary-Beth… I just…” Sadie looked at the newcomer with sombre eyes.

“-you don’t know how to tell him.” Sadie finished for her. Miriam’s eyes saddened, nodding. The chestnut-haired woman knew that Sadie had a double meaning to her sentence; and she was right. It wouldn’t be just a confession of feelings, but a confession of her past. Mary-Beth looked concerned at the both of them, not expecting the mood to go so blue. “Mary-Beth, could you please give us a moment alone?” The girl nodded, understanding that Sadie knew things that she didn’t.

“Well alright then.”

“And don’t go telling anybody, ya hear?” Sadie threw over her shoulder as Mary-Beth walked away.

“I won’t. Just… knock some sense into her, okay? Love is a beautiful thing, ya know?”

“Yeah… I know.” A mournful expression spread across Sadie’s features. Oh, how she missed her Jakey. He was a good man. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Sadie exhaled and toughened herself up. “So, you like the guy, huh?” Miriam nodded gently. “Then tell him ya like him. That part is easy.”

“How is that easy?!” Miriam uttered which caused Sadie to put her hand up.

“I ain’t finished.” The widow took a couple steps towards her friend to properly look her in the eye. Sadie had a serious look in her eye, her eyebrows furrowed together to brace Miriam for what she was about to say next. “But telling him that ya love him is different.” Miriam’s ears and cheeks grew warm. She smiled, scoffing delicately at Sadie’s words.

“Who said I love him?” Sadie rolled her eyes.

“I can see it in your eyes, ya fool.” Her words stung. “It’s…” Sadie lowered her head. “It’s how I used to look at my Jakey…” Miriam’s heart squeezed for the woman, total admiration for how strong she was. Gritting her teeth, she looked back to Miriam. “Look. Tell him ya like him. Sure. Tell him ya wanna bed him for all I care. But-” Sadie placed her hand on Miriam’s upper arm. “If you ever want to tell him ya love him… you need to tell him the truth. About who you are, where you came from…” Sadie frowned but with a soft look in her eye. “And what you’re running from.” Tears prickled Miriam’s eyes, threatening to spill.

“But I can’t, Sadie.”

“Yes. Yes. You. Can.” Both her hands were now on Miriam’s arms. “You’re a strong woman. If he’s even half the man you think he is, he’ll understand. He’ll accept you. He’ll forgive you.” A couple tears fell down Miriam’s cheek.

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then he ain’t the right one, honey.” Sadie let go of Miriam’s arms, allowing the young lady to wrap her arms back round herself and sob quietly. Sadie gave a weak smile. “But hey- that’s if you ever want to tell him. You might fancy yourself a nun and be done with men!” Miriam choked out a laugh amidst her sobbing. Sadie allowed there to be a moment of silence. “Just… just know, Miriam, that love comes with the bad stuff as well as the good. You can only love someone for who they really are. If you ever expect Javier to return your feelings… ya need to be honest with him. Otherwise, the whole thing is just a lie. A sweet dream.” Sadie turned around but looked over her shoulder one last time at her friend. “And all dreams come to an end eventually.” Then Sadie was gone.

Miriam looked up to the sky, seeing the cobalt colours begin to pierce through the golden veil of the sunset. Light turning into night. She placed a hand on her cheek, rubbing away her tears. She was so afraid. Of course, Sadie didn’t fully understand what Miriam had done in her past, but what if Javier couldn’t accept her for what she did? For who she really was? ‘Then he ain’t the right one, honey.’ Sadie’s voice echoed in her mind. Miriam wanted to believe with all her heart that Javier was a good man deep down. That perhaps he was the one. Needing to avert her mind, the young woman walked back into camp and towards her tent. Kneeling inside she opened her chest of belongings and reached for a piece of paper that was inside an envelope at the bottom. Pulling it out, her fingertips traced over the ink. It was for Mr & Mrs Voltare, addressed to a location near Annesburg. Her parents. Gripping it tightly in her hands, she looked around for her satchel and slipped it inside. She had to post it that evening before any more trouble could ensue.

Miriam left her tent after putting on her dress coat to wrap up warm for the night ahead. Her eyes scanned the camp looking for Javier’s location. She spotted him sat at the table, carving little marks into the wood with his knife. Bill had just bothered him previously which caused the Mexican to have a scornful look on his face. It looked as though he wanted to be left alone. But Miriam was desperate for his help. She didn’t feel confident taking a horse out on her own yet and with the darkness soon beginning to taint the skies, she would feel safer with Javier being with her. Slowly she approached the man head on, not wanting to startle him especially when he had a sharp blade in his hands.

“Javier…” She carefully called out. His eyes lifted from the oak table and they came to life upon seeing her.

“Ah, mi amor. Come for some more Spanish lessons?” She shook her head with a smile.

“No… I came to ask for a favour.”

“¿Qué es?” (“What is it?”) Figuring he was most likely asking her what she needed, she pulled the envelope just slightly out of her satchel. She didn’t want him to see the writing.

“I have a letter I really need to post.” Javier frowned a little, raising his scarred eyebrow.

“Now?” It was starting to get dark and the tone of his voice suggested his disapproval for her wanting to do this so late at night.

“I need to post it whilst it’s quiet.” She tilted her head, giving him a gentle, apologetic smile. “I was hoping you could take me?” He leant back in his seat. He looked around in contemplation before finally looking at her to respond. He was reluctant, not sure why she was being so secretive.

“Alright.”

“Thank you.” The walk over to Boaz was quiet. Before Javier mounted, he had put his poncho back on along with his bowler hat knowing the night was going to be cold. Sitting in the saddle, he reached down for Miram’s arm and pulled her up behind him. Like before, she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his back. The familiar feeling of his poncho relaxed her. It smelt of cigarettes and whiskey – just like him. Kicking Boaz on, they left the safety of the camp and got onto the road. Javier turned his head back to speak to Miriam.

