#daddy dutch answers

[youngdutchishot]

you’ve interested me in vanderlawny again please go on sir

I forgot of this, honestly.

Thinking of them though and if I never see Trelawny as Dutch's sugar daddy I might just die/sil. Can't see them as anything else!! Talk of them however, Josiah's definitely a romantic type. So.. They'd probably click off pretty okay.

Dutch is a hopeless romantic. Like. Grossly romantic. You wince when he acts affectionate, but his partner's more than likely flattered and showered in love. So. He's doing something right for once, I guess. Josiah and him would be that couple, if out in the open( which I highly doubt and will get to in a moment), that'd you get second-hand embarrassment from.

They're so lovey-dovey that it will make you envious. Your day will be ruined if you see them. And that could be positive or negative, or both.

Now, I personally think they'd keep their relationship secretive. I mean, it was the 1880s for crying out loud. I doubt they could be open even if they had wanted to be. And yes, plastering that internalized homophobia onto Dutch. He screams it and I take no criticism.. And I get the feeling Josiah wouldn't really care? If his partner's uncomfortable with others knowing than he's more than happy to accommodate. He too canonically lives two lives so he could do that with ease.

I don't know. I like to explore their relationship. Josiah would seem direct, doesn't really sugarcoat. And have you heard him in that cut scene of Micah and him? How he talks?? He'd definitely fluster Dutch with that. Cannot imagine what he sounds when flirting. In my wildest dreams, he showers Dutch and is a disgusting flirty cunt. It's always the well adjusted fuckers in a suit & tie too!! And c'mon now, it's Dutch, of course he loves the affection. So yeah, they'd mostly work pretty well.

I'd get into the angsty aspect of it but I'm not really down for the depressing side of that right now. So, maybe another time.

☺

[amirasainz]

Ooooh can you please do reader is Lewis daughter and she’s a big daddy’s girl and she has everyone wrapped around her finger, including the stoic Toto?

AHH! I had so much fun writing this. I love the idea of Lewis being a girl dad. I hope y'all enjoy reading this and send me some requests!

-XoXo

Daddy's little love

“Who is your favourite Disney Princess, Baby?” asked Anthony, Lewis’ dad, to his 4-year-old granddaughter. Cassie, who was busy getting her beautiful, long, curly hair done by her grandmother Linda, turned to Anthony with the biggest grin on her face.

“Tiana,�� she proudly stated. “TIANA? Why’s that, hm?” he asked her, now sporting the same huge grin as the girl in the living room. “Because she is the prettiest of them all. And her prince is better than the other ones. OH, and their friends are so cool, because Ray is a firefly and his wife is a star. And their other friend, the crocodile, Louis, can play the trumpet. Oh, and Mama Odie makes the best gumbo in the whole wide world,” she answered, running towards Anthony.

The older Hamilton immediately picked her up, sitting little Cassie in front of him on the kitchen counter. “Ohh, is that so, young lady?” he jokingly asked her. “UHU,” she answered with a duh-tone. “Really?” “Uhu.” “Really.” Now the game between Cassie and her Poppy started.

Linda, who knew that this little game of theirs could go on for hours, called towards the young girl. “Cassie, honey, we still need to do your hair.” “But I don’t wanna, Loveyyyyy,” whined the 4-year-old. “Nuhu, don’t even look at me with those puppy eyes of yours,” she told her. However, Cassie tried to find a way out of the situation. “But why can’t Daddy do it for me?” she whined again. “You know why, Baby. Daddy can’t make those braids that you like,” Anthony answered, sensing the beginning of a little tantrum.

Both Anthony and Linda knew that Cassie hated getting her hair done. If the young Hamilton could, she would always have it open. However, with the hot weather and her playing the whole time with her cousins in the garden, everyone knew it was better to braid it back.

Before anyone could say anything else, a figure appeared in the doorway. “What’s that I’m hearing about Daddy?” asked Lewis, who was finally back home after the Mexican GP. He looked tired but happy. “DADDY!” squealed the young girl, immediately running towards her father with outstretched arms. Lewis, who knew his daughter better than himself, picked her up in his arms and held her close, releasing a sigh of relief now that he finally had his baby back in his arms. Her laughter was like music to his ears, and he couldn’t help but smile as she giggled like crazy while he kissed her cheeks repeatedly.

After a moment, he stopped and greeted her with the biggest smile ever. “Hello, my little love,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and affection. He could feel the stress of the race melting away as he held her.

Remembering the conversation he walked into, he carefully petted her hair and told her, “Go on, love. Let Lovey finish your hair, then we can go outside swimming.” Cassie pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably. “But Daddy—” she began, her eyes wide with pleading. “Nuh-uh, Honey. Don’t even try it with me,” Lewis said, his tone gentle but firm. Cassie released the biggest sigh on earth before stomping towards her grandmother, her tiny feet making exaggerated thuds on the floor.

Thankfully, her older cousin Willow was also now in the living room, so the two cousins could play a game while Linda finished the two Dutch braids. Willow, always the patient one, smiled and pulled out a board game, setting it up on the coffee table. “Come on, Cassie, let’s play while Grandma finishes your hair,” she said, her voice soothing.

Lewis, who was watching the whole situation with an amused smile, turned towards his father and hugged him. “It’s good to have you back, boy,” Anthony whispered in his ear, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s good to be back, Dad,” Lewis answered while releasing the hug. He felt a wave of gratitude for his family, who always supported him no matter what.

After a moment, Lewis’s face turned serious, and he looked at his dad. “Hey, can we talk for a minute?” he asked. Anthony, sensing the gravity of the situation, turned his full attention to his son. With an encouraging nod, Lewis began.

“Dad, you know how important the Brazil Grand Prix is for me, right? This year, I was thinking of taking Cassie with me. This race isn’t just significant for me, but also for Mercedes. Plus, it’s my last year with the team,” he explained, his voice tinged with emotion.

Anthony took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before responding. “Lewis, I understand how crucial this race is for you, but why do you feel the need to take Cassie with you?” he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Well, Dad, it’s going to be such a meaningful race for me, and I want my favorite person there with me. Besides, the team and the other drivers are always asking about her. And Gloria, you know, Cassie’s babysitter, will also be there. She can watch over her while I’m racing,” Lewis replied, his eyes pleading for understanding.

Anthony paused for a moment, considering his son’s words. “Okay, I think that’s a really sweet idea. And we both know how much Cassie loves traveling with her daddy,” he said with a warm smile.

“Thanks, Dad. I guess I just needed to hear from someone that my idea isn’t completely insane,” Lewis said, relief washing over his face.

“No, don’t worry about it. Now go tell the little princess the good news,” Anthony encouraged, giving his son a reassuring pat on the back.

After an uneventful flight and a good nights rest, the little trio entered the paddock the next morning. Cassie clutched her father’s hand tightly as they walked into the bustling paddock. The young girl, with her curly hair bouncing in the warm breeze, wore a bright purple cap that read "Daddy's little Champion". It was a sea of activity, with mechanics, engineers, and media personnel buzzing around. This was Cassie’s first time attending a race outside of Silverstone, and her wide eyes took in every detail with a mix of awe and excitement.

Lewis,, was a seasoned pro in this environment, but today he felt a bit different. He was not just a world-class driver; he was an overprotective dad. He kept a close eye on Cassie, making sure she stayed close and safe amidst the chaos. The media quickly noticed the duo, and cameras started flashing, capturing the tender moments between father and daughter.

Lewis’s smile was tight as he waved politely to the cameras, but inside, he was less than thrilled about the attention. He had always been protective of Cassie, and the thought of her being in the spotlight made him uneasy. He bent down to her level, his voice gentle but firm. “Stay close to me, okay, Cassie? There’s a lot going on here.”

Cassie nodded, her curly hair bouncing with the movement. “Okay, Daddy.”

Beside them, Gloria, the babysitter, walked with a calm demeanor. At around 50 years old, she had a reassuring presence that both Lewis and Cassie appreciated. Gloria had been with the family for a while and knew how to keep Cassie entertained and safe. She smiled at Cassie, holding out a small toy car. “Look, Cassie, it’s just like Daddy’s car!”

Cassie’s face lit up as she took the toy, momentarily distracted from the overwhelming environment. Lewis gave Gloria a grateful nod. “Thanks, Gloria. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

Gloria chuckled softly. “Just doing my job, Lewis. You focus on the race; I’ll keep an eye on our little racer here.”

As they made their way through the paddock, more media attention followed. Lewis did his best to shield Cassie from the cameras, but it was clear that their presence was a big deal. He sighed inwardly, wishing for a bit more privacy for his daughter. But seeing Cassie’s excitement and knowing Gloria was there to help made it all worthwhile.

“Alright, Cassie,” Lewis said, lifting her up so she could see over the crowd. “Let’s go find a good spot to watch the race. It’s going to be an exciting day.”

Cassie giggled, her nervousness melting away as she felt the familiar comfort of her father’s arms. With Gloria by their side, they were ready to face the day, media attention and all.

As they walked to the Garage, Cassie's wide eyes took in the sight of the famous cars, the hustle of the crew and the vibrant colours of the team uniforms. Other drivers like Lando, Charles, George and Daniel, couldn't help but stop and admire the adorable little girl.

"Hey there, little champ!" Lando said, waving at her. "Are you going to cheer for your dad today?"

Cassie giggled and nodded. "He's the fastes!" she declared proudly, causing the drivers to melt at her sweetness. They all exchanged smiles, and for a moment, the competitive spirit of Formula 1 seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the warmth of Cassie's innocent joy.

As Lewis, Cassie and Gloria approached the Mercedes garage, Lewis introduced Cassie to his team principal. Toto, the usually angry Austrian, was particularly taken with her. "Well, if it isn't the youngest member of our team!" he said, picking her up and placing her on his lap. "How would you like to be the team principal for the day?"

Cassie's eyes widened in amazement. "Really? I can be in charge?" she squealed, bouncing slightly in excitement. Lewis, who was busy talking to Bono, turned towards his daughter and reminded her again : "Cassie, inside voice, ok?" "Sorry Daddy" she apologised cutely, warming Lewis heart at the sight of her.

Toto brought her attention back to their conversation. “Absolutely! You can help make all the important decisions,” Toto replied, grinning. He handed her a small headset, and Cassie put it on, feeling like a true boss.

“Okay, Cassie,” Toto continued, “let’s make sure the drivers are ready. We need to keep an eye on them!”

Cassie nodded seriously, trying her best to mimic the serious expressions of the adults around her. As she sat on Toto’s lap, she observed the team preparing for the race, her little fingers tapping away on the radio as if she were giving commands.

“Driver 44, are you ready?” she said into the headset, mimicking what she had heard the engineers say. The team chuckled at her adorable seriousness, and Lewis turned to give her a thumbs-up from across the garage.

As the pre-race festivities continued, Cassie found herself surrounded by the other drivers, who were all charmed by her presence. Daniel knelt down in front of her. “So, what’s your strategy for today?” he asked playfully.

“I think Daddy should go really fast and win!” she replied, her face lighting up with confidence. The drivers laughed, and Daniel gave her a mock salute. “A solid plan, Commander Cassie!”

Soon, it was time for the drivers to head to the grid. Toto carefully lifted Cassie off his lap and placed her back on the ground. “Are you ready to watch your dad race?” he asked her.

“Yay! Go, Daddy!” she cheered, waving her arms enthusiastically. Lewis leaned down to give her a kiss on the forehead before heading out to the grid. "I love you, my little love" he called back to her. "I love you more" she yelled. Turning towards his daughter, he said : "Impossible" before continuing his way. Their interaction gained laugher throughout the garage.

As the race began, Cassie was glued to the edge of her seat in the team hospitality area, her small hands gripping the railing as she watched the cars zoom past. With each lap, her excitement grew. “Go, Daddy! You can do it!” she shouted, her voice ringing out amidst the cheers of the crowd.

The race unfolded with thrilling intensity. Lewis battled fiercely against his competitors, maneuvering through tight corners and executing perfect overtakes. Cassie’s eyes were wide with awe as she watched her father, the adrenaline coursing through her tiny body with each lap.

During a particularly tense moment, where Lewis found himself in a tight spot battling for position, Cassie gasped and clutched the railing. “Come on, Daddy! You got this!” she yelled, her voice carrying over the noise of the engines.

Her encouragement seemed to resonate, as Lewis managed to pull off an incredible move, taking the lead. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Cassie jumped up and down, her laughter mingling with the roars of the fans.

“Look, Cassie! Your daddy’s in front!” Gloria said, smiling at her enthusiasm. She was having the time of her life, completely unaware of the high stakes of the race, so focused on her father’s performance.

As the race neared its conclusion, the tension was palpable. Lewis was vying for the victory, and Cassie could feel the excitement in the air. She leaned over the railing, her heart racing as the final laps approached. “You can do it, Daddy! Just go faster!” she shouted, her little fists clenched in determination.

When Lewis crossed the finish line, victorious once again, the roar of the crowd was deafening. Cassie squealed with delight, jumping up and down in sheer joy. “He did it! He won!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together.

After the race, Lewis hurried to the team area, where Cassie was waiting, her face glowing with pride. He scooped her up in his arms, spinning her around. “Did you see that, Cassie? We did it!” he exclaimed, his heart swelling with happiness.

“You were the best, Daddy! I knew you could win!” she said, her eyes shining with admiration.

As the celebrations continued, Cassie found herself the center of attention. The drivers gathered around her, congratulating Lewis and showering her with affection. “You’re an amazing little team principal, Cassie,” Charles said, ruffling her hair.

Cassie beamed, soaking in all the praise. “I told him to go fast!” she said proudly, and the drivers laughed, each one charmed by her innocence and enthusiasm.

As the sun began to set over Brazil, casting a warm glow over the paddock, Lewis took Cassie aside. “You know, today was special not just because we won, but because I got to share it with you,” he said softly.

“I had the best day, Daddy! Can we come to every race together?” she asked, her eyes wide with hope.

“Of course, sweet pea. Every race, if you want. You’ll always be my lucky charm,” Lewis replied, giving her a warm hug.

The day ended with fireworks illuminating the sky, and Cassie watched in awe, her heart full. She had stepped into a world of speed and excitement, and in doing so, had forged an unforgettable bond with her father. As they headed back to their hotel, Cassie rested her head on Lewis’s shoulder, dreaming of race tracks and fast cars, knowing that this was just the beginning of their adventures tog

[vivwritesfics]

Mini Me

With how shitty my life is rn, I keep having these depressive episodes. Turns out my depressive episodes breed fluff

Max's six year old son has just started karting and his wife has to take him. Boy oh boy, does he miss his wife and son.

"So, Max, can we expect to see your little one around the paddock today?"

Ever since the day he was born, Fabian Verstappen had been seen with his parents around the Formula One paddock. He was always smiling and waving at those he knew and those he didn't. Fabian Verstappen was the happiest boy around.

Max was very proud of his boy. He showed him off to whoever he could. When he was young, he sat on Max's hip while he completed interviews and such.

