#micah x chubby reader

[mi-olaaa]

Pretty girl.. (18+)

Fem!reader, softdom!ony, bf!ony, plussize!reader katoptronophilia, you alr know what it isss! Smut so no minors.. ofc. Enjoy!!

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

“Hey. Look at me mamas.” Ony murmurs into your ear, so sweetly. Too sweetly, especially for the way his dick is curving up into your gummy walls, but you listen, looking in the floor length mirror in front of you, watching how sinfully delicious he looks to you. “Onyy— fuck, i can’t” Your whines echo around the room, your head drooping slightly.

He grabs your face by your chin, gently peppering kisses, his grip on your hips tightening for a moment, as he pounds up into your dripping cunt. "Yes you can mama, this is your dick. Take it." You swear you were gonna die when he grinned so deviously at you in the mirror, the way he lowered those pretty eyes of his at you, the way his touch has you writhing under him.

You’ve been sitting on his lap in front of this damned mirror for almost an hour, looking at him bouncing you up and down by the hips, orgasm after orgasm, and he wants you to keep looking at him?

Ony's tip was reaching spots in you that you didn't even know existed, brushing up against your cervix, eliciting moans and pants from your mouth. He nips at your neck, hand leaving your chin, snaking around to your clit, rubbing circles around the puffy folds. "Baby, Ony— ouhhh please" You could feel his slender fingers on your clit, massaging the sensitive bundle.

"Please what? Use your voice pretty girl." He looks up at the mirror, watching his cock piston in and out of your pussy, and all you could do is drool. “Haah— stop teasing me please.” The moan that ripped out of your throat was pure bliss, and before you could even say it, you were squirting over his digits, some of your arousal even splattering on the bottom of the mirror in front of you two.

The clear, warm arousal of yours had him fucking into you like a madman. Ony’s grip on your hip tightened as you spasm slightly, his fingers dripping. While he had your attention on him in the mirror, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking the taste of you off of them. “Taste so fucking good mamas, need to eat you next time.” And again with that sexy gaze of his, looking directly at you this time as you nod lazily.

The way he was digging into you so deep had you damn-near screaming his name, pussy squeezing his length like a vice, milking him for all he’s got.

“Mhm mhm baby. Look at me, do what I told you, look at me.” He croons into your ear, the hand that’s not already holding you by your hips and slamming you down onto him, wraps around your torso, massaging your lovely breasts, as you come undone again.

Your moans come out wantonly, and you’re nothing but a drooling, sticky mess for him, it almost makes him wonder if it’s because you can everything in mirror? Doesn’t matter, with the way he’s filling you so good and fucking you so fast, you’re seeing stars and panting.

It’s interesting though, the way your face contorts in pleasure in the mirror to his ministrations, the way your thick thighs jiggle when you bounce on him, the tears of pleasure streaming down your cheeks as your back arches so sinfully, it’s too much.

And all it does is make Ony groan, and lean down to capture one of your tears on his tongue. “C’mon mama, just one more. You think you can do that f’me?” He speaks, trying so sweetly to coax another orgasm out of you.

It takes almost all the power you have to find an orgasm in you, but you don’t have to do much with how attentive he is to you and your needs. Massaging and toying with your nipples, whispering praise in your ears, pushing all your buttons, just to see his pretty girl cum again, and you do. You come absolutely undone on his dick, a pretty, creamy white ring of your arousal at the base of his cock, all the while, he slows his thrusts, having cum into you more times than you both could count.

By the time the both of you have came to your senses, he finally pulls out of your pretty, fat pussy. Watching as dribbles of cum spill out of you, kissing your neck once again. “See, I knew you had one more in you, good job mama.” He murmurs into your panting skin, side-eyeing you in the mirror, and how you tremble slightly, looking like a deer in headlights, massaging your sore thighs, admiring the fat of them.

Too tired to do anything but nod and stick a lazy thumb up, you slump on his chest, relishing in how warm he is. Ony doesn’t bother with clean up right now, he’ll do it sometime later, all he currently cares about is getting you into bed, especially with the way you just fell asleep on him. He picks you up from the small of your back and the back of your knees, bridal-style, before getting off the edge of the bed.