“Which post office?”

“Wallace station.” His eyes widened at her command.

“Wallace- Miriam, that’s quite a ride. Why do we need to go that far?”

“I know someone there. He’s… he’s very discreet.”

“Ay dios Mío…” (“Oh my God…”) He muttered, kicking Boaz into a gallop. “We’ll need to ride fast then.” Her arms tightened around him, feeling the wind whip past her face almost knocking the air from her lungs. Most of the journey had been silent which concerned Miriam. Usually, Javier was one to make some kind of flirtatious remark to her. But not this time. He seemed annoyed. Was it because of Bill? Or had she pissed him off because of her request? Her eyebrows knitted together.

“Javier… I’m really grateful.” He didn’t respond which really hurt her. “You didn’t have to take me, you know?” At last, he responded.

“Why so secretive? You’re needing to post letters late at night now? What’s next?” Her slender fingers scrunched up, firmly holding the fabric of his poncho. It pained her hearing him be so suspicious of her. “Is there someone I should know about?” His words stabbed through her heart.

“Javier, it’s not like that.” She tried to reason but Javier was the jealous type thus meaning he could not be reasoned with.

“Then what is it like, hm?” Javier gritted his teeth. “You needing me to sneak you out late at night to post some letter you won’t even tell me about?”

“It’s my business, Javier.” Her head was now well away from the contact of his body. Knowing this, Javier looked over his shoulder with a disdainful look.

“You married?” Her lips pursed together, trying to not form a lump in her throat.

“No. Like I said, it’s nothing like that.” She firmly stated, not wanting to hear any more of it. Miriam decided that silence was the best thing for them. The journey was awkward. Painfully awkward. Nothing could be heard in the night other than the sound of Boaz’s hooves thundering against the dry earth. All Miriam wished for in that moment was for the journey to be over. She had even contemplated staying at the station for the night, not sure if she could face the journey back if Javier was going to be like this. It was only when Miriam felt Boaz slow down in his gait, did she realise they were finally at their destination. Before Javier’s horse could even halt, Miriam slid down onto the ground with a thud and proceeded to walk through the door that led inside to the station clerk. The quick action surprised Javier, noting that he might have upset her judging by the way she was behaving. He groaned to himself, muttering something about women being difficult but he dismounted, giving Boaz a pat before following in behind her.

When Javier entered the station, he saw Miriam leaning over the station clerk’s counter, whispering. Due to no one else being in there, he could hear their exchange.

“Thank you, Alden.”

“No problem, ma’am. I’ll make sure this gets delivered… quietly. No questions asked.” The man had a funny voice to him which made Javier sneer. Noting Javier was now present in the building, Miriam cleared her throat giving the signal for Alden to drop the subject. Holding her hands in front of her, the young woman turned to Javier.

“Thank you for bringing me. You head back. I’ll stay here for the night.” She smiled weakly, hoping he would be happy now that he was rid of her. Instead, he gave a small glare which was hard to see due to the shadow cast by his hat.

“Here? Don’t be stupid.” Her face scrunched into a frown.

“You’re clearly annoyed by my presence, so just leave me here.” He scoffed. There was a moment’s pause before he stepped forward and grabbed onto Miriam’s wrist.

“I’m not leaving you here.” Much to Miriam’s protests, Javier pulled the young woman out from the station and onto the road. She retracted her hand from his grip and turned her back to him. A slight fear possessed her. She didn’t want to ride back in awkward silence with him. She thought so much of Javier and knowing that he was annoyed at her killed her on the inside. One foot in front of the other, she began to walk away, getting off the road and walking amongst the trees down the hill. “What is your problem?” He yelled out after her.

“What is my-” She looked over her shoulder with a stern expression. “What is your problem, Javier?” Her footsteps were heavy due to the vast decline of the landscape. “I only asked you to take me. You could have said no and I would have been fine.” He snickered, following her down the hill.

“And what, let you ride out on your own? Risk you getting captured by O’Driscolls?” His stride got longer, trying to catch up to the girl. “What’s so important about this letter anyway? That you’re risking your safety for?”

“Javier…” She breathed out, a lump forming in her throat. Panic was beginning to set in. Her urge to tell him the truth had heightened but the fear of him hating her… endangering him, was far greater. She didn’t want to hurt this man more than anything. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?!” He spat. “When will you be ready to tell me? It’s been a long time, Miriam…” Javier stopped walking after her. He looked at her figure with eyes that held hurt. “Do you not trust me?” Her heart cracked through the middle, hearing his voice fall dark. She turned around, looking at the man before her. She called out his name, gritting her teeth to try and hold back the tears. Walking forward, her hands held onto one of his large ones, bringing it to her chest.

“I do. I promise you I do.” Javier’s free hand went to Miriam’s cold cheek. The night’s air nipped at her skin and she leant into his hand, welcoming his warmth.

“Then tell me the truth.” One of her hands went to his hand which was on her cheek. Her thumb brushed over his skin. She went to open her mouth to speak but no words left. It felt impossible to say a word. “Miriam…” Her eyes bore into his dark amber ones. “Who are you?” The want in his voice rattled through to her core. Never had she seen him vulnerable. Miriam parted her lips. She was going to tell him-

“Looks like they came through here.”

“Can’t have gone far.” The voices startled the couple and out of reflex, Javier pushed Miriam up against a tree to hide them both. He had his hand over Miriam’s mouth and nose, leaning into her so she wouldn’t budge to alert the strangers of their location. Javier looked up the hill, seeing lanterns flickering about and the famous black and green attire of Colm’s men became evident. He hushed Miriam’s mumbles from under his hand.