Fabian was Max's number one supporter (Tied only by Max's wife and Fabians mother, Y/N. She followed him around the world three times before agreeing to marry him. It was a year long engagement, and in that time Y/N found out she was pregnant. They managed to keep it hidden until after their wedding, although Y/N did have to get a dress that better fit her bump).

There was a year between Fabian being born and him being able to attend his first race. Christian was happy to get him fitted out in Red bull Racing merchandise. He got his own little hat and a too large Red bull shirt with a thirty three on it (Max had lost that years championship. Red bull had won the constructors but Max had just missed out on the WDC. Red bull had worked out the kinks in the car and Max was bound to win this year, just as he had the previous year).

This year was the first year Fabian and Y/N weren't there to cheer Max on. And interviewers certainly picked up on it.

"Uh, no," Max answered when they asked about Fabian. "He and my wife are at a karting event right now."

The interviewer gave him a nod. "Following in your footsteps perhaps?"

Letting out a laugh, Max nodded his head. "We can only hope," he said.

"Do you think we'll be seeing him in a Red bull Racing suit in the next fifteen years?"

Again, Max nodded his head. "If he's anything like his dad, he'll be in a Red bull Racing suit before that," he said and adjusted the cap on his head.

Max left the interview and checked his phone. As much as he wanted Fabian and Y/N at his race, he knew how important karting was to his son.

Max has always been Fabian's hero. His first full sentence was 'I wanna be like daddy'. Max and Y/N did whatever they could to make Fabian's dream come true.

The one thing Fabian wanted but he couldn't have was to have his daddy at his karting races, watching him. There had been a lot of screaming and crying while Max and Y/N tried to explain to him why his father couldn't be there.

But Fabian had made friends at his Karting matches. He and the other kids he had raced against got along like peas in a pod. Fabian's first ever play date was with his karting friends. Some of them had been sat with their eyes and mouths wide open while Max brought them juice. They couldn't believe he, their hero and favourite driver, was Fabian's dad.

Max pulled out his phone and checked his messages. Nothing from his wife yet, but Fabian's race should have been done, he realised when he checked the time.

Dialling her number, Max pressed his phone to his ear.

It took Y/N a moment to pick up. "Hey handsome," she said in a chipper voice when she picked up the phone. Her voice was distant and slightly distorted, and Max realised she was in the car.

"Hello, Liefje. How's our little racer?" He asked her.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Came Fabian's voice. "I won! I won! I won!" He shouted.

Well, that answered Max's question. His cheeks were warm as he smiled, listening to his son. "Ik ben zo trots op je, mijn jongen. Ik kan niet wachten om jullie twee weer te zien!" (I'm so proud of you, my boy. I can't wait to see you too again!)

There was a moment before Fabian responded. He was fluent in English and French, but he was only good at Dutch. It still took him some time before he could work out what Max was saying and respond.

"Papa, ik... heb een... trofee." (Daddy, I got a trophy.)

There was a certain sense of joy that filled Max whenever Fabian answered him in Dutch. "Fabi, make sure mommy sends me a picture of your trophy," he said.

"I will do, Maxy," Y/N responded for the little boy. "Fabi, what do we say to papa?"

Again, Fabian was quiet for a moment. "Oh!" He suddenly cried from the back of the car. "Good luck with your race, Papa! Maybe you can win like me!"

The Verstappens laughed.

"Good luck, Max. Call me after you've won."

"I will, Liefje. I love you."

"I love you too."

Max hung up the phone after that. He his qualifying to get ready for. As he got ready, though, he spent the entire time thinking about his wife and son. He checked his phone constantly, waiting for Y/N to send over the picture of Fabian and his trophy.

No father had ever been prouder of his little boy than Max. Fabian was his everything and he couldn't wait to see him in the big leagues. Who knows, maybe Max would still be racing alongside him. Maybe he'd have Horner's job, team principle of Red bull Racing while his son raced as their number one driver.

No matter what, Max would always be Fabian's number one supporter.

[k0juki]

Pls PLS hcs of reader and joost being parents!! Thank youu

Dad!Joost Klein hc.

English is not my first language, so feel free to point out any mistakes or errors! More posts here.

A/n: Girl dad!Joost just make my brain go brbrbr

Wc: 700

---

• I imagine it like you guys were together long before you got pregnant.

• The whole pregnancy would be so stressful for both of you, but I think mostly for Joost.

• Like imagine him when you told him that special moment. (Short Imagine ahead)

---

You stood in the bathroom, holding that pregnancy test, where two straight lines shined. You were pregnant. Fuck.

"Y/n? Are you alright?" Joost asked from the other side of the door. Nervousness evident in his voice. What took you so long? Were you hurt? "Open the door."

"I-i'm" you took a deep breath, claiming yourself. "I'm alright Joost." You answered him and put down the positive test.

You looked at yourself in the mirror for the last time and opened the door, seeing Joost leaning against the frame of the door.

"Hey, are you alright?" What are you going to tell him? 'hey Joost, I'm pregnant and not scared as hell' no, definitely not this, but you have to tell him something.

You opened your mouth just to close it again. You didn't think of anything. You had to tell him. Now or never.

"I-I think I'm pregnant.." you said and waited for his response, for him to say something. But he was looking at you like, you just grew a second head.

"Y-you're...pregnant?" He asked, surprise evident in his voice. "W-we're having a baby?"

You just nodded your head. You couldn't think of any words right now and you felt tears in your eyes. Maybe because you didn't tried for a baby or maybe it was just hormones.

And then, Joost took you in his arms, a happy smile on his face and his laughter filled the space around you.

"You aren't mad?" You asked, feeling lost.

"Mad? Why should I be mad? This is amazing! We're having a baby!" He laughed and spinned you around.

---

• He definitely made you listen to his music while you were pregnant. Not that you minded.

• Later you discovered that you were having a little girl. Ashley, but you called her Ash.

• "A badass name for a badass girl, no?"

• Also there would be some sleepless nights, at first when Ash is a little baby and starts crying at night.

• He would be up the second he heard her soft sobbing.

• "Hey there..." Joost whispered as he took her in his arms. "It's alright baby, I'm right here."

• Sometimes he would take her to your and Joost bed, and let her sleep here, in his arms.

• And her first words would be daddy. Joost would be literally jumping around with Ash in his arms tearing up.

• You and Joost would be teaching her to talk both Dutch and English, and other language if your is not English. (Like me)

• Missing you and Ash as he is on tour, so you would be face calling every day and night before she goes to sleep.

• Telling her every story, about places he was in, and what people he met.

• As she grew older, let's just say about four, Joost would love to take Ash on outdoor adventures, teaching her about nature and the world around her.

• A small hiking trips with Ash on Joost's shoulders.

• And mostly teaching her about music. His music. (Not every song okay?) He would DEFINITELY teach her how to dance and sing with her too.

• Also Joost would be playing princess with her, simply because she told him to, and what kind of father would he be if he rejected her wish.

• "No daddy, Mr. Pinky likes his tea with lemon, not sugar." Mr. Pinky is her favorite pink unicorn.

• "Alright, alright, my apologies."

• Calling Ashley his little bug. (He just gave me this kind of vibe.)

• "Daddy I'm not a bug!" Ashley whined.

• And he would write some songs about her. For her, and how much he loves her.

• Maybe he will try to talk you into taking her on tour. "Come on love, it's just for two months."

• And let's just say you said no. End of the discussion…

---

Don't copy or translate my work! Also the picture is not mine! Credit goes to owner!

[whereisloe]

Tough

“Like a .38 made out of brass” ꗥ arthur morgan x fem reader

a lil dutch x reader action cuz i’m just that girl - warnings n/a

𓆝. 𓆟

“You have my condolences for your father. He was a very valuable man” You watched Angelo Bronte carefully from your black fan that covered half of your veiled face. You had to really sell this mourning look if you wanted to fool such a powerful man so, that you did. Getting all dressed up in your black attire everything matching from the black, layered ruffles of your petticoat to the lacy parcel carried by your escort. “Because of his loyalty, I will extend my offer of protection onto you so as long as we still do business together, hm?” He took a sip of his glass before leaning back onto his loveseat with his legs crossed.

“I thank you, truly, Mr. Bronte. But, the extra protection won’t be necessary. We’ve got our own guns for hire on our land” You maintained a harsh stare onto the man across from you as he savored another sip from his wine glass. He laughed amused with your simple answer before tipping his glass to you. “Ha, your father says the same thing. Like daughter, like father then”

“Mr. Bronte, I am no fool to business. With all due respect, I did not come here to reminisce nor, have you invited me here to, no?” Bronte gazed up at you from across the table. Eyes narrowed and unreadable as though he couldn’t figure what to think of you. “You are a very…smart girl” You felt your mouth twitch as he continued his speech. You couldn’t stand the man’s voice, how degrading his words were as you feigned oblivion to obvious exploitations that were about to leave his mouth. “Your father received 10% of all government related endeavors. Whether it was busting criminals or busting vaults, didn’t matter to me just so long as I got 20% of his business.” He paused as he licked at his lips. “Your father did not remain in good standing with me for the money. Instead, he wanted security. Security, that nothing would happen to him or his precious daughter while he worked with me, and security I provided” This man reeked on lies, your father had been shot doing a job for this man but only after he demanded a raise in his cut.

“I can assure you I am not my father. I am here for money, security is something I may provide myself” You gestured over at the guns you hired not too long ago before this meeting. “Daddy was never too smart when it came to funds. Thinkin’ our oil plant would be enough with no back up money to lean on” You lightly began to fan your face as you felt yourself get worked up. “Then we was robbed, Daddy may have turned a blind eye to it but, I ain’t one to show weakness”

“I take it you want my help with this” He gestured to the air before pulling a cigar from a tray. “this show of strength” You nodded and carried on with your story.

“Those boys you’re in good spirit with robbed us good and as a long devotee to your cause, Mr. Bronte, I don’t take too kindly to it”

“My dear, as much as I appreciate your kindest regards, you must understand this business. If I was worried about my clients opinions of one another I’d be the poorest man in Saint Denis. The most I can do is keep them out of your business but, they’re fickle men…not to be trusted” He blew the the smoke of his cigar off to the side as your foot tapped rapidly. You were ready to lay your cards out, prove a point that your father raised woman fairly gifted in her trade. “I completely understand, I just request that I may also be in kahoots with these outlaws”

“Why? So you can get them arrested?”

“Precisely, Mr. Bronte. Of course, on your word. But, if I get in good standin’ with the law they’ll send some men over to the plant. That way we produced more, with less risk” Your foot halted its tapping pausing as the man in front of you thought carefully of your words. On paper, the plan was foolproof and a win-win. “So, whaduya think?” You attempted to expedite the man’s response but was only met with another deafening silence.

“I think I’ve been doing business with the wrong (l/n)” Angelo stood from the loveseat before offering you a hand to follow. You smiled, accomplished with the reaction you received before resting your freehand in his. “I must ask one favor of you, though” You nodded before lifting yourself from the seat. “I need you to host one of my official parties. To test if these men can be trusted, I’ll give subtle hints about your booming business.”

“Are ya fixin’ these men to rob me?”

“I’m fixing you an opportunity to meet these men…” He took your silence as compliance before continuing on. “The plan is, you catch these rats red handed and negotiate, later you tell me if they’re treacherous. If not then I’ll set up a meeting for you and the boss.” He scoffed at word as though he was amused by the thought of it. “And do not worry, I’ll have men everywhere for this event”

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Mr. Bronte” You both shook on it before he walked you up to the front gate. The sun beamed down on you the second your foot met with the cobbled path of the front patio. Your escort was quick to your side with your parasol before you could even muster the words to complain. “The details will be delivered shortly, a presto, miss”

Today was the day.

You could finally put the face to the name that robbed you. Van der Linde Gang. You sighed at the name, as you fixed the headdress adorning your maintained curls. You still kept your attire relatively dark as your father’s death was still fresh in the press. All you had to do was briefly preside over the party from your balcony, allowing Bronte enough time to present you to his friends new and old. Maybe you’d commute down to your gardens to briefly acquaint yourself with your guests.

“Are you ready, Miss” Your maid questioned from your balcony doors. You adjusted yourself one last time before standing from your seat. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose” You promenaded your way towards the doors as your maid rushed behind you as to raise the dragging silks of your skirt just enough to hover the dirty concrete of the balcony but not enough to reveal your petticoat or bustle. You stood straight presiding over all your guests that took it upon themselves to socialize. None of these men meant anything to you except two.

You noticed Bronte with two men, who cleaned up well considering their circumstance, as they prattled on about god knows what. That was until one of seemed to motion up to you.

Nice shaven beard, tall and broad, with a subtle slick to his hair. None of these men would be able to tell but, you’d been admiring the man from afar staring down at him with shameless eyes. “Miss, your stares could be noticed as rude” Your maid whispered to you having you straighten yourself out before giving the man one last glance. Now, the other one had looked up at you but only briefly. He wasn’t too bad himself.

Perhaps, you wouldn’t mind going downstairs and acquainting yourself.

“My goodness” You spoke breathlessly to your maid. “Aren’t they some neat lookin’ fellas?” She hid her smile as she giggled at your unserious behavior.

“They are quite the sight—”

“Ohh, I bet you were lookin’ at the boss, Mr. Van der linde, hisself, huh?” You waved for the older lady to follow you inside as you teased her with your antics. “Well” She began while she laid the train of your dress neatly against the wooden boards fixing the bunched up silks that rested on your bust, “I won’t deny such a thing” the maid smiled softly as you laughed, briefly allowing yourself to calm down.

“Shall we get acquainted with them?” You turned to your maid, fixing her cascading curls as you waltzed past her. “C’mon, this is excitin” By the time you and your maid made it down stairs you could practically feel your heart beating out your chest. You hadn’t the slightlest clue why you were so nervous like some young faced girl talking to a boy for the first time. “Goodness, I’m nervous” You turned to your maid with a hand resting on your cheek.

“It’ll alright, miss. Just remember, you’re here for business negotiations not suitors” She chimed amused with your rather inappropriate reaction. You laughed to yourself as her words hit you. “I’m actin’ ridiculous…alright, cmon”

“Ah, There she is, the woman of the hour” Bronte was quick to call as you approached the men now facing you. You felt your nerves burning you up inside as you grabbed Bronte’s forearm and greeted him with il bacetto, an Italian courtesy you’d learn amongst the time you’ve spent with Bronte. Once you pulled back your attention was instantly on this so called boss standing off to the right of Bronte.

“Missus (l/n)” The man held out his hand as his eyes never left yours. You smiled, masking the slight in embarrassment you felt as you corrected him. “Miss, is just fine.” You placed your hand in his allowing him to kiss your knuckles. Amongst all the intense eye contact, you would think with how you felt moments ago, you’d be a flustered mess just right about now. But, your gut was telling you something serious was up about this man. You’ve been played a fool by many before, and you’ve caught almost just as many amidst their schemes. That glint in his eye, even the courteous gesture was a warning. This man was plotting and it all began with buttering you up.