Flicking off the main lights in your shared bedroom, leaving the ambient lights on, he climbs into bed, setting you down and covering you up, holding you as you both wind down, petting your head softly, and smoking a blunt before going to bed.

That dick really fucked his pretty girl to sleep.

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

Authors note: heyyyy ��� ion have nun to say for once.. so imma shut my fat ass up. 🙃 LOVE Y’ALL 🫶🏾

[wonywish]

♡ MICAH ! twenty. black. safe writer for chubby / plus size readers.

♡ all for ive, rii7e, boynextdoor, tomorrow x together, etc.

this blog is sometimes nsfw, minors DNI.

requests are open !

i do not accept asks about smut or suggestive works for any idols born after 2005, non consensual acts, incest, hybrids, or anything along those lines. if you request asks like these you will be blocked and reported.

i have not posted on this blog or written anything in three years, so please be nice to me, i’m a little rusty >_<

[nutluvs]

Chubby s/o and Charles is EATING ME ALIVE.

i cannot hold back any longer sorry arthur fans ur gonna have to wait for late nights and little talks. i need this too tw for some body image issues + insecurity, mentions of micah being a stupid bully. but charles fixes everything 🤍

you're perfect - charles smith x chubby fem!reader - fluff 🪻

gazing in the mirror, your eyes drifted over yourself and you frowned deeply, feeling your eyes swim with tears. "goddamn it.." you huff out, feeling over your love handles and then your belly, tracing your stretch marks. you murmur, "maybe micah is right, all i am is a useless pig." you and charles had decided to get out of the camp for a day or two, as things had started to drift into shit after hosea's death. you figured it was best for you both to get into a better headspace, but.. you had struggled with that due to lingering negative thoughts. the heavy knock at the door had you knowing quickly that it was charles, "princess, are you okay? you've been in there for about an hour." he spoke gently, a little, gentle thud on the door indicating he leaned his head against it. you quickly began to adjust your clothing, shifting your skirts and tucking your blouse back in. "i'm okay!" you called out a lie, your voice breaking a little bit, which made his eyebrows knit together. "are you sure? you seem... upset? your voice just cracked." "oh, charles.. i hate how you can just know." you mumbled, giving up on trying to fix yourself and slumping down against the wall beside the mirror. "you can come in." your permission had him opening the door immediately. once he saw how you sat beside the mirror, he sighed and with heavy steps made an approach. he sat down in front of you, his eyes soft as they quickly shifted to meet your teary ones. "look at me," charles reached over and cradled your face in his big hands, "why do you think you're ugly?" he asks, tone holding demand, although none of the scary sort. all he wanted was to know. "micah keeps sayin' so, callin' me a pig and that all i do is sit 'round doin' nothin'." a sniffle cuts your sentence off, as you raise a quivering hand to wipe away your tears, "and i'm startin' to believe him." you admitted, leaning into his touch as his thumbs grazed over your tear-stained, rosy cheeks. "sweetheart—how can you believe anything that idiot spews? he's like a fountain of lies." he hums gently, bringing you close to touch his forehead to yours. you locked gazes, and you felt a little more secure already. he was your safe person. you were always free to run to him and leap into his arms, you knew, he would drop anything for you to make you feel better. the pause between the two of you felt like it continued infinitely, but you knew he was only collecting his words. eventually, he did speak, and they were reassuring words, "all he is.. is vindictive, and a liar. you aren't ugly, you aren't a pig, you aren't useless. you're so, so beautiful—it kills me to see you breaking yourself down by agreeing with micah, to see you hating your gorgeous body because of something stupid he said." "you do so much for everyone in this gang, and you mean it with a genuine heart. there's really not one person that dislikes you, maybe aside from micah... but he only dislikes you because you're the better person. he could only dream of being as good as you." charles went on, his expression promising as he spoke, but you couldn't help but