“Shh… O’Driscoll’s.” Miriam’s eyes widened, fear pumping through her veins and across her whole body. Javier listened out, peering now and then from the tree they were hiding behind. Suddenly a lantern was held down further from above, causing its light to shine through the trees past Javier’s face. He quickly hid his head back behind the broad trunk.

Javier’s nose was now close to Miriam’s ear. She could feel his breath on her neck making her chest ride and fall. Their bodies were pressed together which meant Javier could feel Miriam’s chest pushing against his own with each breath she took. His thigh was pressed against her core and he had only realised this when she tried to adjust herself from the sensation. He turned his head to look into her scared eyes. Gods he thought she looked beautiful. Miriam tried shaking her head but Javier’s hand over her mouth was pressed too firm for her to do anything about it. Her lips brushed over his calloused hand whilst one hand went to his chest and the other clung over the hand across her face. She didn’t struggle but instead just held onto him.

Hearing the voices start to disappear into the distance, Javier released his hand from her mouth but kept her pressed against the tree. He put his index finger over his lips, signally for her to remain quiet as the enemy gang was still in the area. She nodded shortly. His eyes fell to her lips and they trailed down to her throat, watching her swallow her saliva in anticipation. She was beginning to feel hot and bothered from being so close to the Mexican. Especially when he accidentally pressed his thigh a little closer to her core. She grunted in a high-pitched tone which made Javier begin to feel feral. Those cute little noises she was making every time he did something. Her small sounds of pleasure; it was making his vision hazy. He resisted every devilish thought of just lifting her up onto his hips and fucking her against this tree.

His lips brushed over her jawline just barely and they hovered over the top corner of her neck, just under her ear. She was finally so close to him. He was a man under the spell of love and lust. He couldn’t just do nothing. He kissed her neck and Miriam’s body arched into his, her hands moving from his chest to his shoulders. She closed her eyes, rolling her head to the side, away from his kiss. Not out of disgust but wanting him to cover her whole neck with his kisses. She could hardly believe what was happening. She welcomed it whole-heartedly.

Butterfly kisses followed in suit one after another in that one spot under her ear, his tongue slipping out to taste her neck. The frosty air bit at the saliva on her neck, causing the young woman to shiver in delight. Her hips shuffled about thus rubbing her clothed pussy against his leg more to relieve that familiar pressure forming in her gut. Javier pressed his hips into hers where his erect cock could be felt through the fabric of her dress. Feeling his member against her body made her let out a very shaky breath. Miriam had almost convinced herself this was just another one of her fantasies. That it was all in her head. However, when Javier feathered his kisses down to the crook of her neck, begging to suck on the skin, her mind was brought back to reality and she gasped just above a whisper.

The dark-haired male put his hand to her throat. He didn’t squeeze but he pressed his thumb ever so gently on her oesophagus; his way of silencing her. He pulled his lips away from the area he had been sucking on to swipe his tongue over the pink patch, only to press his lips back over to continue with his lustful assault. Miriam’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her head banging back against the tree. His lips felt so good on her neck and she didn’t want it to stop. She wanted him. And he wanted her. A twinge of pain could be felt on the part he was abusing with his lips which made the girl wince.

“J-Javier…” She managed to call out in a confined whisper. Hearing her song-bird voice, his lips pulled away; a purple blotch having been left behind. The animalistic side of him had to leave a mark. He wanted her to wake up each day and see it, to remind herself who did it do her and remind her of how good it felt when it happened.

He couldn’t stop there. The hand which was around her throat moved up to her jaw and this time he did squeeze. He looked hungrily into her eyes; his own breathing now heavy. Javier said nothing to her. He simply enjoyed watching how her pupils dilated, wanting to absorb every essence of him. He lowered his head to where her cleavage was. He ducked his head down where he placed noisy and breathy kisses between her breasts. This caused Miriam to lift one of her legs and Javier’s free hand hooked under it to hold her steady. That same hand trailed under her skirt, his fingers brushing over her inner thigh. He squeezed the flesh hard causing Miriam to push her clothed pussy against his concealed cock even more. If it weren’t for the fabric restraints, he would already be inside her by now.

“Mierda. Mira lo que me haces.” (“Shit. Look what you do to me.”) Her head spun; turned on by the Spanish he uttered against her cleavage. The thrill of not knowing what he was saying made her even more sopping for him. His tongue licked all the way up from her breasts to the centre of her throat. Javier looked into Miriam’s eyes once more. She had the most adorable band of red going across her cheeks and nose. Her lips were parted, her lungs trying their very best to grab oxygen. His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Miram held onto his hand, looking back into his eyes with such desire… and love.

“Javier.” She panted out once more and that was all he needed to lean down to press his lips over hers. His lips were so warm against her own; she opened her mouth further wanting more of him. His tongue pushed into her mouth to rub his muscle against hers. She mewled, completely succumbing to him. Miriam felt her breath being sucked from her from the kiss being so long. Showing her mercy, Javier pulled away, a string of saliva connected to his tongue and her lips. He used his thumb to brush it away over her lips, his hand resting calmly on her scorched cheek.

“Come on. Let’s get back.” He whispered, still aware they needed to escape the O’Driscolls. He released her thigh and removed his hips from hers. She felt so weak at the knees that she ended up almost falling over if it weren’t for Javier snaking his arm around her waist. “Cuidadosa, cariño.” (“Careful, darling.”) She bit her lip, a look of bitterness across her face at how unrelieved she now felt. Her pussy was still throbbing for him and now they had to return to camp. It wasn’t fair. Javier too felt the same. He knew that if the O’Driscolls weren’t there, he would have already had his wicked way with her.