Subtly, you recalled your hand before carrying on conversation. “I take it, you’re the one that runs things. Mr. Van der Linde, if I’m not mistaken”

“You wouldn’t be, miss. And here my…consort, Mr. Morgan” You noticed the slight pause in his speech before motioning over to the other man. Your head was quick to turn as you stared over at him. Eyes widening as you noticed his attractive features now closely. You smiled and nodded as a greeting to the man. “Ma’am” He returned your gesture with his slight acknowledgment. Couldn’t really hear it in the boss’s voice but, with Mr. Morgan’s you’d instantly picked up on the western candence.

“You don’t sound local, Mr. Morgan. You all from the west, I take it?”

“We’re from all over, Ma’am” He was short with you and rather mysterious, more than likely to hide his western drawl. But, they’ve got something greater to hide, you could feel it. “Mr. Bronte, may I ask a favor of you?”

“Anything, dear” He took a huff of his cigar before you suspiciously looked around for any ‘peering eyes’. “I’ve got the money but, there’s been talk of some group of boys runnin’ around robbing folk—You boys wouldn’t know anything of them, no?”

“No, we certainly do not. Saint Denis is new to us as well as its crime” Van der Linde was quick to respond. You nodded and grabbed his hand with a feigned concern and furrowed brows. “You all stay careful out there. They’re robbin’ houses and coaches from what I’ve heard. I could lend you both a couple of escorts, tonight as well”

“We appreciate the concern but, we’ve got ourselves handled” He reassured with a palm covering your hand.

“Alright, alright” You turned your attention back to Bronte. “The money’s in Daddy’s old office, I a-ain’t know what to do with it—”

“Calm down, the money will be fine. Go on, enjoy yourself.” Bronte played along with your little performance you put on. “What should I do with it? I ain’t never ran a business before.” Bronte tutted his tongue before leading you further into the gardens where all the officials rendezvoused.

“We’ll be back, boys. Help yourselves to some drinks while you’re here” Bronte spoke back to the men as the both of you, alongside your maid, disappeared in the crowd.

“Go find out where that money’s at, Arthur” Dutch wasted no time before turning to Arthur and bringing his voice down to a whisper. Arthur looked over toward him with a practical disbelief.

“Jesus, you ain’t serious? The girl’s daddy just died, now we’re robbing her of her own inheritance”

“Her daddy just died. Meaning that other people are gonna to rob her and, I’m not too sure about you but, I’d rather it be us that gets that money” His voice stained against the low volume he attempted to maintain before lighting a cigar. “I need you to trust me, Morgan, now…” Dutch backed away before tipping his hat to the man. Arthur sighed and made his way inside where the more quiet and intimate conversations took place.

By the time, Mr. Morgan had snuck his way upstairs you’d already been sitting in your father’s office chair shotgun light in your grasp. You had snuck your way around toward the back entrance of your estate which led straight up into the room. You double check the chamber making sure that you were sure to shoot if needed. Growing anxious with nothing but the drowned out voices from outside to distract you, you placed a cigarette to your lips before striking a lonesome match against the underside of your heel.

You’d get through half your cigarette before the soften floorboards creaked from the other side of the door. Quickly, you smothered the stick with the ashes of previous cigarettes your father burned through.

The door crept open and you were slowly met with the deadly end of a revolver and soon after an arm. “I’d put that down if I were you, Mr. Morgan” You stared down the barrel of your shot gun as the man slowly crept from behind the door. “Nobody has to get shot, I’m here to negotiate. Come sit with me, Mr. Morgan”

“Arthur.” He said curtly, clearly fed up with this whole event. He slowly holstered his weapon before seating himself in the chair sat on the opposite side of your desk.

“Arthur Morgan” You let his name slip your lips as you tested it. “You’re quite notorious, you know that?” You spoke clearly and watched him with your gun pointed toward him as you figured him out. “I’ve got family, down in Blackwater, sir. Say, they know all about you.”

“Do they now?” You nodded, slowly as your heel tapped against the wood. “What exactly are ya lookin’ to negotiate, Miss”

“I want to hire your gang as some guns and in turn I’ll keep this and your relation to the Blackwater massacre secret. And, if things play out as I’ve planned, I could probably get those Pinkertons off ya, for a moment anyway” You leaned back into the leather chair before setting your gun off to the side. “I’m tired of listenin’ to these men talk, empty promises followed by another all they is. Leviticus Cornwall for one, Angelo Bronte for another”

“Don’t you have your own men to escort you, why us?” Arthur questioned before leaning back as well, in his wooden seat legs spread and arms crossed. “I ain’t hirin’ y’all on a babysitting job. I need money, gold. I’d be sending y’all on robberies, I need experienced men not no, rich cat on a high horse” You licked your lips before getting desperate. “I’m tryna to buy off an oil plant from Cornwall but, I can’t do that without Bronte keeping the police distracted off of my daddy’s debts. With my daddy dead and me being a woman, my percentages have taken a hit. I can’t pay ‘em both”

“You sure are in a situation—”

“So are you. You need Bronte to trust you and the Pinkertons to fuck off. You need me.” You both stared at one another for a moment before letting your eyes soften. Even though, you’d been mid negotiation, you couldn’t help admiring his blue eyes, warmly lit from the lantern in front of you. God, what you would do just to be able to hold his face in your palms as your thumb rubbed the rosy blemishes of his cheeks.

“You ain’t wrong.”

“I know I ain’t. Now, would you escort me down to your boss, Mr. Arthur Morgan” You spoke sweetly before making your way over to his side and grabbing his arm. You would be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying every second of holding this man. With your one hand wrapped around his elbow and the other gently gripping his bicep, you followed his lead as you both left the room. “You know, you had me fooled back there…playing all helpless” You looked up at the man with a curious gaze mostly because you hadn’t heard the first half of what he was saying to you. “That was a set up, right? There ain’t no money.” You shook your head and smiled up at the bachelor to keep up a friendly appearance as you passed up some guests of yours.

“Bronte wanted to see if y’all were worth trustin’. ‘S nice to know if you lot like robbin’ helpless women” You winked before laughing at the matter only to get a rather dry chuckle from Arthur in return. “It’s alright, I won’t tell a soul, I promise” You placed a reassuring hand to his chest before letting it fall once you both reached the garden. “You know, you’re a handsome fellow, Mr. Morgan. Are you married? I can’t imagine that bein’ easy being in a gang and all.” You started up some small talk as the two of you walked around in search of Dutch.

“I ain’t married, no”

“What about your boss?” You urged.

“Well, he ain’t neither. Got a woman, though…back at camp” They had a woman traveling with them? You held back questioning about her before carrying on. “I take it you don’t, then? No women waitin’ on ya at home?”

“Not in that sense, no” Arthur said plainly as he maneuvered the two of you through the crowd carefully accommodating for you. “Y’all got more women traveling with you boys?” Your eyes brighten with the assumption you made. He nodded and watched as your face lit up. “You should bring ‘em over if this conversation with Mr. Van der Linde goes over well” You spoke outwardly not even thinking about what context the two of you were in currently. “You’re quite odd, Miss” Arthur chuckled before waving Dutch over with his freehand.

“Arthur. Miss (l/n).” Dutch greeted the both of you before visibly growing curious of the atmosphere. Your smiled faded as you grew more serious with the other male.

“Mr. Van der Linde, how would you feel about bein’ business partners?”

[haikyu-mp4]

Salon

word count; 266 – mom!reader, I can't write Tsumu's dialect sry

“Okay, doll. What are we doing today?” Atsumu asked, voice imitating some funny accent that made your daughter giggle.

“The special braids, duh!” her little voice said, and you could just imagine her smile from where you stood outside the door, waiting to knock and ask if they were doing okay. It probably grew even wider when her dad started whining with a soft stomp. Your daughter’s hair had started to grow thick enough to do Dutch braids, and she adored them. However, your baby daddy was still... learning.

“Ya know I can’t do those,” he complained, lowering his voice enough to not alert you in the next room over, not knowing you were listening anyway. “Pick something else.”

“But mom can do it!” your daughter suggested. It sort of felt like a win over Atsumu for today and you might have to use that information on him later.

“Well, ya mama ain’t working in the salon today,” he answered childishly. “I think ya look great with a ponytail.” You could already hear the brush running through her hair as he probably didn’t even wait for her to agree.

Your daughter sighed, she was pretty used to her dad’s attitude. She would just ask you for braids tomorrow. “Can ya at least add glitter? I can pay extra,” she said, settling into their little hairdresser roleplay. You enjoyed how your daughter adopted some of Tsumu’s dialect.

“Of course, doll. I’ll even curl it for ya,” he agreed happily. You decided to finish preparing breakfast instead of disturbing them because those two sure had everything under control.

masterlist

[ladysomething]

a girl dad max fic you say 👀👀

girl dad max! there is a tag so you can see previous asks about it :)

“Céline, come make your pizza,” Max calls out, sliding one of the trays over in front of Charles. 

He turns to the fridge, pulling out bowls of prepared toppings, balancing them in his arms. Charles is quick to take the most precarious from him, then helps him get the rest out onto the counter. Céline still hasn’t come over by the time everything is set out, glued to the T.V. where some Dutch children’s program is playing. 

“Céline, if you don’t come over, then I will just have to make your pizza for you,” Max says, some weird mix between sweet and threatening. “You remember what happened last time.” 

She still doesn’t answer. Charles is wildly curious to know what happened last time. 

“Okay, I guess your pizza will have tomatoes and olives and anchovies—” 

Céline slips off the lounge, running into the kitchen, cheeks red and brows furrowed, speaking rapid Dutch. 

“I called you two times,” Max tells her, reaching down to pick her up and sit her on his hip. “You can’t be mad at me for almost putting tomatoes on when you were ignoring me.” 

“I hate tomatoes,” Céline says primly, one arm hooked around the back of Max’s neck as she peruses the selection. 

“I know, lieverd,” Max says, clearly indulgently. He sits her on the edge of the counter, handing over the bowl of passata. “Careful, okay?” 

“Yes, daddy,” she says seriously. 

Carefully, she puts the bowl down on the counter, then takes out a huge scoop of the passata. It spatters everywhere when she puts it on her dough, but Max just wipes it from her legs with his thumb without saying anything. 

Charles watches on quietly as Céline picks out all the toppings she wants. Max doesn’t do it for her, but he always hands over the bowl, letting her do it herself unless she gets something wrong. When she’s done, he picks her up to put her back on the ground, and she runs off quickly, sitting down on the lounge to keep watching her show. 

Max is quick to put Céline’s pizza in the oven, then turns back to Charles. 

“Margherita, right?” 

He can’t believe Max remembers that. It’s so stupid, but it’s like Charles’ breath is punched from his chest. 

Fuck. How did he ever think he’d moved on from Max? He hasn’t. He really, really hasn’t. He’s just as in love now as he has been since he was twenty. 

Thirteen years of his life in love, and thirteen more so devoted to his rivalry with Max that it might as well have been love. 

“Max,” he says helplessly, breath hitching. “Max, I—” 

Max softens, glancing over at Céline—still watching her show, paying them no attention—and then putting his spoon down on the counter carefully. 

Gently, Max slides one hand over Charles’ waist, the other cupping the side of his face. Charles can’t help but turn his face into it slightly, eagerly and desperately searching for the comfort of Max’s touch. 

“I know,” Max whispers. “Me too.” 

Charles reaches out for him, too, one hand on his hip, the other laying over his chest, fingers spread wide. 

[adventuringblind]

Daddy Issues

Max verstappen x reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Both you and Max have similar daddy issues. How do you comfort eachother in times of need?

Warnings: DADDY ISSUES GALORE, depictions of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse, anger issues, Google translated Dutch (I know two other languages and neither if them is dutch)

Notes: Not proofread (we die like Charles Leclerc's car at the 2023 Brisish GP FP2), third-person POV

Masterlist // Part Two // Part three

Sometimes, her love story with Max felt like that of Romeo and Juliette. That's what she likes to tell herself as their dads once again go to war with their respective children.

How either of them had made it this far in life, she had no clue.

This particular night was Max's turn to receive a phone call. The two lovers had been laying in bed during the winter break, keeping eachother warm, when the phone started buzzing.

Max had taken one look at the caller ID and debated whether to just let it ring through or answer. The latter being the better decision or else he would get that added to the procrastinated verbal slaps his father likes to give freely.

The Dutch picked up the phone and pulled the woman close to him in the same motion.

"Hello." His voice is rough, his annoyance becoming apperant in this moment.

Jos' voice through the phone was so loud she didn't even have to try and listen. It was as if he was in the room with them.

She ran her fingers through his hair as he did his best to keep his composure.

"Have you been practicing with the sim?"

"Yes."

"Good, wouldn't want you getting worse or being distracted by the female in your house over the break," he laughed.

Max's free hand entwined with hers. The woman proceding to squeeze his three times. A silent I love you for time like this.

"Maybe you can finally put her to use if you were smart."

A blow to both of them. She had winced only a little, but it didn't go unnoticed. Max brought her knuckles to his mouth and silently let his lips graze them.

"Next race I expect to see you make less mistakes and if there is more then you only have yourself and the women to blame."

"Goodnight dad."

Max quickly hung up the phone and tossed it aside.

She, however, took a different approach and jumped out of the bed. Her now cold body running to the kitchen. Max close behind her.

"I've decided we need hot chocolate." She stated before he could even get the question out.

The two spend the rest of the night cuddling with hot chocolate and watching kids' movies.

The words of Jos are not easily forgotten, but maybe Max could find a way to heal regardless.

The next time something like this happened, it was her turn.

Unfortunately for her, they were at a race. Her parents wanted to come because it's a race in her home country. Spending the day with their daughter, who lives far away now, sounds great in theory.

It had started tame. The three of you sitting in the Redbull hospitality catching up until she went to go find some of your friends and wish them luck.

Thankfully, Lando was walking by and spotted her.

"Hey (Y/N)!" He shouted. Successfully grabbing her attention. The woman waved and made it three steps forward before her dad had placed his hand on her shoulder.

Startled, she spun around and put some distance between them.

"We need to talk." The older man crossed his arms.

Immediately, her body felt like she was a child again. Her shoulders sagged but looked him in the eyes anyway. Knowing if she didn't, he would become more upset.

"I know me and your mom aren't the most rich people, but at least we gave you a better childhood thank ours." He sighed and let out a small laugh. Something he did to make her believe she wasn't in trouble. "You could be a little more grateful to us before running off with some guy who has more than us."

"I'm sorry," was all she could muster.

Thankfully, lando had come over to say hello after she had finished her conversation. He waited, not wanting to interrupt. Until he heard the apology, then he decided to gently step in.

"(Y/N)! Glad I caught you! Max wanted to see you before qualifying." The Brit felt proud of himself for how smooth that sounded.

"Oh do you know where he is?"

"Yeah, follow me." He gestured with his head the direction they were going to head.

"I'll talk to you later, dad." She smiled sadly. Then, she turned to follow Lando.

The two walked in silence to the Redbull garage. Lando not wanting to push the woman and her attempting to swallow her tears before having to talk to Max. Stressing him out before he needed to race was not on her agenda today.

When Max spotted her coming into the garage, he jogged over, greeting his love and his friend with a bright smile.

"What are you doing down here? I thought you were up in hospitality?" He asked.