ask, "y'mean it?" his eyebrows knitted together, and you thought he was upset before watching as he grinned while pressing a light kiss to your jaw, "do i sound like i'm joking?" he hummed, and you began to giggle. "i'm not joking, i'm being as serious as anyone can be. you deserve the world, princess. you're so beautiful. you're perfect." you blushed when he said such things, even a little more when he put his strong arms around your waist and pulled you into a tight hug, the warmth radiating from his stiff body as you sat on his lap. "i love you," charles mumbled as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, "and i mean it. you know that, and you should always know that. don't doubt yourself." he said against your skin. "i'll try not to," you stated, and when he looked at you expectantly, you sighed with a wide smile, "..promise." you leaned into him again, feeling his hands drift up your sides and onto your shoulder blades, tracing little patterns over your clothed back. "thank you for promising. i feel good, knowing you're going to start feeling better about yourself," charles raised his head, and touched the tip of his nose to yours. you could see the contentment in both his eyes and his smile. "your happiness is all that matters to me. i like seeing that pretty smile of yours."

“oh, quiet, you.”

I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT, I'M SO TIRED. i've had this in my drafts too long (like idk 2 days) and i thought i should finish it. so i did. sorry if it's choppy, i might?? rewrite it??? but i'm for sure that i'll make more charles x chubby reader when i have more motivation though :) thanks for reading! 🪻

[the-magicians-blue]

PLEASE YOU WRITE THE BEST SHORT FANFICS OF MICAH AND I NEED MORE! IVE NEVER BEEN MORE DESPERATE IN MY LIFE. I NEVER COMMENT ON THINGS OR LEAVE MESSAGES THIS IS HOW BAD MY MICAH BRAIN ROT IS!

Damn we are DOWN BAD out here huh? 😂 here a plus size mc fic for my fellow plus sized babes 💕

11:51pm

Micah is OBSESSED with your fluffiness. Why get a squishmallow when he’s got you to squeeze? He also loves how confident you are in your body, never afraid to wear crop tops or body-con dresses or anything that showed skin. He loved seeing you love your body.

In contrast, Micah had a tendency to be insecure about his own body. Sometimes he wishes his abs were a little more defined or feels like he should work out more. After years of being picked on and overlooked because he was nerdy and unattractive he sometimes finds it hard not to get down on himself. He felt like his body was one of his superficial charms and if he lost it you’d loose interest. When you had a conversation about it you had nothing but kind words for him.

“You are beautiful Micah, and I’d think that regardless of how you look. I know its hard to believe that just because someone says it but I truly mean it. I know what its like to feel a little insecure, just because I wear skimpy clothes sometimes doesn’t mean I’m not capable of feeling self conscious. To be honest, the way you look at me when I wear them helps boost my confidence. I hope that whenever you feel insecure you can look at me and know I think you’re the sexiest man alive, even if you don’t feel like it.”

He wanted to cry at your words. It didn’t help that you were caressing him so gently as you spoke. He felt so loved that he couldn’t think to do anything else but kiss you.

After some quiet time together you decided to take Micah to go on a window shopping date and try some clothes on. You wanted to cheer him up by putting some cute clothes on and hyping each other up. It definitely worked. After the first few outfits Micah was all smiles, blushing a little as you shower him with compliments with each outfit he put on. Of course he was the same way with everything you tried on.

“Damn angel~ I don’t think I’d be able to let you out of the house looking that good! I’d be too tempted to touch. I mean I’m already extremely tempted but I’ll be a good boy for now~”

After a while the two of you went to the food court to eat and talk. You let him choose so you had grabbed burgers from his favorite spot in the mall. As you two sat and ate you were suddenly approached by some random girl. Her two of her friends were watching from two tables down. A little confused you both stared at her before you asked if she needed something. Ignoring you completely she turned to Micah and smiled, and said she liked his outfit. He nodded and thank her, thinking she’d leave after that but she didn’t. Instead she asked him for his number. Micah looked at her more lost than he was before.

“Uh… you do see I’m with my partner right? I’m not available and not interested.”