Sneaking back up the hill, the couple made it back to Boaz. Javier sighed in relief, mounting his steed. “Quick…” He whispered to the woman, offering her his hand. Before she could place her hand in his, a bullet suddenly grazed across Javier’s thumb. He yelped out in pain, looking desperately to find where it came from.

“There they are! He’s got her!” Miriam’s heart leapt from her chest, eyes of concern looking at Javier’s bleeding hand.

“Javier!” Being no time to worry over his wound, Javier’s bloodied hand held onto hers and he pulled her onto the front of the horse where her legs dangled on either side. He kicked and yelled for Boaz to go on to which he obeyed his master. The sound of whistles could be heard behind them as a group of O’Driscolls mounted their own horses to pursue the couple.

“Grab the reins!” Javier commanded. Miriam grabbed hold of them, concerned.

“W-Why me?” Javier reached down to his holster and pulled out his silver-plated double action revolver.

“I’ll take care of them.” His voice sounded so menacing; his chest inflated out with the need to protect. His courage radiated through Miriam and she focused on the road. “Just don’t lead them back to camp.” She nodded, steering Boaz off the path and into the wilderness. Despite the differing levels of the ground as they rode, both Boaz and Javier worked together like the duo they always had been. Javier twisted his body rounded to fire his gun, its distinct sound echoing through Miriam’s ears. She winced, not used to being so close to a firing arm before. A high pitch ring snaked through her ears, almost altering her vision.

“We’re gonna kill ya, boy!” The man who spoke those words met with a bullet through his eye.

“Shit! You fuckin’ greaser!” Javier ducked from the bullets that fired his way. “As soon as we get the girl, we’re gonna pay your leader a visit! We’ll be sure to kill everyone!”

“And you can watch, girlie!” Another taunted.

“Get down!” Javier shouted, pushing the back of Miriam’s head down so she didn’t get hit. A sharp yell escaped from Javier’s lips as he hunched over in excruciating pain. Miriam’s eyes widened at the realisation.

“Javier!” Blood seeped out from his back where his ribcage was. He clutched to it with his free hand, his teeth grinding together hard.

“Keep… riding…” He managed to groan out, still shooting over his shoulder when he could. Knowing it was nowhere near safe for them to stop, all Miriam could do was continue steering Boaz away from the conflict, hoping he could outrun them. Javier had managed to kill most of the group and the last couple of them who remained were beginning to disappear behind them. Javier groaned, leaning onto Miriam’s back. She looked over her shoulder to see if she could see their pursuers anymore and she smiled.

“We’ve lost them, Javier. We-” Javier was mute, only the sounds of his heavy breathing could be heard. Her breath hitched in her throat. “Javier?” A very quiet laugh escaped his lips.

“Well done, cariño. You did it.” Another harrowing groan left his mouth. She steered Boaz back to the road, trying her best to stay strong for the man who was now holding onto her for support.

“I’ll get you back. Just stay alive, okay?” Miriam comforted. The ride had been a long one. For the most part, Javier managed to keep himself awake, but it was becoming harder and harder with each passing minute. His vision was misty, his skin becoming cold and beads of sweat dripping from his temples.

Arriving back in camp, Miriam called out for help as she abruptly halted Boaz. Miss Grimshaw being the punctual member of the gang was the first to leave her tent, along with Arthur and Dutch.

“What happened?” Dutch called out, seeing the blood all down Javier’s side, his body slumped over having passed out a few moments prior.

“Christ, he’s been shot.” Arthur mumbled, going over to where Javier was and lifting him down as carefully as he could.

“What’s goin’ on here?” Bill called out from his tent, shutting up quickly when he saw what state Javier was in. “Shit!”

“It was O’Driscolls. They chased us from Wallace Station-” Dutch walked over to Miriam in reaction to her words, both Arthur and Bill now dragging Javier to his tent.

“Were you followed?” Miriam shook her head at Dutch.

“No. Of course not.” The Van Der Linde leader sighed in relief, keeping a level head.

“Right… Mister Strauss! Miss Grimshaw!” The Austrian and former portrait lady looked at Dutch, ready for his order. “Please see to Mister Escuella. Get him better.” Miriam’s cheeks became wet with her tears. She tried to run over to Javier but Dutch stopped her. “He’ll be fine. I suggest you go back to bed, Miss Miriam.” He firmly stated. She looked over Dutch’s shoulder and still tried to step past the gang’s leader. He stopped her once more. “They will do everything they can for him. We’re not going to let him die.” Miriam bit the inside of her lip and nodded, staring at the ground. Dutch walked away from her to join the group that was around Javier.

He needed his family more than anything at this crucial time.

Miriam rubbed the back of her neck and let out a shaky breath. She tried to stop her tears and as soon as she convinced herself she had her emotions under control, she heard a bubbly voice call out.

“Miriam?” It was Mary-Beth. “Are you okay?” Miriam broke. Falling into Mary-Beth’s arms, the young woman wailed out, sobbing about Javier’s injury. How scared she was for him. How she could never forgive herself for letting this happen. Mary-Beth’s face would soften at her friend’s cries and she would place her hand on her back, rubbing it to soothe her. “You’re alright now. Let’s get you inside.”

#javier escuella #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella x original character #javier #escuella #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #van der linde gang

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vulturejuice · 1 year

Text

[Image ID: A 13-panel comic which depicts two furry characters, a cougar and a stoat, in an argument about political lesbianism. It is coloured in the palette of the lesbian flag, with the cougar in pink colours and the stoat in orange colours. End ID]

This is a comic I made last December as a final project for a Communication and Sexuality class! It was super fun to get to use my OCs for a school project and the research for it was super interesting and meaningful to me as a lesbian myself.

A full transcript of the comic, as well as a list of citations, is available below the cut!