Max's eyes dart between the two. Taking in the sheepish smile of one and a mixture of sadness and confusion on the other.

Lando turns to look at the woman beside him. "Sorry about lying to you, but I heard what your dad was saying to you..." He trails.

Max's face drops. Suddenly understanding why she had come with a sullen expression.

"It's okay Lan, thank you for rescuing me."

"Anytime." He nods before making his way out of the garage.

Max places his hands on her shoulders. "Do you want to talk about it now, or do you want a hug?"

She doesn't respond. Instead, she embraces him, inhaling his scent and listening to the sound of his heart.

"Race first, talk later." She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek for goodluck.

Max understanding her needs and how she is feeling, helped put the words of her dad into the back of her brain.

The following incident happened in the two's shared home. Jos had cone knocking at the door while Max was away grabbing some essentials for dinner that night. She regretted not going with him now. Opting to get things ready and started while Max was away.

"Oh, it's you." Jos sneered. Practically shoving her out of the way to get inside the apartment. "Where is my son?"

"He's at the store grabbing things for dinner, but I think he'll be back shortly." The young woman closes the door but hardly moves, barely a breath entering her lungs.

Dealing with Jos on her own was always a difficult task. Often fighting with herself between being on the defensive and provoking him more, or just staying quiet. Normally, she opted for the latter.

"You should really consider leaving him now. It'll hurt him less, and he'll be able to focus on what's important again." His eyes burn on her. "Have you still not understood that you are hindering him?! He has been making more mistakes since you seduced him."

She lost her grip for a moment, her mouth letting the words slip before her frontal lobe could fully process.

"Have you ever considered that encouraging and being proud of him might help him more than the constant berating?"

Jos' face went red, his jaw clenching in anger. He looked like he might break something.

Originally, she hadn't realized how close he had been. Now, knowing she should have put more than an arms reach.

The sting on her cheek was not a sensation she was used to. Her father had never actually hit her. thrown stuff around, and broke things from occasionally, but never hit her.

Tears began pricking her eyes. How was she to respond now?

"Don't speak to me like that. It's ridiculous that he keeps you around."

Well, she already crossed the line. There's no going back now. "Maybe because I am actually kind to him." Standing her grand, she managed to look directly at him. The shock of her action clearly displayed on his figure. "Your son is one of the kindest and funniest people I have ever met. He is successful not because because of you but because of himself and what he has achieved through his own hard work."

She had been so lost in her speech that she had failed to hear the keys in the door.

"I'm glad you think so geliefde." His voice was soft towards her. Relief washed over her face as she turned to see him. "What are you doing here, dad?"

"I came to look over some things with you about your next race."

Max's eyes narrowed at him. He quickly places the bag with groceries in it on the floor and strides over where the young woman is still trying to figure out what to do next.

Max places his hands on either side of her face and examines it. "Well, now you don't get to ever come back."

"Max-"

"She is right. I am loved by her unconditionally, and I don't need you to constantly criticize me. And you especially do not get to lay hands on anyone I care about."

Max's eyes turned cold. Now staring past her while still holding her protectively. "Get out."

"Son I think we should at least talk about this!"

"Get out! Or I will call the authorities."

Jos raised his hands in defeat and wnt to exit the space. Before he closed the door, he left you both with a parting message. "I hope she is worth it, Max, and if you realize she's not, then don't come crawling back to me."

When the door clicked closed, she couldn't stop the tears from flowing. "I'm so sorry I shouldn't have said anything to him." She sobbed.

Max embraced her gently and leaned to whisper, "You did nothing wrong, I don't need him to be proud of me. Instead, I think your encouragement will be enough to fuel me for races."

Then, they both started to heal.

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚘𝚕𝚖 (𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎?)

Summary: Bored me tries something different (because writer’s block is a bitch) during a bus ride.

Pairing: Blackpool Combat Club x Fem!Reader

Warnings: +18, adult content, semi-erotic content, harsh language, dub-con, mild psychological torture, yandere vibes.

Tags: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @adamjf , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore

The youngest man was placed by the door as security, he couldn’t stop staring at her ever since the others bound her to the chair. His black hair and mischievous almond-shaped eyes gleamed underneath the blinding white lights.

She hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, adrenaline and the clarity in the room had successfully kicked sleep out of her system. She vaguely remembers the faces of two of the men, having bumped them a few times inside her father’s church, but the blonde one and the one by the door were still unfamiliar to her. She still didn’t know where she was, who these men were, and what they could possibly want with someone like her, but still, she found herself here. Somewhere at some place, with the four strangers, being held hostage for no apparent reason.

“I need to go to the bathroom”, she murmured. Red, tired eyes stared bluntly at the young man before her ears captured what sounded like a faint chuckle.

“Didn’t you just go like ten minutes ago?”

“Yes, but I need to go again”, she responded, shrinking herself in the chair when he took three steps forward.

He hovered over her, nose brushing against her perfumed hair, warm breath caressing the skin of her right temple. “What’s so interesting about that bathroom that you wanna go in there all the time, huh?” His hand pushed her hair behind her shoulder, rough fingertips brushing the skin of her neck and shoulder in the meantime. “Maybe I should go in with you to see what interesting things you’re up to”.

Her throat felt coarse and dry, and the many hours without water were beginning to affect her body. She subtly pulled herself away from the young man’s touch, the small action seemed to amuse him since his only response was to get closer to her again.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of the shy ones” He chuckled “You didn’t seem to have one single shy bone in your body when you snuck out of the church with Timmy boy”. The amused chuckle transformed into a full-out laugh as he spotted the disgusted look on her face.

“Tell me” He whispers in her ear “How far did you let Timmy boy go?” his hand grips her thigh, pushing it open until a voice echoes from behind them.

“Yuta! That’s enough” The blonde man stated, slowly walking into the room followed by the other two men. Yuta reluctantly stepped away from her and walked toward the blonde man who beckoned him closer. He whispered something in Yuta’s ear, and the young man just nodded and walked out of the room.

“I deeply apologize for this inconvenience” The blonde man pointed with his finger around the room “But dear old daddy didn’t leave us much of choice”. His eyes wrinkled as he smiled “I’m Bryan. And this is Mox and Claudio”, he pointed back and forth between the man beside him, “We promise you nothing bad will happen to you, as long as you behave and your father keeps his part of the deal, of course. But other than that, I promise you, we’re all gentlemen here”.

She tried to lick her lips in an attempt to moist the dry flesh as she spoke “Could I have some water, please?”

“Of course” The man who went by the name Claudio answered with a smirk. He grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge by the door and opened it before placing it against her chapped lips.

They all stared at her with curiosity, like tourists on a safari. Both Mox and Claudio had a knowing smirk plastered on their lips as Bryan only stood there in silent mockery. Claudio squatted down beside her, pulling the water bottle away from her lips when she began to chug on it.

“Easy there” He whispered “We don’t want you to choke, at least not on water”

When she only answered a small, confused “What?”, Claudio laughed “You’re really cute, I wonder why it took us so long to do this”. He placed small pecks on her exposed shoulder, traveling up to her neck until he reached her cheek.

“Will you be our obedient little girl? Do everything we say with a pretty smile on your face” Claudio placed his chin on her shoulder, deep brown eyes staring directly at her soul “We know you want to” He grinned.

“We’re not like christian boy Timmy who doesn’t know what to do with his little dick” Mox tugged on her hair, pulling it down until she looked up at him. “We’re men, real men” His clear baby blue eyes roamed through her features “I know you’re supposed to keep that cherry intact for your honeymoon, but kitty cat, I’m not so sure that you’ll keep it though. You know why?”

She whined a “No” before she felt Claudio pressing his semi-hard bulge against her shoulder.

Mox took her hand in his as he began “Because unlike your dear old daddy, we love you”, he delicately placed her palm on top of his growing bulge, “See how much we love you?”

A boisterous laugh resonated from the wooden stairs, loud thumps made their way down to the small room until they stopped by the door. “Everything’s ready and the engine is running”. Yuta grinned like the Cheshire cat.

Bryan leaned over her and cut the ropes with a pocket knife. He caresses her hair, places a small peck on her lips, and whispers “Let’s get out of here, shall we?”

[cowboydisaster]

can i pls request Daddy Dutch finding out somebody is treating reader real bad and finding them and killing them thank you love you xoxoxoxo

Tutelar

-(n.) serving as a protector or guardian.

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x fem!reader

word count: 3.8k

summary: you come home hurt, and Dutch sets the world ablaze to damn the men that have done this to you.

a/n: I kind of took this idea and ran so I hope it is along the lines of what you were hoping for, and sorry this request took so long!

warnings: graphic violence, very graphic please read this

They had wanted to send you home as a message.

"Don't fuck wit' Colm O'Driscoll." One of them had said, kicking you in the ribs when you were already down. You could barely breathe as they took turns, kicking and hitting you until purple and black bruises blossomed along your ribcage, and blood spattered up from your mouth, landing on the dirt below. Your nails dug into the ground, accumulating dirt as you attempted to grip onto anything to find some leverage. 

"Go easy on her, she's a woman, and don't kill her." Another man said, holding the others back. They hadn't touched you. Thank God, they hadn't touched you. But they beat you, and as you weakly tried to fight back they humiliated you, made you feel weak and small and stupid for traveling through The Heartlands alone at night. You should have stopped and sent up camp, but you were tired and you missed home. You recall traveling through Twin Stack Pass when they'd spotted you:

"It's gotta be a Van der Linde! Grab him!" One had screamed from horseback, and they had chased you, lassoed you from your stallion to the ground. You'll never forget the look on their faces, the satisfied smiles and the chuckles when they realized who they'd captured, "Dutch's piece" they'd called you. 

They'd left you on the side of the road with none of your belongings except your horse, ensuring that you had a way to get back to camp and deliver their message. They wanted to get back at Dutch, to stab at him for stealing the train job. And what better way to get back at him than through the person he loves most?

It was a grueling ride home.

— — — —

You're almost afraid to part the white canvas into yours and Dutch's tent. Afraid because you know what his reaction will be. You should be thinking about the gang, about lying low and not causing scenes, but you don't care, because you're hurting and you need him. 

"D-Dutch?" You all but whisper, parting the canvas enough to slip through, limping and holding your bruised ribs. As soon as you're inside the tent, the little strength you have left shatters and you crumble, landing on your knees. The adrenaline wears off and you just can't find the strength to hold yourself up any longer. Everything hurts, especially as your knees buckle against the wooden floor. Your arms wrap around your twitching, aching torso where fists and rings have marked you, where steel toed boots have left their imprints on your skin. You can't help but cry because you're home, you're safe, they can't hurt you anymore. 

Dutch is awake in an instant. He hadn't been expecting you until the morning, and as soon as he hears you he knows something is wrong. And then, god- he sees you. A heap, a puddle on the floor of pain and sadness and hurt, and he wants to mend you together immediately, even not knowing what's wrong. As soon as the fog of sleep is cleared from his mind, he's scrambling to the floor in front of you.

"My dear girl, what happened?" He asks, eyes wide, scanning over your bruised form. His hands hover over your arms, afraid to touch you for fear that he will break you even further. He can't see your face, as it is hidden in your hands, but he wishes to look into your eyes, and find answers. Dutch's index finger rests under your chin as he pulls your gaze up to his own. 

Your sniffles quiet once he sees your face, and his warm eyes and worried features fall away once he sees the bruises there. They're replaced by a stark coldness, a rage. It's not directed at you of course, but whatever scum has hurt you. You see the way his jaw sets, locking as he grinds his teeth.

Dutch brushes some hair from your face, seeing the purple marks on your cheek there. His eyes slip shut in an attempt to keep control of himself as a low rumble resonates from his chest, and when his eyes open again, they are cold, threatening.

"Who did this to you?" He asks, fingers brushing over your arms, wondering if you adorn the same bruises under your shirt. 

"O'Driscolls… They told me to tell you that- that this is a message, not to mess with Colm." You whimper, lip trembling as you lean against Dutch, clinging to the lapels of his shirt.

"I'll kill every last one of those repulsive maggots." Dutch growls, formulating a plan, but then you hiccup a cry, and his eyes flicker down to you, sniffling and hiccuping against his chest and his eyes soften. The O'Driscolls can wait. 

Placing one hand on the back of your head, and the other on your back, he pulls you closer to him, realizing he needs to take care of you first. 

"Let me tend to you first, my love." He whispers, arms wrapping around your waist as he helps you to your feet. You wince, gasping lightly from his hands on your twitching ribs. 

"How bad do you hurt?" Dutch asks, heart breaking when you wince as he helps you to your feet. You don't respond, figuring it will just be easier to show him.

Feeling numb inside, your fingers come to the buttons of your muddied blue blouse, and as soon as Dutch sees your intentions, he brushes your fingers away. His eyes are dark, pained, as he begins to undo the buttons. As more flesh is revealed to him, more discoloration is evident. He breathes heavily through his nose, saying nothing as the last button unclasps and he pulls the shirt down over your arms, leaving your torso bared to him.

Goosebumps arise on your skin as his fingers ghost over your bare torso, and he swallows thickly, taking in your body. He has seen you bared like this so many times before, but never has it felt this damning, this aggravating.

He can't believe that they've hurt you like this. They've hurt you. He won't let them get away with it, he will not let them live after this. Dutch will tear the O'Driscolls limb from limb if that's what it takes. He wants to ensure that they never spoil the air again with their wasted breaths. They don't deserve to live in a world in which you exist. He will ensure that they don't. 

Dutch runs his fingers over your aching ribs, and down the valley of your breasts as he inspects the purple, swollen skin there. His eyebrows are drawn together slightly from focus, and you see the moment that the question enters his mind. It pains your heart to see the fear in his eyes as they flicker up to you.

"Did anyone touch you…?" He asks, voice quieter than his usual booming tone. Immediately you shake your head no, face crumbling as you realize how much worse it could have been. 

Then he's wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pulling your head to his chest with a heavy, pained exhale. 

"It's okay, shh, my dear, I have you now." He coos, shushing your cries as he leads you to the bed. You cling to him until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he urges you to sit on the plush cot. 

He cups your cheek, planting a kiss to your forehead before he backs away, going towards his wooden chest. He grabs a white shirt of his own, the pin striped one that he always wears. He certainly won't be needing white tomorrow. Then he grabs a bottle of tonic, bringing both back towards you.

He brings your chin up lightly with his fingers, bringing the bottle of tonic to your lips until you've drunk down enough to please him. And then he slides the shirt down over your head and arms, not bothering to unbutton it as it swallows you up.

"Tonic should help with the pain." He mutters, sitting down next to you on the bed. It dips under his weight as he lies down on the cot, gently pulling you into the crook of his side so as to not hurt you. Sniffling, you nuzzle against his chest, reveling in the warmth and safety that he provides. 

"They'll never lay a finger on you again." He growls to himself, eyes fixated on the ceiling as an instinctual, primal rage burns in his gut, "I'll make sure of it."