Micah was about to return to his conversation with you when the girl scoffed at him, claiming that there was no way you could be his partner. She then said that she’d rather him just say no than making it seem like someone your size was a better option than her. She then started demanding proof you were actually dating. Micah had a very strained smile on his face, ready to chew her out when you suddenly pulled him into a deep kiss. When you let him go he sat there in a flustered daze as you spoke.

“That enough proof? If you’re not gonna respect me, at least respect yourself. Getting mad over a taken man, do you know how desperate you look hon? Oh and by the way, my size hasn’t kept from anything but an outfit.”

The girl stormed off infuriated. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation. When you turned to look at Micah he simply stared at you with his eyes full of adoration. While he hated that you had to deal with people like that he couldn’t deny seeing you shut someone down like that was hot to him. After a while you became flustered at his intense stare and asked what was up.

“Oh nothing angel~ I just got reminded of how hot you can be and I’m just enjoying it. Have I told you I loved you today? I love you so much.”

The two if you started to laugh at the situation. People were weird, but at least the two of you could be weird together.

[ofallthingsnasty]

through the briar

Pairing: Micah Bell x F!Reader Tags: dead dove: do not eat, hard noncon, sexual coercion, chubby reader, fat-shaming (reader receiving), alcohol, vaginal sex, this is not a happy fic, Micah Bell as his own trigger warning, Arthur Morgan is a good man but he can’t save you Word count: 4.8k Summary: He's a rotten man. And you've always been too soft, both in mind and body.

In the end, it all goes wrong after a ruined job.

Note: Please read the tags properly! I admit I don't like him but I like his character - if that makes sense? He is despicable and that makes him fun to write for. English is also not my first language, so if anything reads a little weird for the late 19th-century setting, that’s probably it. Sorry in advance. And please if you wanna talk rdr2 darkfic/smut, I am so here!!

The flames in front of you are high and merry.

During the day, they sting your cheeks in the Lemoyne heat, but at night they wrap themselves around you like a cozy blanket, a welcome addition to the tepid air that settles over Flat Iron Lake as soon as the sun sets. The days are long and suffocatingly hot here, something that you especially feel, under your skirts and in every crevice of your body. You spend them with rolled up sleeves and a prickling nose, entrenched into your chores with sweat dripping from your brow by noon. Only now, when the sun finally relents and stops spurring on the muggy air of the lake, can you appreciate the temperature. The nights are nice and, if you ignore the bugs that bite and nip at every inch of exposed skin, they’re even downright comfortable. Colter seems a long way from here now, and you’re grateful for it. You like it, sweat or not, and still you are sitting by the fire instead of sleeping, restless and your mind in coils. The other women are already in bed, even Karen, who is the one to stick around the longest these past few days, has long since started snoring. Truly, at first they had been understanding, but after days even they have grown a little tired of your groveling, especially now that Arthur is back from the brink of death and everyone busy with his recovery. No one cares about your little quarrel with Micah anymore. It has to seem small to them, you’re sure. It’s huge to you - you, the one who had a gun pressed to her forehead, almost a casualty of a failed stagecoach robbery - but at the end of the day, it’s nothing. And you agree, in part. It’s entirely your fault, you feel, that a silly, botched job has gone to your head that badly. It shouldn't irk you as much as it does, because you have seen many things go south in your time, after all. But it’s not every day that you stare death into the face, as well. You aren’t Arthur. Or John or Sean or even Micah, for whom it seems to be a daily occurence. You’re just you: soft in both mind and body, someone of Dutch’s ever-growing menagerie of pets and misfits. Picked up like a flea-ridden stray from the side of the road because you tickled something in the big, grand heart of Mr. Van der Linde, for whatever indiscernible reason. 

You aren’t quite useless. But you aren’t all that helpful, either. And so it stings all the more to know you’re just a little more vulnerable than you thought you were. You didn’t botch the job, you’re quite aware of that. It had been Micah who messed it up; not acting quickly enough and rushing into the attack, paying no mind to you, who had been standing out in the open without protection. It certainly hadn’t been your looks that made it end badly, like he insisted afterwards, or your inability to handle a gun.