Transcript and image descriptions:

Panel 1: The cougar sits in a chair reading a book.

Panel 2: The cougar turns a page and the stoat enters the frame without the cougar noticing.

Panel 3: The stoat speaks very close to the cougar’s face, startling her. Stoat: “Whatcha readin’?” Cougar: GAH!

Panel 4: The cougar holds the book up to the camera, revealing the phrase “POLITICAL LESBIANISM” on its cover. The stoat looks at it with her hand on her chin. Cougar: Oh... I was just reading this book about POLITICAL LESBIANISM Stoat: Oh hm

Panel 5: The cougar reads from a stack of papers. The stoat puts her hand to her cheek and closes her eyes. A thought bubble comes from the stoat which depicts women standing in a circle holding hands while two men look on angrily. Stoat: That’s that thing from like the 80s, right? Where feminists thought all women should be lesbians? Cougar: Yeah, the Leeds Revolutionary Feminists put out a paper detailing as much in 1979.

Panel 6: The cougar shrugs, holding the papers out towards the stoat. The stoat grabs for them excitedly. Cougar: Basically, anyone who associated with men was the enemy! Stoat: Hey, sounds good to me! Who needs ‘em, right?

Panel 7: The cougar puts her hands on her hips and glares at the stoat. The stoat holds the papers and frowns. Cougar: Oh, come on! Gender essentialist much? Not to mention their focus on the penis as a tool of oppression... Where does that leave pre- and non-op trans women?

Panel 8: The stoat’s eyes widen and she points at the paper. The cougar throws up one hand in exasperation. Stoat: Wait! It says here that a political lesbian is a “woman-identified woman.” Shouldn’t that include trans women? Cougar: Not what that means!

Panel 9: The cougar turns to the camera and raises her finger in the air. She pulls a new stack of papers up from outside the panel. The stoat looks between the papers she is holding and the new papers in confusion. Cougar: In their 1970 manifesto, the Radicalesbians ask that women craft our own identities by relating to each other, not men’s ideas of what we should be. They’re not really talking about gender identity the way we do today.

Panel 10: The stoat puts her hands on her hips and throws her head back, holding her papers to her side. The cougar puts out her hands in protest, and the papers she’s holding fall. Stoat: Right. I guess you think everyone was transphobic back then. Cougar: Hey, I never said that!

Panel 11: The cougar lifts up a small record and smiles down at it. The stoat glares at it as she tucks her papers under her arm. Cougar: Take the radical feminist lesbian separatist music collective, Olivia Records! They supported and even bodily defended their trans sound engineer, Sandy Stone, when her role at the collective was questioned and she was threatened with transphobic violence.

Panel 12: The stoat crosses her arms and tries to interject. The cougar keeps talking as she throws the record away behind herself. Stoat: Sure, but- Cougar: No, it’s so-called gender critical feminists who spit in the face of trans women’s contributions to our rich lesbian history. Our love of women and rejection of prescribed sex roles is what brings us together - not out hatred of men!

Panel 13: The stoat turns away from the cougar in anger. The cougar smiles and puts a hand on the stoat’s corner. Stoat: Oh, whatever! I don’t want to talk about it anymore if you’re just going to tell me I’m wrong all the time. Cougar: Look at it this way... we’re just taking part in the storied lesbian tradition of pointless arguing!

Citations

Ahmed, S. (2016). An affinity of hammers. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 3(1-2), 22-34. https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-3334151

Enszer, J. R. (2016). “How to stop choking to death”: Rethinking lesbian separatism as a vibrant political theory and feminist practice. Journal of Lesbian Studies, 20(2), 180-196. https://doi.org/10.1080/10894160.2015.1083815

Love your enemy? The debate between heterosexual feminism and political lesbianism. (1981). Onlywomen Press.

O’Donnell, K. (2019). The theological basis for trans-exclusionary radical feminist positions. In N. Banerjea, K. Browne, E. Ferreira, M. Olasik, & J. Podmore (Eds.), Lesbian feminism: Essays opposing global heteropatriarchies. Bloomsbury Academic & Professional.

Thurlow, C. (2022). From TERF to gender critical: A telling genealogy? Sexualities. Advance online publication. https://doi.org/10.1177/13634607221107827

Weiss, P. A. (Ed.). (2018). Feminist manifestos: A global documentary reader. New York University Press.

Williams, C. (2016). Radical inclusion: Recounting the trans inclusive history of radical feminism. TSQ: Transgender Studies Quarterly, 3(1-2), 254-258. https://doi.org/10.1215/23289252-3334463

#repost #furry #furry art #lesbian #lesbian history #xenon art

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minty-mumbles · 2 years

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Shifting Hues (Chapter 1: Blue Earrings)

Summary: In all the eras of Hyrule's history Wild has travelled to with the heroes of courage, red is considered a feminine color. Wild likes the color red.

Or: A fic that follows Wild’s journey to discover themselves

A/N: Beta read by @supraobsessed !