Dutch comforts you to sleep, knowing that he won't be getting any slumber tonight. Once your eyelids are fluttered closed, and your breaths grow slow and quiet, he looks over your arm draped across his chest. He sees the finger prints there, where some lowlife bastard has left his mark on your body. He sees the blossom of yellow and purple along your cheeks, and the fire in his eyes burns. 

The O'Driscolls can harm Dutch in whatever ways they wish. They can beat him, hang him, ship him to the gallows but touching even a hair on your head is a step too far. You're his, his family, his love, his life and he will be damned if someone gets away with harming you. Colm intended to get under Dutch's skin and it worked, now all the O'Driscolls will have to pay the price. 

The same O'driscolls that hurt you have moved camp, sitting comfortably under the stars, joking of the praise they'll receive for finding the Van der Linde. Little do they know that come morning, the devil himself will be on their doorstep, commanding death. Hurting you will be the last thing those bastards ever do. 

— — — —

You wake up to the sound of quiet rustling. It's still dark out, most likely very early morning. You roll onto your side, wincing slightly. Dutch is not in bed, but is fastening his gun belt over his hips. He's fully dressed, even adorning his black bowler hat. 

"I didn't mean to wake you." Dutch whispers at the sound of your rustling, and your eyes flicker up to his own as he turns to you. 

"Where are you going?" You ask, as if you need to. You already know what he's doing, and anxiety pangs in your chest at the idea. 

"Just have something I need to take care of. Don't you worry about it, my dear." Dutch responds, walking to the side of the bed. He cups your cheek, pressing a slow kiss to your lips before letting you go. 

"I have more tonic here, and Arthur is outside in case you need anything else. I've ordered him there until I return." Dutch says, sliding his ivory-gripped pistols into his holsters. You nod, wishing he would stay with you, but also wanting him to take down those monsters. 

"Dutch?" You whisper, watching as he steps towards the door, turning around at the sound of your voice. 

"Yes?" 

"Please be careful… and please hurry back to me." You say, hand extending out to him. He smiles, gripping your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

"I'll move mountains to get back to you quickly, miss." Dutch offers, squeezing your hand lightly before letting it go. 

And then he's gone, walking through the exit with haste.

He stops at the front of his tent, addressing Arthur who is sitting in a folding chair outside with a leg propped up. 

"If she needs anything at all, you get it for her. If something happens, if she even gets a goddamn papercut, send John to get me." Arthur nods, glancing up from his journal to take in his instructions, "And son? Thank you." Dutch tips his hat to Arthur then, stomping up towards The Count who is already saddled. 

He wastes not even a second, swinging his leg over the stallion and spurring him into the night. Tonight he's grateful for the Arabian. There's no animal that could get him across the plains faster. Dutch is nothing short of a force to be reckoned with, barreling across The Heartlands on his snow white Arabian. His pistols glisten in the moonlight, as does the growing rage in his eyes. It doesn't take long for him to take in his surroundings, and in the distance on top of the hill he sees a shouldering billow of smoke, rising up through the trees. With his eyes fixated on the smoke, he digs his spurs into The Count, urging him to pick up speed. In half a second he's close enough to see the outlay of the camp. It's the O'Driscolls alright. 

From a distance far enough to not be spotted, Dutch sees three O'Driscolls, clad in green scarves. They're joking around a campfire, laughing and talking loudly, toasting bottles of liquor. With a bubble of rage coming up in his throat, Dutch rides The Count straight towards the camp, not bothering to sneak. Drunk or just idiots, they don't see him coming until he's nearly in the camp. 

"Boys!" Dutch hollers, smiling as if greeting old friends. He's switched that famous Dutch van der Linde charisma on, smiling and raising his hands up in the air. The Count strides straight up to them, stopping once he's a handful of feet away from the fire. 

"That's Dutch van der Linde!" One yells, raising his revolver up, pointing it at Dutch with a downright panicked expression on his face. The other two shy backwards, raising their weapons with trembling hands. They had not expected Dutch personally, and certainly not so soon. They were expecting him to go after Colm, but Dutch wants these boys, the ones who hurt you. 

Dutch only raises his hands up in further surrender, sliding off The Count as he approaches the fire slowly.

"Now I don't want no trouble." Dutch says, taking a seat at a log by the fire. The O'driscolls look at eachother afraid and nervous, gauging what he's going to do. 

"Fine night tonight, isn't it?" Dutch asks, looking up to the moon with a chuckle. He rests his hand on his leg, keeping a charismatic demeanor as he does so. 

"Sure, now what you want? We ain't got no business with you." One spits out, revolver wavering from where it's pointed at Dutch. 

Dutch chuckles deep in his chest, a threatening glance landing over the three men across the fire.

"Is that so?" Dutch asks, taking into account that two of the three men have bruised, bloody knuckles. He squints his eyes, growling at the sight of your blood on their hands. 

"Which one of you is in charge?" Dutch asks, looking between the three, deducing that the man with no blood on his hands is most likely the one giving orders. 

"We only answer to Colm." The smaller of them speaks up. 

"Colm's not here… now I'll ask again, which one of you is in charge." Dutch growls, growing irritated with their lies. The two bloody-knuckled boys glance to the biggest man, and Dutch smiles. 

"Your name?" Dutch asks the large man. The leader is looking Dutch in the eyes, unwavering unlike his lackeys.

"Nicholas." The leader offers, not giving his last name. Dutch nods, leaning back on the log. 

"Tell me, Nicholas, would you condone your men here hurting a defenseless woman?" Dutch's gaze turns into knives, "Hurting my woman?" Dutch asks, standing from his position on the log. It's then that Nicholas sees the rage in his eyes, the unbridled ferocity that is about to be cast upon him. Nicholas stutters, standing up and backing away from Dutch slightly. 

"I ain't got no idea what you're talking about." Nicholas spits, keeping his gun raised at Dutch as he takes a step back with every one of Dutch's steps forward. 

"I think you do, boy. And let me tell you, you're gonna have to pull that trigger if you plan on stopping me." Dutch all but growls, stepping closer to Nicholas until he can see the fear in his eyes. Nicholas is ready to fire, but with the proximity, Dutch whips the revolver out of his hand, tossing it towards the treeline in one swift movement. Colm never worried about hiring good gunmen, the men are pathetic in their weapon skills, and Dutch knows this.

Dutch unholsters his own pistol then, ivory grip tight in his hand as he pulls the hammer down, aiming it towards the smaller men. 

"I suggest you drop those weapons." Dutch hisses, no room for argument as they toss their weapons aside, trembling. 

Then his attention is back on Nicholas, black eyes boring into the suddenly weak-statured man. 

"Now Nicholas, I'm not about persecuting an innocent man. So I suggest you tell me right now and I'll know if you're lying. Did you order these lowlives to put their hands on her?" Dutch growls, coming forward again until Nicolas stumbles backwards, back hitting a tree. 

"No! No goddammit, I didn't even see a woman!" Nicholas yells, afraid for his life and regretting all the decisions that brought him here. 

Dutch chuckles humorlessly, backing up from the men while keeping his gun at the ready to kill any of them. He backs away to a pile of blankets and food by the campfire, kicking it with his foot until he finds what he saw earlier when he was scouting the camp. His boot toes at an empty, walnut colored saddlebag, and he kicks it across the dirt, sending it straight down towards the O'Driscolls. 

They all pale, looking down to the saddlebag with your initials sewn into the leather with red thread, lined with ruby colored roses. Dutch fumes, watching as the boys' eyes flicker down to the pack they had stolen from your horse and then back up to Dutch.

"I thought I told you not to lie to me." Dutch hisses, holstering his gun before coming forward and gripping Nicholas by the collar, he slams the man against the tree, getting up in his face. The other two O'Driscolls dare not to move, shocked into a state of fear as they watch on. 

"We was just following orders-" Nicholas begs, whimpering before Dutch grips the handle of his knife from its holster and in one swift movement he plunges it into the man's gut. Nicholas gasps, gripping at the knife in his gut, but Dutch holds it steady, grinding it deep in his guy and turning the blade. Dutch holds eye contact with Nicholas, growling as the life begins to drain from the other man's eyes. Blood spews from Nicholas, all over Dutch as the weaker man gasps and grunts. Dutch leans into the other man's ear, making sure his voice is the last thing the bastard ever hears. 

"This is for her." Dutch growls, twisting the knife until he hears bones crunching before ripping the knife back out of him. Nicholas slides to the ground, guts and blood falling out as he slides down against the tree. Dutch kneels on the ground, wiping his bloodied knife on Nicholas's jeans to clean it off. 

"I'll see you in hell." Dutch growls, sliding his knife back into its sheath before turning to address the men off to the side. 

"You." Dutch growls, unholstering his pistol and aiming it at one of the boys' heads. 

"Where is Colm?" Dutch asks, voice as cold as ice. 

"S-six point cabin, up in Cumberland forest! Just please don't kill me!" The man rambles, trembling with his hands in the air as he tries to save his own life. With no hesitation, Dutch pulls the hammer down and in quick succession shoots twice, hitting both men in their chests. 

With the barrel still smoking, Dutch shoves his gun into its holster, looking around at the now quiet camp. It's still dark, and he glances down to his pocket watch. There is blood smeared on the golden chain, and he wipes it away to check the time. 

It's only been an hour, and he's satisfied that he still has time to join you in bed before the sun rises. Dutch whistles for The Count, rummaging through the camp and carefully stuffing your saddlebag with your stolen belongings. Once he has everything, he mounts up, glancing back to the three bodies only momentarily before spurring The Count back home to you. 

— — — — 

You perk up at the sound of his voice outside the tent. Resting up on your elbows, you listen as Dutch thanks Arthur and bids him goodnight. He doesn't come straight to the tent, instead you listen as he splashes his face in the water barrel outside, likely washing away the blood that is on his skin. He dresses down into his union suit, placing his stained clothes in a neat pile by the washing bin. 

You pull the blankets around yourself tighter, smiling as Dutch steps into the tent, quickly coming over to you.

"How are you feeling?" He asks, leaning down to brush a stray hair away from your face. 

"Better now…Come to bed with me." You plead, wincing as you slide over to make more room for him. 

He climbs in beside you, laying on his side. Facing him, you nuzzle into his chest as he wraps his arms around you. He's so warm, so strong and solid against your chest. You're sure that you can face anything with him by your side, protecting and loving you. You glance up at him through heavy eyelashes, seeing that he is lost in thought. 

"Hey?" You whisper to him, pulling his attention down to you. Immediately when his eyes land on yours, his lips break into a smile, and you can feel his chest thrum against yours. 

"I love you." You tell him, and though he's heard the words fall from your lips countless times, it still pulls in his chest. 

And then you lean up to him, ignoring the pain of your split lip as you press your lips against his, kissing him softly. He kisses you back, lengthening the intimate moment by placing his hand on your hip. When you pull away, catching your breath, you can see that Dutch is relieved, reassured that you're still here with him. He presses his forehead against yours, leaning in to press one gentle kiss to your nose. 

"I love you too… and I won't let anyone hurt you, not ever again." Dutch growls, pulling your head against his chest and holding you there. 

You know he will do everything in his power to protect you, but you also know that things like this are inevitable. You're going to get hurt, it's inescapable, and it's a thought that haunts Dutch often. But for now at least, you're safe, tucked into his arms, and he has no intentions of letting you go.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow

[sednonamoris]

good, honest thieves

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: A fight with Micah leads to a lecture from Dutch. Loyalty is exactly what you've been raised on, but to what? To whom? The answer seems to be John every time.

Warnings: Knife violence, canon-typical violence, fish guts, strong language, Micah Bell's whole existence, sexist language/insults, Dutch being our fav little manipulator, blink-and-you'll-miss-it mild angst

Word count: 1,465

A/N: I've been waiting to write this altercation since I first started ghost story, so I hope you all enjoy it for this nice, short chapter 💕

Series masterlist • AO3

— 

You miss out on a hell of a firefight. A lot of law dead. A lot of townsfolk dead. A run-in with Mr. Leviticus Cornwall himself.

You’re surprised that he deigned to show his face in the mud and the muck of Valentine, but if there’s one thing rich folk are good for it’s greed. From the sound of it, he’s none too pleased to have been robbed. 

From the sound of it, it’s a lucky thing John and Arthur and Dutch and Strauss ain’t dead after all that. 

The gang was quick to make a hasty retreat.

Now you’re camped outside a little town called Rhodes, farther south than you’ve settled in years. Arthur teases that you and Javier must be happy to be in warmer climes, but personally? You hate it. New Austin is dry heat and desert for miles. The air there bites, sharp and clean. Here it’s thick as molasses and wet with humidity. Sweat and condensation cling to everything. The very ground beneath you is mucky and muddy and lush with overgrowth, like the vegetation can’t stand it here, either. It claws and climbs its way out and onto everything. You’ve never seen undergrowth like this, swallowing trees and homesteads whole without discrimination. 

Out of everyone, you figured Dutch would hate it most - you can’t count how many times he’s told stories about the Southern scum that put his daddy in the ground. But he seems in his element out here. The town is divided into factions he and Hosea have wasted no time playing against one another, and rumors of confederate gold have lit his eyes with that same gleam you saw before Blackwater. You know you won’t leave until he has it - he’s even got Bill and Arthur playing deputy while working leads. 

Today they’re off with the sheriff chasing ‘shine in the hills, so camp is mostly quiet. Or it would be, if Micah wasn’t hanging around.

“Ghost,” he calls out, uncomfortably familiar. He approaches Pearson’s chuckwagon with open arms that are greeted only with a flat stare when you look up from the fish you’re gutting. You promised Pearson you’d take care of them while he does the shopping.

“Micah.” His name grits past the teeth you’re doing your utmost not to bare in warning; already he’s closer than you’d like. 

“Haven’t seen much of you since I got back from Strawberry,” he says.

“I keep busy.”

“Not too busy for Marston.” He rocks back on his heels and raises his brows like he’s caught you out. Something about the way he says John’s name makes your hackles raise.

“Me an’ him are friends,” you chop off a trout head aggressively while making even more aggressive eye contact. “You and me, on the other hand, ain’t.” 

“Aw, don’t be like that,” he wheedles. “I’m a real friendly fella. We oughta go drinking sometime and I’ll show you.”

It takes everything in you not to cringe at the thought. It’s one thing to work a job with him, when you have to, but spending quality time with Micah? It sounds like just about the worst thing you can think of. He has this slimy quality about him, and the way he talks about some of the others is enough to solidify your poor opinion.

Dutch can make nice with him all he likes. You won’t. 

“We all heard what happened when you went drinking in Strawberry,” is what you say aloud. “Rhodes might not survive.”

He laughs through the fact that the joke was meant to be at his expense and leans closer. “You’re funny, Ghost. Real funny. I can see why John likes you so much. It’s too bad he’s so… Well, you know.”

“He’s so what?” If looks could kill, Micah would be stone dead. 

“Useless,” he shrugs. “I mean, first he gets hisself half eaten, then he’s fleeced rustlin’ sheep— almost got his brains blown out in Valentine. Not to mention he let Morgan steal a two dollar whore right out from between his—”

 All of the sudden you can’t hear past the ringing in your ears or see past the blood red of your vision. He’s snickering, leaning closer still, leering, and faster even than you can register you’ve grabbed him by the hair and smashed his face against the fish guts and the wooden table before you.