(Read on AO3 | Chapter 2)

~~~

It’s traditional for Hylian men to wear blue earrings.

Wild doesn’t know why. He just knows that most of the Hylian men he knows, at least those who have pierced ears, wear small and simple blue hoops. Time, Twilight, and Warriors all wear them.

There are exceptions, of course. Not everyone likes tradition, or cares to adhere to it. Legend wears gold studs and small silver hoops. He even has multiple sets of piercings in both of his ears, which isn’t common for men or women. But still, his earrings are simple. Masculine, even if they aren’t blue hoops.

Sky wears spiky orange hoops, made out of strange orange metal. But they're small, and they have magical properties, and Wild is pretty sure that's the only reason Sky wears them in the first place

But Wild- well.

Wild.

Wild wears flashy pieces of amber that dangle from his ears. If he turns his head quickly enough, they tap against his neck comfortingly, reminding him that they’re there.

He has some blue hoop earrings, stored away in his slate. He’d woken up from the shrine wearing the blue hoops and hadn’t given it a second of thought. He hadn’t even noticed he had earrings on at first.

The first time he’d seen a woman wearing dangling gems from her ears, Wild had known that was what he wanted. He’d stopped the woman in the street, asking her where she had gotten the earrings. The woman had laughed, asking him if he was looking for a gift for a special girl in his life. It had thrown him off balance so badly that he hadn’t even corrected her.

The woman told him of Isha, a renowned jeweler who lived in Gerudo town but had warned him that as a man, he wouldn’t be allowed into the town. He’d have to do some trade with one of the Gorons that traveled to Gerudo Town to get his jewelry. Apparently Gorons- not having genders like the rest of the Hyrule’s races did- are allowed into the town indiscriminately.

They traded the uncut gems they mined for the finished jewelry that Isha produced. Then they took the jewelry around the rest of Hyrule for other races to buy. Wild would have to buy from one of the Gorons.

It’s well worth tracking one of them down, the woman had told him. Isha’s products are always high quality.

He’d been quick to do so when he next had time to spare. The plain uncut gemstones he mined or picked up after fighting a talus were enchanting, with all their raw facets that reflected sunlight. He wanted that beauty captured in a form he could wear.

He’d bought the amber earrings he wore most often from a Goron in Hateno town. Thinking back on it, Wild suspects that the Goron had seen how eager he’d been and overcharged him, but he hadn’t cared at all about the extravagant price.

The second he got his hands on those pretty earrings, the blue hoops had come out of his ears and had gone straight into his slate. He hasn’t touched them since, and his collection of jewelry made by Isha had expanded significantly.

Wild had gotten his amber earrings blessed by a Great Fairy, enchanted to increase his defense. For practical reasons, but also so if anyone ever asked him why he wears the more feminine jewelry, he’d have that answer for them.

No one ever asks though, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t like to lie, and he’s not very good at it.

He doesn’t think the other heroes have even noticed that he wears flashier earrings. If they have, they didn’t find it strange enough to comment on.

~~~

Wild’s still relearning things about the culture he stumbled into when he was released from the shrine. He knows he’s pretty socially inept, and he doesn’t pick up on other people’s cues very well. Whether that was a personal quirk or an effect of his amnesia was up for debate.

It wasn’t just reading other people’s body language he had trouble with, though. There are norms and traditions that people assume Wild knows, when he just didn’t.

Thankfully, people in his era were more than used to merchants and other travelers who spend most of their time out in the wild and are a little rusty with social interactions. They’re also more than willing to be more flexible with such things when they learn who Wild is.

His entire Hyrule seemed to feel a debt to him, for a reason Wild can’t explain. He had only been fixing his own mistakes when he’d walked into Hyrule castle and taken on the Calamity. He doesn’t deserve praise for finally finishing his duty a hundred years too late, even if everyone else seems to think they can never repay him.

Regardless of why though, people were a lot more willing to overlook his social blunders, and slowly but surely, he’s been learning.

He doesn’t love everything he’s learned so far. Some things seem just arbitrary and pointless. The pressure to conform to these norms grates under his skin.

For example, he’s pretty sure that red is considered a feminine color. The whole masculine versus feminine colors thing confuses him; he doesn’t understand how it’s decided whether colors are masculine or feminine.

Red is a feminine color. Wild thinks it might be because Gerudos so often have red hair, and Gerudos are always women, but he doesn’t know.

Wild likes the color red.

He likes it more than any of the other colors, he thinks. It’s bold, like the blood that has soaked every aspect of his short life. It’s bright, like the autumn leaves the Akkala region is known for. It’s a cleaner, purified version of the sickly purple-red color of malice.

People always tell him blue is his color, and failing that, green suited him best. Wild, reluctantly, thinks he agrees. With his pale coloring, any bolder, warmer colors he wore stood out too much. The softer blues and greens fit him better. So when someone asks him his favorite color, he says blue. He doesn't know why.

It’s not like men aren’t allowed to like red, but admitting he likes red feels like he’s admitting to something else, and he doesn't know what.

~~~

Wild has ruby red earrings that he keeps tucked away in his slate. The jewelry protects him against the cold, warming him when he travels too high in the mountains, or stays in the desert at night. However, when the temperature is decent, they act as regular earrings with no magical properties.

He doesn’t wear them too often. He worries they’re too gaudy, that they’ll attract too much attention to his odd jewelry choices.

But today, he wakes up and finds himself wanting to hide away from everyone. He hasn’t even opened his eyes, and he already knows it’s going to be one of those days. One of those days he would rather spend hidden away in the woods, far away from any prying eyes. The mumbled speech from around the campfire from the early risers among the heroes makes him want to turn over and hide in his bed roll.

He doesn’t want anyone's eyes on him, on his form, or his clothes. It all makes him feel so wrong.

He forces himself to sit up anyway. The camp is still quiet. As usual, he’s one of the first up, with only Time, Twilight, and Four sitting around the fire. He has to get up and get breakfast ready. And to do that, he has to get dressed.

He selects his normal outfit- the Champion’s tunic, trousers, and a black cloak- from his slate, and it appears on his body with a quiet fwoosh and a blue glow. None of the other heroes even look at him, more than used to the noise by now. Although he wears the Champion tunic every day and usually never has a problem with it, today it hugs his form in all the wrong places. Wild swallows down a hot, uncomfortable, nameless emotion, and tugs his cloak tighter around himself.

He needs to get up and make breakfast, but he really doesn’t want to.

He needs… something, today. Something just for himself, that no one else will comment on.

So he swipes through his slate and pulls out the ruby earrings. The earrings are incredible works of art. Isha did a wonderful job with the gemstones Wild had brought her. She’d managed to shape the stone so they caught the morning light as Wild holds them up in the sun, but still retain their rough and somewhat natural shape.

Wild puts them on, and smiles as the weight of them tugs on his earlobes. They’re a little heavier than his normal amber earrings, and they pull at his ears a little more than he's used to. The sensation- that little reminder that they’re there- soothes his irritation away.

Throughout the day, none of the other heroes seem to notice his wardrobe change, but Wild notices, constantly. He finds himself fiddling with the jewels throughout the day, running his fingers over the smooth facets of the gemstones. The tap-tap of his fingernails against the stones makes him smile.

Every time he sees himself in something even slightly reflective, his eyes are drawn to the beautiful red stones, hanging like drops of blood from his ears.

He’s washing dishes after supper in a river, and he sees himself. His long hair and red earrings are reflected back at him from the water, and like he has all day, he pauses and looks at himself for a moment. He can see the smile beaming from his face in the reflection. Maybe it’s vain to care so much about how he looked, but he couldn't help it.

And when he turns his head just so, and the ripples in the water are particularly strong, he can imagine that his cheekbones are a little less sharp, that his face is softer.

It’s times like this that he's glad that he doesn't have a larger frame with more muscle mass like Time or Twilight do. He’s always loved his leaner build, meant for flexibility and running instead of the solid muscle meant for overpowering strength. It would be harder to pretend, even for a moment, if he was built like that.