He cries out, somewhere between alarmed and disgusted and enraged. 

Your filleting knife rests against his pulse point.

“Say it again,” you snarl.

Stark, killing hate reflects back on your knife blade with the whites of his eyes. “Goddamn you!” 

“Not so funny now, huh?” He struggles in your grip. “Say it again.” 

He opens his mouth and bares his teeth, likely to spit more profanities, when approaching footsteps stop you both in your tracks. You glare up at the intrusion to find Ms. Grimshaw. Her face is even more severe than usual. 

“What exactly is going on in my camp?” she demands, hands on her hips. 

“Micah was just apologizing,” you say. Your smile is a feral show of teeth. 

He squirms in your grip, claws at your hands. “Get this goddamn lunatic off me!” 

She purses her lips, unimpressed. “Ghost, unhand Mr. Bell.”

You let him go reluctantly, pressing the knife to his skin just a little harder before shoving him back. He staggers away and you wipe your hands down your pants and grimace. 

Micah’s hands fly to his throat, like he’s checking it’s all still intact. His cheek shines slimy red with fish blood. 

“You’re crazy!” he accuses. 

“Ghost is plenty of things,” Ms. Grimshaw says before you can cut in, “but crazy ain’t one of ‘em. I suggest you learn from this particular mistake, Mr. Bell. Now go on, the both of you. Get! Before you make another mess for me to clean up.”

You murmur a chastised yes, ma’am under your breath.

Micah stalks away, glaring over his shoulder without another word. 

All that’s left is the thunk, thunk, thunk, of your knife against the wooden table. You let yourself imagine each unfortunate fish is Micah, instead. 

— 

Dutch finds you later. You’re sat on a log overlooking the lake, glaring out across the water like it’s somehow responsible for everything that’s happened up until now. He sits beside you and lights a cigar. 

“Ms. Grimshaw tells me someone tried to kill Micah today.”

His tone is neutral, but a quick glance out of the corner of your eye reveals a tightness in his posture that’s never a good sign. He lets out a puff of smoke and watches it fade into the horizon with squinted eyes.

“She tell you he had it coming?”

“Now, Ghost—” he starts to chastise, but you cut him off.

“I never pretended to see what you do in him.” His eyes widen and flash with wounded pride, but your face is set in defiance. “Maybe we’re all nasty killers and degenerates, but he’s worse. I ain’t gonna stand by while he runs his mouth about any one of us.”

His face is all severity and rough-cut gemstone. “Any one of us, or just John?” 

Outrage flares your nostrils and twists your mouth into something ugly. “That ain’t fair! And it certainly ain’t the point.”

“Isn’t it?” His hand on your shoulder, so often a comfort through the years, rests heavy and threatening. Your pulse jumps. Your mouth feels dry. “We don’t have the luxury of doubt - not between any of us. Haven’t I taught you loyalty? Don’t I deserve your trust?”

That’s all it takes for you to deflate. “You have it. You’ve always done right by us, but—”

“There is no but,” he says. “Faith, Ghost! Faith.”

“Faith, then. Fine. Faith.”

The words taste bitter on your tongue, but his eyes soften all at once into that familiar, sparkling brown. “I knew I could depend on you.”

“Sure. Always.”

He leaves with one last squeeze of your shoulder and orders to look into the Braithwaite family - something to do with prize horses. After all, who better than the infamous Ghost Rider? The Van der Linde Ghost? 

—

You stay on that log for a long time. Thinking. Smoking. Stewing in the not-quite-anger left in Dutch’s wake. 

—

That night around the fire you and John gravitate to one another like always. He brings you a plate of fish and sits beside you; a little too close for friends, a little too friendly to be anything but.

Somehow it aches more than usual.

He chatters on about his day, but all you can hear is the sneer of Micah’s voice, and all you can feel is the burn of Dutch’s knowing stare. The sweat on your brow has little to do with Lemoyne’s oppressive heat anymore.

[oscpaistry]

can u write shy reader having her first time with virgil? like he’s all soft and always making sure she’s okay and she wants to do it? please 💓💓

Im so happy someone finally requested a Virgil smut/fic!

Your relationship was fresh, not having alot of intimate interactions together. You were sitting on Virgil's lap and kissing him slow, but deep. Moaning into each others mouth's. You grind on Virgil. You wanted to do it. Go full on and have sex with him. That would be the first time. Except from the times he ate you out or fingerd you. But today was the day.

His hands find your hips and gently rock them back and forth. You stop and look into his beautiful eyes.

"Virgil..." You said and sighed. Trying to build up the confidence to say it.

"Whats wrong? Did i do something wrong? Im sorry." He said while you laughed at his reply.

"No you did nothing wrong! I, i want to do ride you. Tonight." You whispered almost to yourself. He didnt answer. You look up and see a smile on his face and his eyes wide open. But still a soft spot in his face.

"Are you sure? Are you ready? Not to boost my ego but im really big. I dont know if you could handle it." He said while he felt himself getting harder thinking about you riding him.

"If we are slow, i can handle it." You said while cupping his face and give him a tender kiss on the lips, his hands tugging on the hem on your shirt.

"May i?" He said while breaking the kiss. You nod and he took off your shirt. You sat shirtless on his lap. You always felt insecure with your other boyfriends, but with Virgil. He made you feel special and loved. He always cared about your feelings and made you feel like a princess.

"Gorgeous girl, what a pretty girl." He praised you and you felt yourself heating up. You smiled and hid your face in your palm if your hands.

"Dont hide your pretty little face, i want to see your flustered face." Virgil said while taking your hands into his hands. You smiled and removed yourself from his lap. You asked him to remove his sweater and pants. He sat there in his boxers. While he looked at you, you began to kiss his chest, then his abs and then just above his waistband. You look up and asked him to remove his boxers. His dick sprung out and slapped against his stomach. He let out a low groan.

You took off your panties, Virgil's stare burning into your body. You went back onto his lap.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Are you okay with this?" He asked in a worried tone. You really dont deserve such a kind man. You nod at him and grab his shaft and stroke it for a few seconds.

Then you line yourself up with his shaft and slowly go down. His hands finding you hips and grabbing them as if you were going to break in half if he let go. You stoped for a few seconds and let a few breathy moans out. He asked if you were okay and u just nod. You slowly go down, now having him fully buried into you.

He started to rock your hips back and forth. You obeyed and rocked with him. He let go. Groaning and praising you.

"Am i doing this right?" You asked with a insecure tone in your voice.

"Mhm, just like that baby. You're doing amazing." He replied and started to squeeze your thighs. You started to go faster. Your hands on his chest. Then he grabbed one of you tit and started to squeeze it lightly.

"Jezus, alsjeblieft." He moaned. His beautiful dutch sending you to the edge. But still able to go on for a little while. ( Jezus, please.)

You felt his cock twitch inside of you. His eye were locked on your pleasured face.

"Does my good girl like it?" He asked.

"I love it daddy" you moaned out.

That one word was enough for Virgil to buck his hips into you take over. The room filling up with pornographic moans and skin slapping sounds. His feet digging into the mattress and his hands on your ass. He went a little bit more rougher but still gentle. Not wanting to hurt you.

"Call me daddy on more time and ill cum inside of you." He groaned out. Your back arching and your boobs in his face. He started to suck in your nipple. Biting on them gently.

"Daddy, please. Im gonna cum." You moaned out and let go. That was it for Virgil. He let out a loud moan, eyes glued shut, head lulled back and toes curled. You felt his seed deep inside of you. Both of your cum mixing together as Virgil slowed his actions.

He finally stopped and let you rest on his body. He felt your thighs trembling and started to get worried.

"Was that good? Was i too rough? Im sorry." He asked and rubbed your back.

"It was amazing. I loved it. I even loved it more when you started to get rough." You replied with a few shallow breaths. You finally got your strength back and lifted yourself up to see Virgil's face.

You pecked a kiss on his lips.

"Lets get cleaned up, were a mess." He giggled. He picked you up in a bridal position and took you up to the bathroom.

"You can let go, baby. I can stand." You reassured him. He let you go and let his hands go to your hips. Seeing if you really could stand on your own.

He let go and let the bathtub fill up with warm water. He took a face cloth and two towels.

When the bathtub was full he took your hand and both of you went into the bathtub. He sat behind you and took the face cloth. He dipped it into the water and went to your sensitive core. You started to gently clean you. You let out a few gasps but then relaxed against his body. You slowly closed you eyes and fell asleep.

Im gonna leave it there bcs im tired. Its 2:41 am🤭. I got some help of a very special person! Thank you!🫶🏼

[say-hwaet]

HIGH SIERRA: A Red Dead Redemption Story

Chapter Seven: Hotshots

Arthur makes a left down another street as he drives the SUV. He's eager to get back to work so that he can look into this second murder with Charles. Something bigger is happening and he has begun to worry. Thomas Downes worked at the homeless shelter with Eliza. What if the second victim did, also? Could that mean philanthropists or church-goers are the targets?

"Daddy?"

Arthur is startled in his seat. He looks in the rear-view mirror and sees Copper's head on Isaac's lap, sleeping peacefully, then meets his son's eyes. "Yes, buddy?"

"Do you think Mommy will let Copper stay the night with us?"

Arthur shrugs. He hates to disappoint his son, but he can at least do it gently. "I gotta take him with me to work in the morning." Looking back at him through the rear-view mirror, he offers a smile. "He's going to be meeting a new friend!"

This seems to get the boy's attention, for his brow lifts and his eyes brighten. "Who?"

"Another K-9." Arthur's phone begins to vibrate again, so he reaches into his pocket to pull it out and struggles for a moment.

"Oh, really?! Can I come see it?" Isaac asks excitedly, unintentionally waking Copper up. The dog lifts his head, licking his lips before he yawns.

Arthur successfully pulls it out and pushes the answer button without reading the Caller ID. "I don't think so, son." He brings the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"You didn't say hello at the party," A soft voice says.

Arthur's body tenses and Isaac notices the shift in his body language. He frowns, worried at what could make his father freeze up. It was the same when his mother would receive bad news from the doctor. "Who's this?" Arthur asks with a low voice.

"Oh, Arthur, don't act like you don't know. It's me."

Arthur swallows thickly. He knows who it is. "Mary."

"See? I knew you'd figure it out," she laughs sweetly.

"How did you get this number?"

"Dutch gave it to me."

You've got to be kidding me, Arthur thinks to himself. After a pause, he speaks into the phone with as little emotion as he can muster. "You never needed it before," Arthur argues.

He can hear the smile in Mary's voice, always soft and sweet, like a siren calling out to Odysseus. "Well, I thought it would make sense, considering we haven't talked since you kissed me that night."

"That's not how it went, and you know it."

He hears her click her tongue. "You're right, but it doesn't really matter who kissed who..."

The hell it does, Arthur grumbles to himself.

But Mary doesn't hear him and continues. "...What matters is that it happened. And...I think that means something, right?"

Arthur doesn't answer.

"I thought you'd find a way to reach me so that we could talk. I...I missed you, Arthur."

He sighs, his left hand still gripping the steering wheel. "It's been a long time, Mary."

"Yes, it has." He can hear something in her voice. An ache. Some kind of recognition of time long gone.

Time that Arthur wants to put behind him. "It's in the past."

"It doesn't have to be."

He takes a quick glance into the rearview mirror again and sees his son looking at him still. He feels a flutter in his chest, and anxiety that he isn't really accustomed to, but it is always when he knows that he could get in trouble. "Do you realize what you're suggesting?" he asks Mary.

"Oh, Arthur, it's not like I am asking you to cheat. Dutch said that you aren't married or in a relationship, is that true?"

Great. Dutch had to butt into this. It isn't anyone's business, and Arthur himself is still trying to figure it out. Mary remains quiet on the line, expecting an answer, and Arthur can't find it in himself to lie. "It's complicated. I also have a son to think about."

"And he's precious, by the way."

And Arthur lets the words come out of his mouth before even thinking about it. "Thank you; takes after his mother."

Mary doesn't answer.

"Hello?" Arthur calls out, and he turns down a street into a suburb. The trees are lined in perfect rows, grass green all around. A woman walks her dog with a baby in a stroller and Arthur can't help but let his mind go back to when Isaac was that small. So innocent and precious.

Those were good times, being a father for the first time. He was so sure of things then, thinking that would be it for his life. A father and a man serving justice in the form of wildlife protection. Little did he know the steps he took would bring him here.

The tone in Mary's voice shifts as she finally answers, mostly into disinterest and boredom, though it seems forced. "I can see that you are busy, so maybe we can meet up somewhere? Bronte's?"

Arthur answers immediately, "No."

"Oh. Right. That's where I...we...broke up."

"Yeah." It was true that is where it happened. Her breaking up with him. She rejecting his proposal. But that isn't the reason he refuses to meet there.

Mary offers another place, her voice with a soft lilt, belying her attempt to keep the topic light. "So, let's meet at Karen's Brew? I can order ahead. Your usual: cappuccino?"

"Black."

"Oh. Right. How does five in the morning sound?"

"Fine." He doesn't have to be at work until 7:30 a.m.

"Perfect. I look forward to it."

"Shoah." He doesn't wait to hang up and lets his phone fall on the passenger seat next to him.

"Daddy?" Isaac finally speaks, settling the exciting Copper in his lap once again.

Arthur gathers himself a minute before answering, his eyes returning to the road. "Yeah?"

"Who is Mary?"

"Shoot–" he mutters. There was no way that he could hide that conversation. He doesn't want to appear deceitful or shady, anyway. But Isaac is observant, a sponge. Anything he comes across it is bound to come out of his mouth, and reach Eliza's ears. He shrugs and lightly shakes his head at an attempt to make it all seem irrelevant. "She's nobody, son. Just an old friend."

"Does Dutch know her? He says he knows everybody."

Regrettably, Dutch happens to know just about everyone, including her. "Yes, he does know her."

"Does Mommy?"

"Sort of."

Isaac crosses his arms, his brow pinching and his eyes looking intently into the rear-view mirror. "How come everybody knows everyone, but me? I wish I knew more people."

Arthur smiles at his son's disgruntled thought, happy to start a shift in subjects. "You're still young, and as you grow older, you'll meet lots of new people."

"So, I might get to meet Mary?"

Arthur thinks for a minute, his face relaxing as he looks back in the rear-view mirror once more. "Maybe."

***

Eliza hears a car pull into the driveway and turns off the TV. The news has been filled with updates on the two hunting accidents that were reported this morning. She is filled with sadness; Thomas was an acquaintance of hers, and they worked together at the soup kitchen in the homeless shelter. When he didn't show up on Saturday, she didn't think anything had happened, but she should have known better. He never missed the opportunity to help people. Maybe that's what would have saved him. She never knew him to go hunting, so it surprised her to learn of his death and that it was a hunting accident. And now that there's another accident, it only makes her worry more. Is that what Arthur was talking about on Friday? What did he think actually happened? Her curiosity is piqued.