~~~

Wild knows he should’ve gotten rid of the vai clothes after he no longer needed to enter Gerudo town. Or at the very least, he should have tucked them away in a chest in his house, and not put them on again.

He put the clothes on again.

Of course he did. He can’t leave well enough alone.

He did so only once. It had been well before he was whisked away on this new journey, before he even knew about the heroes of the ancient past or of the spreading infection of black blood.

He had wanted to put on the clothes again, but he knew he couldn’t go back to Gerudo Town.

No matter how careful he was, Riju would eventually hear about his return, and she’d want to know why he’d returned to the town when there was no reason to do so. He didn’t want to be disrespectful of the Gerudos’ culture. If their laws said no men in Gerudo Town, that meant no men in Gerudo Town.

So when he inevitably cracked after weeks of thinking about the clothing, he didn’t go to the town. Instead, he tucked the clothing into the bottom of his bag, and took it out to the middle of the woods near Hateno, far away from any prying eyes.

But he still hasn’t been able to bring himself to put it on. What if someone saw him? He’d known the thought was irrational. There was no one out here who would possibly see him.

He wanted to put it on so badly.

He wanted to put it on, but someone could see him. No one would be fooled for long, especially if they knew him. The clothing was made for women, but it didn’t conceal his masculine figure. It definitely didn’t conceal his scars.

(Wild wasn't an idiot. The Gerudo guards, along with everyone else in Gerudo town, knew who he was. They knew he was a man. The only reason they had let him stay was that their Chief had given him permission to enter the town, and they’d needed his aid badly. It also helped that Wild never caused a scene or took advantage of being allowed inside the walls. He was also willing to adhere to their traditions, and wear the vai outfit. If he went back now- when he had no need to and Riju no longer had any reason to let him into the town- it likely wouldn’t turn out so well.)

So he left Hateno, leaving any sign of Hylian life behind. He ended up at the Great Plateau, his birthplace.

No one would find him there. Most couldn’t scale the walls, and those who could, like the Rito, usually didn’t find any reason to.

It was dark by the time he’d arrived, and by the time he slipped the clothing on, nighttime had fallen completely. But it had been summer, and the night breeze had been balmy, so even with the thin fabric of the Gerudo clothing, he’d felt comfortable.

He’d felt more than comfortable, actually.

It had made him happy, somehow, to know that if someone looked at him, they might not have seen a man, even if just for a moment.

He had left the clothes on all night, and had simply existed. He’d hunted, he’d explored the plateau (even though he’d long since memorized it like the back of his hand,) and he’d laughed, a good deal more than he usually did.

He’d felt light on his feet, and he had almost been dancing when he entered the Temple of Time.

And then he’d turned around to face the front of the temple, and he’d seen the stoney face of Hylia, eyes closed in perfect peaceful prayer, and everything had gone quiet.

Not that there had been music playing before, or any sound at all besides his own heartbeat, but it felt like the whole world stops breathing when he’s faced with the pinnacle of why this was wrong, wrong, so very wrong.

He wondered if Hylia had been laughing at him, or if she’d been watching him at all. He wondered if the goddess even has the ability to laugh. He felt ashamed, when he thought of her looking at him when he was dressed like that.

Hylia had chosen him to be the hero.

He’s the hero, and everyone knows the hero was always a man, even if they didn’t start out as one, like Hyrule and Warriors.

And men don’t wear women’s clothing.

Wild doesn’t understand why, but they don’t.

Did these feelings mean that Hylia chose the wrong person to wield the sacred blade? Or had she chosen correctly, and it was Wild who was just… wrong?