Looking out the window, she sees Arthur getting out of his SUV and Isaac letting himself out of the back. She rises from the couch and heads to the door.

Arthur goes to the trunk to get Isaac's bag, leaving the treatment kit inside. Isaac starts to run to Eliza, but Arthur calls him back. "Come get your bag, Partner!" He lifts it in a coaxing gesture.

"Oops!" Isaac turns back around and runs back to Arthur. He takes his bag and once it is hoisted on his back, he gives Arthur a tight hug. "Bye, Dad."

Arthur leans down and pecks his son on top of his peach-fuzz head, careful to avoid the scar. "Bye, partner. I'll see ya later, okay?"

"Okay." Isaac runs back towards Eliza, who looks at Arthur and waves. He smiles gently and waves awkwardly back and her heart flitters for a second. She wants to ask him about what she saw on TV, but he isn't walking over. He's keeping his distance, literally and figuratively.

Keep your distance, Eliza, she tells herself.

When he reaches her, Isaac wraps his arms around his mother, looking up at her with a glimmer in his eyes. "Mommy! Guess what?"

She looks down at him, her eyes soft and loving and she careeses Isaac's cheek with her thumb and forefinger. Her heart warms at her son, her baby. She'd die for him, give him her brain if he could use it. He would do more good with it than what she's managed, she figures, though she will never share her thoughts out loud. "What, baby?"

"Dad says that I'll get to meet some new friends!"

She blinks. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he says I'll meet Mary!"

Eliza immediately looks up at Arthur, wide-eyed. He must have heard him, for he has a surprised look on his face.

Arthur steps forward, holding out his hand and shaking his head fervently. "Now, Isaac, that's not what–"

"There's no need to explain," Eliza interrupts. "Drive safe, Arthur." Eliza backs up and guides Isaac toward the house.

"Now wait there–" Arthur doesn't get the chance to try to stop her, for they quickly head inside and she closes the door. He stops himself and curses under his breath. "God d--." Walking back to the driver's side of his car, he gets into the driver's seat with a heavy motion and quickly slaps the steering wheel in frustration. "That's great. Just great." He puts the car in drive and checking that Copper is secured, he backs out of Eliza's driveway and heads home.

Eliza remains at the door while Isaac goes to his room to unload his things. She sighs. That is it then. Arthur is moving on with his life. Whether Isaac is meeting Mary soon or not, he is making steps toward what he wants. She just didn't expect it to be so soon.

She wants to be angry, but she can't. It was what they had talked about. But she can't help it. She is sad. Jealous. Jealous of a woman who had him once and lost him by choice. It was her loss, she doesn't get to deserve a man like Arthur, especially after all that he and Eliza have been through.

Her lips quiver. "It's not fair," she whispers, hugging herself. "It's not fair."

***

Monday arrives early as Arthur walks into the coffee shop. He was surprised that Mary wanted to meet him at such an hour. His palms are sweaty and he tries to indiscreetly wipe his hands on his pant legs, feeling more like a fool for even coming here. He didn't bother to wear casual clothing, sticking to his uniform. He looks around. There aren't many people inside at this hour, and the smell of coffee and something sweet fills his nostrils.

Then suddenly he hears her call for him. "Arthur!"

He jumps. Following the direction of the sound, he sees her, sitting in a booth in the corner of the cafe. Mary has her dark hair in a low bun with the same string of pearls around her smooth neck. She wears a floral print dress and pink lipstick, making her cheeks look rosy. Her dark eyes peer into his and she smiles. He grins shyly and walks over to her table.

"You came," she sighs.

He snorts, raising a brow. "You thought I wouldn't?"

He can see her looking at him up and down, and he feels like a bacteria under a microscope. Her lip turns upward at the corner and she rests her head in her hand once her elbow is propped on the table. "Well, you hardly seemed enthusiastic over the phone."

Arthur's brow pinches and his eyes narrow at her ignorance. "Was I supposed to? You caught me off guard, and I was with my son."

Mary then closes her eyes, shrugging her shoulders. "I'm sorry for the surprise, I forgot you don't like them," she responds, not acknowledging the part about his son.

"I don't mind them, just not in situations like these," he grumbles in reply.

"Oh. Well, I'm still sorry." She pushes a coffee cup in his direction with two manicured fingers. "I promise this won't be a surprise, though. It's black."

He eyes it for a moment, and then relents, sitting down in the seating across from her. After another moment, he takes the cup, bring sit to his mouth and sips it slowly. It isn't a bad cup of joe. Eearthy, rich, and with some grounds from the bottom. Cowboy coffee. The way he used to drink it when backpacking with Hosea as a boy. "Yep. It is. Thanks."

Mary seems to like his approval and her smile broadens. "You're welcome."

Bringing the cup away from his lips, he notices an odd pop of color on its side. Turning it in his hand, he sees a large, red sticker that reads:

THE OUTLAWS ARE ON TOUR! PEEL TO WIN THE CHANCE TO WATCH THEM PERFORM LIVE!

His brow pinches and he leans back in his seat, eyeing the sticker with an odd curiosity once he recognizes the band's name. "What the–?"

“Isn't it great? It was my idea." Mary leans into the table, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

But he's still on the part about winning a chance to see them on tour. "Huh?"

He points to the cup with her forefinger. "The sticker? Karen, the owner of this brewery and coffee shop, is Sean MacGuire's girlfriend. I reached out to her to see if she'd help the band and her business. Every tall coffee that is sold comes with that sticker. Peel it to see if you won a ticket!"

Arthur shakes his head, setting the cup down. "My best friend is the leader of the band. If I want a ticket, I could just go to his garage and hear Abigail complain about the noise."

Mary clicks her tongue, tilting her head at him. She always has given him that look when she wants to sweet talk him, or change his mind. It used to be their way of teasing each other. "Oh, Arthur. That is beneath you. They're really a great band!"

Arthur chuckles, finding himself more at ease. "Yeah, you're right, they are."

"And they're not performing in a garage anymore. Just peel it."

He turns the cup and finds one of the corners. Peeling it back slowly, the underside of the sticker is revealed.

UH OH! TRY AGAIN TO SEE IF YOU WIN!

Arthur snorts and turns it for Mary to see. She laughs. "Well, if everyone won a ticket, that wouldn't be much fun, would it?"

"Fun for whom?" He takes another sip of his coffee.

A silence falls between them. Arthur holds onto his cup and digs his fingernails into its paper cozy to give himself something to do. "Why are we here, Mary?" he finally asks.

She tucks some hair behind her right ear and leans forward. He can smell her perfume, an aroma of vanilla sugar, the same fragrance she wore twelve years ago. Does she know what’s she’s doing? Mary never was one to do things without a purpose a motive. Good or bad, she was driven, and that was one of the things that Arthur liked most about her. "I've missed you, Arthur. I didn't realize how much until that night. We hadn't seen each other in so long, but I have always thought of you."

She does know what she’s doing. While it drudges up old memories, Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s being manipulated, his weaknesses exploited to suit her angle. "Did your husband know that?"

She sits back. her brow furrowed and gaze soft but intense. "That's an awful thing to say."

He shrugs unapologetically. "Well, I mean no disrespect to him. I just think it would be cruel to love someone else while you are committed to another person."

"That's funny, coming from you."

He looks up at her, feeling himself bristle. "What?"

"That Eliza seemed pretty angry with you. Are you sure you're not in a relationship with her?" Mary confidently asks. Arthur detects a flash of superiority in her tone, and it makes him angry.

"You seemed pretty confident I wasn't when you called me yesterday. If you thought that, why did you still want to meet with me? You expected me to cheat on her while your husband isn't even cold in his grave?" He lets his words sink in long enough for him to lean back and drink more of his coffee.

Mary's face remains stoic, but her nostrils flare in an effort to hold back tears. The tension between her and Arthur is palpable, their emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. A heavy sigh escapes from Arthur's lips, a mixture of frustration and resignation. He doesn’t want to do this again. That isn’t why he is here.

"I'm sorry, Mary. I don't know what I was expecting. I guess I still haven't forgotten how I felt when you left me." He wants to be honest with her. If anything comes out of this conversation, he wants it to be honest.

"That means you still care about me, Arthur,” Mary says softly, a smile reappearing on her lips.

"Does it?" he says half-jokingly. As they sit there in silence, the weight of their unspoken feelings hangs heavy in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what could have been and what may still be possible.

"Of course, it does." She reaches her hand out and places it on top of his. Her touch is gentle and soft. His mind goes back to when they used to sit at Bronte's together after college classes were done, holding hands and staring at each other without saying a word. He thinks back on those memories with an ache, but they are still vivid. "And I care about you," she adds softly.

After a moment, Arthur gently pulls his hand back. "I think you're still mourning over your husband, Mary. It ain't the right way to go about this."

Mary sighs and begins to play with her pearl necklace. "He was sick for a long time, Arthur. I've had plenty of time to grieve. I...I want to move on with my life," she states matter-of-factly.

Arthur points his index finger into the table, as though it were a representation of everything that this is built upon. "Even if you want this, I need time to think about it. I need space. I have a son to think about."

Mary almost rolls her eyes. She knows how she feels and it seems ridiculous to delay the inevitable. She closes her eyes instead, nodding her head. "Alright. I'll leave it for now. How long do you need?"

Arthur has always known that Mary was impatient and passionate about what she wanted. After all, that is what drew him to her when they were young. She wanted adventure, away from the stuck-up noses and pretense that her father wanted her to be around. In fact, if she hadn't pushed her father to let her stay in public school, Arthur would never have met her. She had drive and a sense of morality that other girls didn't seem to have when they were teens, which is why they had never been intimate with one another. Mary wanted to wait until marriage, and Arthur respected that. He thought it was worth the wait if it meant he could be with her forever.

Now, as adults, those things seem to make her more demanding and selfish. Perhaps it is just that she is too eager and really loves Arthur, but it is too fast for him.

He leans back in his seat, feeling defensive. "Don't rush me, Mary."

And she must sense this, for she tries to reach out to him, but stops herself. She looks down, her body going rigid. "I'm sorry. I just...I know what I want. I thought it would be an easier decision than this."

His voice comes out firm, direct. "Well, it isn't. I need time."

She sighs and softens her expression, smiling. "Alright, Arthur."

Arthur looks at his watch. He still has time to get to work, but the conversation doesn't need to continue. He made his point and doesn't want to convey any other ideas to Mary for staying. Sliding out of hte booth’s seating, he goes to stand up. "I should go. Copper is in the car, and there are some things I need to do before work."

"It isn't to see her, is it?"

Arthur looks at Mary, eyebrows furrowed. He would rather she leave Eliza out of this. If she wants something with him, she will need to watch how she refers to his son’s mother. "No."

"Oh." Her expression lightens, clearly relieved to hear the answer. "So work then? I heard about those hunting accidents. It's awful!"

"Yes, it is." He decides not to tell her of his own suspicions. It's not relevant to her, anyway. He takes his empty coffee cup from the table with the intent to throw it away on his way out. "Bye, Mary."

"Will you call me soon?" she asks eagerly.

"Maybe."

He walks out without looking back.

***

Walking into the conference room with Copper, Arthur finds Charles. He sees that the new K-9 isn't with him, so it must be not here, yet. Charles turns to see him and eagerly waves him over.

"How goes it?" Arthur asks quietly as he sits down beside him.

"It's been tense while you've been gone."

And skipping any formalities, Arthur leans close and asks the real questions. "So, who found the body?"

Charles is quiet.

Arthur’s eyes widen at the realization. "You?"

"Mmhmm," Charles affirms.

Arthur smirks. "Lucky you."

But Charles isn’t amused. Even if this were just a regular day, it has never been easy to get Charles to laugh. "Not lucky."

"Why?”

"It doesn't look good when one of us happens to find both bodies within two days of each other. Doesn't that sound suspicious to you?"

Arthur thinks about it. He was right. If the SOU were to change their minds in the direction of murder, Charles, and even Arthur, could become suspects. "This isn't good, Charles."

Charles rests his arms on the table, looking down at his folded hands. "You're telling me."

"But the second one wasn't even at an actual campsite. How do we explain that?"

Charles shrugs his shoulders, still looking at his hands. "I don't know, but it can't just be a coincidence, right?"

Arthur shakes his head and scratches his chin. Something in his gut tells him that something isn’t lining up. It is clear that the first death isn’t an accident, but they need more to go on. "I don't think so. I want to treat it as though they are connected; we don't want to get complacent."

Charles turns to look back at him and he lowers his voice, still showing a hint of frustration. "They didn't let me linger to investigate the site. So whatever was there is gone now."

"Did the ground look the same?"

Charles nods. "That I could see, but I couldn't find any broken branches. They might have figured out another way to do it."

"If it is the same person who killed Downes," Arthur deduces.

"Maybe."

"Have you talked to Captain Monroe?"

Charles shakes his head. "No. He didn't seem to believe us the first time."

"I don't know. He seemed interested."

"But he literally sent you home so you wouldn't investigate," Charles says, reminding Arthur of the whole ordeal and the camping trip he had planned but fell through.

He only sighs. "True, and now we have this next body. Do you know who the victim is?"

"They're reaching out to the family for confirmation, then they will tell us. So at least there was a physical ID on the body."

Arthur pats his hands on the table, leaning back into his seat. "Well, I didn't get much sleep over this. Eliza helps to volunteer at the same place that Downes did."

"Who's Eliza again?"

"My...” Arthur pauses, swallowing thickly. “Isaac's mother."

"Right. So she knew him?"

"I think so. It's a small world we live in."

"Yeah, and the country is getting smaller."

As much as he hates to admit it, Charles is right. It seems that as the years go on, there seems to be more metal and concrete than trees and sky. His eyes fall and he feels his shoulders droop. "Indeed."

As Charles is about to say more, Captain Monroe comes in for a debriefing. All in attendance stand at attention. "Good morning, please be seated."

They all sit down.

After setting some portfolios on the table in front of him, Captain Monroe places his hands behind his back, regarding the men and women who sit before him. "I want to be brief. There has been a lot going on these past couple of days. On top of the two accidental deaths, there are fires starting in small areas that surround the scenes.” He then looks down at the portfolios, opening the first one and seeming to read the first page. “To help prevent these fires from spreading and to prevent new ones from starting up, we will be aiding the Forestry Service in performing controlled burns. Our High Sierra Fire Department has been working with the Forestry Service in this endeavor, and we will be under them."

Charles and Arthur look at each other.

"We will be starting the task tomorrow,” Monroe continues. “I have here with me two members of the Hotshot Crew who will be taking on two teams." He looks at Charles. "Warden Smith, you will be remaining behind for the first few days, as your K-9 has just arrived. You'll need to begin your work with her."

Charles nods. "Understood."

"Morgan, you, Whethers, and Holmes, will be under the supervision of Company Lieutenant Officer Adler. Smith, you will be going with them, later."

That name rings a bell in Arthur's mind. Arthur had helped the fire department last year with controlled burns. That usually means this is more serious, as the fire department is already full of staff and even volunteers. He gestures off to his right, and a man and women dressed in HSFD uniforms come up to the front. Arthur then recognizes the woman. She looks stern, with her blonde hair in a tight French braid and freckles scattered all over her face.

Sadie Adler: the no-funny-business woman that has earned her position by hard work and saving lives like the best of them. She has earned the respect of everyone who bears a badge and has been a great boasting point for her husband, who is an EMT. Saving lives was the Adler family business.

Captain Monroe continues with his orders. "Strong, Cross, and Kilgore, you'll go with Company Lieutenant Officer MacFarlane."

Standing next to Sadie Adler is Patrick MacFarlane, whom Arthur vaguely remembers. His family is known for having one of the most prosperous cattle ranches in the state. Patrick is overly polite, but no one has ever dared to get on his bad side. Mrs. Adler and Mr. MacFarlane are clearly a force to be reckoned with.

Captain Monroe regards the men and women in his company once more. "Now, before you all leave today, meet with your team leader. We will be working with them, so make sure that you know who to report to when you begin assisting them. Those of you who have not been assigned, you'll remain on your regular assignments. That is all."

Captain Monroe gestures for Charles to follow him out.

"I guess I go meet my new partner," Charles says to Arthur as he rises out of his chair.

Arthur nods and gives him a casual salute. "Yep, I'll see you in a bit."

The wardens begin to move about the room. Lieutenant Adler steps forward, her face as stern as ever. All business and no bull. "Those with me come to this side of the room," she firmly instructs, moving to her left. Arthur and the remaining members of their team stand up and move. She sees Arthur and smirks. "Corporal Morgan. We meet again."

Arthur nods. "Hello, Lieutenant Adler."

She snorts, letting herself smile, a rare occurrence in her presence. "You can call me Sadie. You've earned that after last year."

Arthur raises his brow, grinning. "I'm flattered."

"Good," she snorts. "You should be."

Arthur chuckles. He can see them becoming good friends.

The rest of the team moves to the table where Sadie has remained. They wait for directions and she pulls out a map from her back pocket. She unfolds it and spreads it out on the table. Arthur stands next to her, arms crossed, and looks at the map.

"Take a look, boys." She points to a highlighted area on the map. "This is where we've tracked the recent fires. They aren't big, yet, but they're around largely popular areas. To avoid people being burned alive at camp, we are going to begin controlled burns here, here, and here. We will eventually join up with MacFarlane more westward, hopefully creating a larger barrier."

The men nod, understanding the assignment.

"We will all remain together,” she continues. “We don't want to risk our burns spreading. This is not the time to split up. You will also be wearing heavy equipment, as you all know. You will be putting that training to use for once." She pauses and regards the men surrounding her. "So, any questions?"

Everyone responds with subtle shakes of their heads. Either they understand it perfectly or are just to darn intimidated to say anything, lest they look like idiots.

She rises from bending over the map, nodding approvingly. "Alright, then. Be prepared to meet at the entrance of Redwood Falls at 6:00 a.m. It's going to get hot."

"Yes, ma'am," the men answer in unison.

Without anything further to say, Sadie folds up the map and turns to leave.

Arthur then remembers that Redwood Falls was the location of the second death. He wonders if he will get the chance to see it.

Arthur watches Sadie go meet up with Patrick MacFarlane who has also just finished informing his group. They share a few words and then leave the conference room.

Seeing that nothing else is needed to be done, Arthur picks up Copper's leash and tugs it gently. Copper rises to his feet and they go to find Charles at the kennels, though empty they are.

He enters the kennels and sees the back door leading to the fenced-in yard is open. He walks past the kennels and soon hears a noise outside. When he reaches the doorway, he sees Charles with his new dog: a female Belgian Malinois. A difficult, but sturdy breed. It surprises Arthur, for the Belgian Malinois is intended for more dangerous and aggressive work. Was she selected by choice, or by availability?

Charles is already beginning to work with her. He has her start in between his legs, and when he backs up, she follows him, looking up at him expectantly.

"She's taken with you, Charles," Arthur grins.

Charles looks up and she follows his gaze to see Arthur and Copper. She comes out from between his legs, stands firm, and watches them intently, ears perked and forward.

"Molasses,” Charles calls, then follows up with a command. “Free."

As she approaches Arthur, her body loosens and she trots over to him, her pace light and carefree. He extends his hand for her to sniff, and she does so with curiosity. Copper watches Molasses closely, his tail wagging excitedly. After giving Arthur a once-over, Molasses turns her attention to Copper and they greet each other with sniffs and wags. Her tail begins to sway back and forth in a happy rhythm, her ears perked up in interest. Copper playfully bows before the two dogs start to chase each other around the yard. As they run and play, their movements are full of joy and freedom, creating a lighthearted scene in the afternoon sunlight.

"That was the easiest exchange between two dogs that I have ever seen," Arthur expresses with a chortle.

"It makes things easier, doesn't it?" Charles asks while rolling up her leash.

"Let's just hope she isn't as friendly to poachers."

"Or murderers."

They look at each other for a minute, and Arthur looks around to see if anyone is nearby. Seeing the coast is clear, he is still cautious, for he walks closer to Charles and lowers his voice. "You think there will be more?"

"Let's hope not, but two deaths in quick succession, there could be a pattern."

Arthur nods, glad that they are on the same page. "That's what I was thinking."

"I wish we could go back and bring the dogs."

After a moment, Arthur lowers his voice, a plan brewing in his mind. "Maybe we can."

Charles looks at Arthur with a clear interest, his gaze intensifying. "What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Adler is leading our team."

Charles blinks. "Who?"

"Sorry. Lieutenant Adler. She's on the Hotshot Crew–pretty well up there on the chain of command and part of the highest-skilled firefighters."

Charles grins. "She sounds like a tough one."

"She is. She ain't no one to mess with."

"I wonder what her husband is like then."

Arthur smiles to himself, they had also met. "You'd be surprised. Total opposite. Big softie."

"Really?" Charles asks, amused at their contrast in personalities.

"Yep.”

The moment ebbing away, Charles returns to the topic at hand. "So, how much time will you be spending up there?"

"Until we burn a perimeter,” Arthur answers. “That could take a good couple of weeks."

"When I join you, hopefully, we can uncover something."

"I was hoping sooner than that."

Charles rests a hand on his waist, shifting the weight of his body onto one foot. "What do you have in mind?"

Arthur has a determined expression on his face, confident to share what he’s been thinking as they both have been standing here. "I am hoping to get some inside information, so I might need some help."

"Help? From who?"

And Arthur feels it in his gut as he answers, a hesitancy, as though he’s about to get himself into deeper trouble. "Someone who probably hates my guts right now."

This one was a bit longer. Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests

@photo1030 @moeitsu @cassietrn

[vivwritesfics]

October is different when you have kids, Max realised. The house was decorated, scooby doo was always on the television, and the sweets were hidden away.

He was ashamed to admit that most of it was his wife's doing. She had decorated the house, she was the one baking all of the Halloween themed cookies. She was the one that had hidden the sweets.

It was fine, though. Because Max knew it was his turn.

Elijah sat at the kitchen table, legs swinging as he did his colouring. A spooky ghost and a pumpkin in the part. It was very cute. He munched away at the cat shaped cookies his mother had worked so hard to bake.

"Eli," Max said softly as he slipped into the seat beside his son. "Have you thought about what you want to dress up as for trick or treating?"

"Dunno, daddy," Elijah answered, looking up from the trees he was colouring blue.

Max say back in his chair. "Well, May is gonna be a pumpkin. Maybe you could both be my little pumpkins."

May wasn't even one yet. She was in an orange onesie with a cute little hat. As soon as Max had seen it at the store, he lost his mind over just how cute it was and bought it immediately.

Elijah shook his head. "Don't wanna be a pumpkin."

"Have a think, yeah, bud?" Max asked as he stood. Elijah nodded and Max walked away.

If Elijah figured out his costume, he didn't tell Max. Actually, it was getting close to Halloween, and Max heard nothing. He was the one getting stressed.

But then Halloween hit. Elijah had no costume. Elijah had no costume!

In a panic, Max went to wake up his wife, but she wasn't on the bed beside him. The cats were still on the end of the bed, tails moving from side to side as Max got up.

He got May. Put her in a new nappy and git her changed into her pumpkin onesie and hat. When he kissed both of her cheeks, she let out little giggles and reached for his hair.

With May on his hip, he walked down the hall, stopping when he got to Elijahs room. He readied himself to go inside, but then he heard it.

"Your daddy is gonna love this," his wife said, halting Max.

Elijah said something in return, something Max didn't hear.

He rushed downstairs, sat May in her highchair, and got started on her breakfast.

And then, Elijah came downstairs.

Max watched as his little boy ran towards him in the blue race suit. He could see the details on the overalls then. It wasn't a shop bought max costume. No, his wide had sewn on every single detail, including his last name and little Dutch flag.

"Daddy, I'm you!" Elijah shouted with excitement as he showed off his costume.

"I can see that, my little pumpkin," he said and opened his arms. As Elijah hugged his father, Max looked at his wife. He mouthed a 'thank you' and kissed the top of Elijah's head.

"There's just one thing missing, though," Max said and disappeared into his office. It didn't take long for him to return, a matter of seconds. But he had one of his helmets in his hands.

It was a helmet from his early days, with a 33 on the top instead of a one.

"Honey," his wife called, voice with an edge of warning. Max knew what she was asking, that she wanted to know he was sure about this, but Max waved her off.

He used his fingers to push Elijah's hair back. And then he placed the helmet onto his sons head and opened the visor. "There, Eli." Max said gently as he stared at his son. "Now you're a racer."

[hellsbells88]

Carried by God

At Clemens Point, Micah and John clash over how to raise young Jack, revealing the complexities of their own pasts. Amidst the tension, Jack glimpses the hidden depth in Micah’s tough facade, understanding more than meets the eye.

Micah’s laugh pierced the humid air at Clemens Point, contrasting sharply with the gentle rustling of leaves in the moist environment. Jack set his book down slowly, his young face scrunched in a mixture of curiosity and confusion, as he looked up.

John’s hand landed like a weight atop Jack’s head, his fingers rough against his soft hair. “The boy needs to learn how to fend for himself, Micah. Not live in these stories.”

Micah was watching him, a playful twist to his lips. His fingers artfully twirled in the air, mimicking an aristocrat to mock John. He grinned at Jack, the smile offering a certain harsh kinship. “What you got against your boy learnin’ how to read? From what Dutch tells me—you ain’t even got a daddy of your own. What makes you think you know what the hell you’re talkin’ about?”

John grit his teeth and glared. “Ain’t nothing wrong with him reading,” he shot a gaze down to Jack. His voice softened. “Your Pa's just.. just trying to prepare you for the world.”

“But.. mama likes me the way I am,” Jack's voice chimed into the conversation, eyes wide and innocent.

Micah’s laugh rippled through the air again. “I reckon she does.”

It was then that Abigail came upon them, her face flushed in the evening's dying light. “What the hell is going on here?!” Her hands were fisted at her sides.

Before Micah or John could answer, Jack piped up, “Pa says I need to be more tough like him, learn to.. be a man.”

Abigail’s anger seemed undeterred. “Enough! What in God’s name is wrong with you two!”

John opened his mouth, a retort tugging at his lips, but Micah cut in. “Just a little disagreement is all, Abigail.” He widened his grin. “I'll be leavin’ you to it.”

He sauntered away, leaving a cloud of tension in his wake. Micah pulled out a well-used cigarette and lit it, his back resting against the rough bark of a nearby tree. He chuckled to himself, a yellowed grin splitting his face. “Don’t ask a boy to be a man, John,” his voice echoed back to them, “not so soon.”

Micah’s laughter died down as he walked away, the soft glow of his lit cigarette illuminating his roughened features. He leaned onto the gnarled bark of a nearby tree and stared off into the distance, his mind threading back to another time. The dying sun brought with it memories, wrapped in twilight-hued nostalgia.

He could still see the young, chubby face of his brother Amos, wide eyes staring up at him in fear and admiration combined. Their father was a beast of a man, terrorizing the lands, dragging his sons through the dirt and gore that he sowed, crafting murderers in his own image. Amos’ hands, however, remained clean enough in comparison to the rest them, thanks in no small part to Micah’s subtle efforts at shielding his round-faced brother from their father. The name “Amos,” meaning “carried by God,” lingered persistently in Micah’s thoughts, a detail he found himself unable to shake off.

A sad smile twisted onto his face as he remembered the innocence in Amos’ laugh—a rarity heard only in their stolen moments away from their father’s grasp. Micah was three years Amos’ senior—three cruel years that had forced him to grow up too soon, cutting away at his boyhood with a ruthless precision.

“Micah..” A voice cut into his thoughts, a soft echo of the past. But it wasn’t Amos; it was Jack. The boy stood a few feet away, an inquisitive spark in his eyes. “Do I really gotta.. b-be a man?”

An eerie stillness wrapped around them as Micah loomed over Jack. His gruff voice echoed in the yellowing daylight. “Jack—we... Me, your Pa—we’re men,” he drawled, his tone gritty. “Are you a man, Jack? Hm?”

“No,” Jack squeaked, his eyes dropping to the grass under his feet.

“No, you ain’t,” Micah confirmed, his voice a harsh whisper against the wind. A wicked half-grin tugged at his lips as he looked down upon the boy. “And you best remember that. You’re still just a boy and you ain’t ready to be no man. Not yet.”

He shoved himself off the tree and turned slowly, his gaze never straying from Jack. “Go on, now, boy,” he ordered, waving a dismissive hand in the boy’s direction. The gruff timbre of his voice held uncharacteristic warmth, almost exposing the harsh exterior he’d carved over the years―an exterior that served as a cruel shield over his buried past and torment.

Jack watched Micah as he stalked away, retreating into the gathering darkness of the night. Small as he was, Jack could sense the instability beneath Micah’s icy veneer. He caught a glimpse of the messy cluster of pain, remorse, and care that the rough man kept hidden. The sight was a stark contradiction to the man who had mocked and scolded his father earlier. The man who seemed to always be simmering with cold rage.

As he turned back to fetch his book, a shy smile crept on to Jack’s face. He is indeed a boy, but he could sense the unspoken care beneath the brutish exterior. In that moment, he felt a curious sense of understanding for Micah Bell, a man few truly knew.

[ayu-stuff]

Yoos posts r so nice an silly an make m blushy an wiggly an i jus wan be jus like da girl in dem posts!! So big an an brave an dult!!

Hahahaha how cute. I wish I knew who you are, so I could bully you directly. I have to apologize for having delayed my blushy answers for babies like you, though.

Firstly, I would love for you to learn how to express yourself properly. It's no wonder you're in diapers if you babble incoherently in my asks. Every 3yo would know how to write and adult. Not an dult. Were you speaking English? Dutch? Babytalk?

But I'm really glad you reached out! That means Mommy has allowed you some phony-time! I am sooooo proud, honey. Was it before or after some humpies locked in your crib? Listening to Mommy and Daddy enjoy their being adults? Crying to their moans, perhaps?

When the most grown-up thing babies like you get said is that they are cute, it's obvious everyone thinks of you as a baby. That's what you are, sweetie: cute. Super-duper cute. And pathetic.