He left almost immediately, using his slate to teleport away. And he hadn’t gone back to the Temple of Time for a very long time, in the vai outfit or out of it.

~~~

When Wild was invited to join this group of heroes from the past, he hadn’t hesitated to say yes. The only time he had faltered when getting ready to leave was when it came to packing his clothes. He took his regular outfit, his heat and cold resistant clothes, his climbing gear, his Sheikah stealth outfit, and any other pieces of clothing that may help him on this journey.

He also took the vai clothing with him. He’d shoved it down to the very bottom of his bag, and when he rejoined the other heroes, he could have sworn that they would be able to tell what he carried somehow.

No one could, of course. As many talents as the heroes of old possess, none of them had x-ray vision.

Wild doesn’t know why he had felt compelled to tuck the silky fabrics into his pack. Sometimes he regretted bringing them with him on the journey. It’s not like he could wear them, and it put the clothing in constant danger of being discovered. But he had brought it with him, so there was no use regretting.

So now, several months into the journey, the vai clothes remain at the bottom of his pack for the most part. None of the other heroes have the habit of riffling through other people’s bags, so he doesn’t worry too much that they’ll find the clothes as long as he’s careful.

Sometimes, late at night when he’s on watch, he puts his bag in his lap. His hand slips into the bag to feel the silken fabric brush against his fingers. Only one hand, primed and ready to casually remove it at the first sign of someone waking up.

It’s comforting for some reason, to remember how the fabric felt against his body. To remember that what he’d felt when he’d worn the clothes- that inexplicable joy, that freeness- had been real, even if he can’t experience it again.

He doesn’t dare take the clothes out of his pack though, let alone put them on. Not even in the dead of night, not when there’s a chance that someone could wake up and see him. He doesn’t want to think of the questions that might arise from any of them seeing him dressed like that.

His late-night habit backfires on him, and bringing the clothes on the journey comes back to bite him eventually.

Wild doesn’t see the moment that Warriors finds the veil. He’s not really one to go through someone’s bag, so Wild has to assume that he had forgotten to put the clothes back at the bottom of the bag. That part of them had been poking out of the top of his pack and Warriors eyes had caught on the blue fabric.

Warriors doesn’t think the clothes belong to Wild, to Wild’s immense relief. Instead, he thinks it’s a gift for some girl Wild likes. It’s still not a good outcome. It’s still embarrassing.

But at least there doesn’t seem to be any inkling in Warriors' mocking tone that he knows about Wild’s shameful secret.

The others pay dearly for their teasing with their burnt taste buds, but his revenge doesn’t make Wild feel much better. The whole situation should make him angry. Instead, it’s only stressing him out and upsetting him.

He does his best to ignore the hurt bubbling up inside of him while he’s around the other heroes. He pushes it down, replacing it with righteous anger, angry glares, and a sharp thwack on the back of Warriors’ hand when the man tries to sneak food that isn’t spiced to high heavens.

Once the commotion around dinner has mostly calmed down, he walks off alone into the nearby woods. No one dares follow him, not while his temper is still so obviously sensitive and ready to snap.

He keeps going until he’s far enough away from their camp. When he’s determined that no one will hear him, not even Twilight with his wolf-like hearing, he stops. Slumping down, he sits at the base of a tree.

Slowly, WIld lets go of the anger he’s been using all evening to suppress his other emotions. Sadness and confusion and frustration well up to replace it, and tears are quick to start flowing from his eyes.

He doesn’t know… why.

Why he’s crying, why he’s so upset about this. Warriors and Legend- and Sky and Twilight to an extent- were only teasing. And the others didn’t interfere or stop them because they had only been teasing. Usually Wild is all too happy to engage in that kind of play and banter. But this time… it hurt.

It hurt because even though they hadn’t even known Wild’s most tightly kept secret- even though they hadn’t known that the vai clothes are his, and not a gift for someone else- they still made fun of him. What would they say if they knew the full truth- if they knew he was the one who the clothes were for?

Because men aren’t supposed to wear these kinds of clothes. And everyone knows that the hero is supposed to be a man and-

And Wild isn’t a man.

Wild growls, posture shrinking defensively against the tree as if that would help stave off the thoughts. They shake their head as they finally let themself think what they’ve known for a while. Their teeth grit in anger, and slam their hands down on the soft earth. Sharp nails dig into the loose, moist soil. It’ll be a pain to clean under their nails later but Wild doesn’t care!

This isn’t fair! It isn't fair, Goddess damn it!

They’re not crying anymore. The tears still well up in the corners of their eyes, but they blink furiously, not letting them fall. Why did this have to be them? Why couldn’t anything be simple for them?

This is how Hyrule finds them, an indeterminable amount of time later. Angry and seething at no one except themself for daring to feel like this. Wild doesn’t know if Hyrule had been looking for them, or if he’d just been wandering nearby and happened to hear Wild’s distress.

Hyrule’s concerned, as anyone would be if they found their friend rocking back and forth on the ground, one hand digging into the earth and the other, still muddy, gripping tightly at their hair.

He sits next to Wild, slowly and carefully, as if trying not to startle a wild animal. There’s a moment of silence where he just looks at Wild with concern gleaming in his eyes.

After a moment, Hyrule reaches out, giving Wild plenty of time to draw away from him. When they don’t move away, Hyrule eases their hands from their long hair.

Wild lets themself relax slightly. They can’t bring themselves to clutch at Hyrule’s hands as punishingly as they had been gripping their hair, so they’re forced to let their muscles loosen.

Hyrule looks at them carefully, no doubt trying to find Wild’s cause for distress. When he finds no obvious injuries or ailments, he asks them what’s wrong, but Wild has no answer for him.

If anyone would understand, Hyrule would. Or Warriors. But Wild can’t help but think of the relief that Hyrule and Warriors must have felt when they figured out they were men, when they knew that was what they were supposed to be. What the hero was supposed to be.

Wild can’t help but think of how angry Hyrule might be, at Wild for wanting so desperately what Hyrule himself has rejected.

Any thought of telling Hyrule dies before Wild even opens their mouth. They can’t tell anyone about this. Not now. Not yet.

#it gets happier I promise #linked universe #mint's fanfiction #shifting hues #Lu wild #Lu hyrule #Lu legend #Lu warriors #lgbtq+#queer themes #trans wild #gender dysphoria #misgendering cw #(unintentional)#angst

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