But Micah’s needling and taunts are hard to ignore when he knows just how to crawl into every however tightly guarded insecurity of yours.

He had been at his peak immediately after you crawled back into camp, clutching the reins of a borrowed shire like your life depended on it, eyes wide and hands cold. And even though you had already expected the treatment that followed after he stormed away from the busted-up coach when every single man around you was dead, it had stung immensely.

You did nothing but tuck your chin into yourself and let your eyes burn with tears while he berated you for mistakes that weren’t yours. Walking away didn’t help - he was like a hungry dog, nipping at your heels with venom in his voice and quick hands that waved around wildly, drawing everyone’s attention to your lecture. He pushed and prodded until your cheeks were a stinging, hot mess and you could only mumble about how sorry you were. Only Arthur arriving in camp with fresh game and a few dollars in his pocket had saved you. Micah rode out, then, and Arthur had shuffled you away to the main fire, a calming hand on your shoulder. And oh, Arthur. He had been the kindest about it all. Always a watchful eye on you when he was around because Micah did not let go of his venom - and when he was around, the blond would at least leave you with a couple of sarcastic remarks, but nothing quite as malicious as when he caught you on your own. Arthur stepped in between you and his abuse more than once, always with a tight jaw and hard eyes, telling Micah to finally forget about it. But it only helped in the moment. The busted coach is just the latest issue he has with you, and one that he can finally hound you for without attracting too much attention. Out of all the women, he seems to like you the least and he isn’t quiet about it, either. While you’re all useless baggage, just many, many more mouths to feed for him - your biggest wrongdoing is not even being nice to look at. Too big, too unpolished, too quiet. Sometimes he acts as though you’re everything he hates distilled into one person, even though that is just another one of his exaggerations. 

 Even in Colter he made off-handed comments about how you'd never starve, how you looked like some kind of grizzly bear all bundled up in your coat and yet you sometimes catch him staring at your cleavage, especially when you have to cover up less than you'd like. He is an animal, nothing more than that. And you know you shouldn’t let his words get to your head but with every word, every crude gesture, every goddamn look at you he tears you down, leaving you to feel raw and wrong all by yourself. He knows too well how to get under your skin and likes to do it just as much.

And it all escalated just days before he, Dutch and Arthur rode out to meet with Colm. He threw you one of his shirts while you were scrubbing away at the tub, already sweaty with the midmorning heat and arms strained with the task, barking something about you fixing it for him. Stunned into silence, you simply let it happen, not even able to utter your usual apologies. You had never seen Arthur storm over quite as fast as he did when you pried the red, mingy fabric from your eyes, having watched from the edge of camp, just as Micah was about to get rough with you. They got into one of their typical squabbles afterwards, only this time you were at the very center of it. Arthur’s gruff tone and curt words had held well against Micah’s sneering and he had finally relented when Arthur threw his own shirt back into his arms. He kept his distance afterwards, seemingly done with his taunts. You know now that he just had found something more interesting to do with his time. Riding out to talk to Colm had sounded like a truly insane idea, even for him, and your worries were confirmed when Arthur barely made it back to the gang, shot up and paler than a ghost. That had been a week ago - and just thinking about it in comparison to your bickering, it feels trivial, almost petty to still be bothered by it. But Micah’s words have touched something in you. His constant reminders of your stature and skill just won’t leave you, especially not when you’re all alone with your thoughts. Maybe it’s why you double down in your care for Arthur, both to thank him for his effort and so that you can focus on something else for once. Like the others, you have spent the last couple of days fretting over him. Sitting by his side in the evenings, silently mending or knitting while the sun is still up and fetching him anything he needs, when he asks for it. He doesn’t say it, but you can tell he likes the company, likes that someone is watching out for him. You can’t imagine what’s brewing in that thick head of his during the days - but it isn’t pretty, not with the way he grunts and whines when he dozes off and leaves you to brood. You usually trudge back to the main fire once he’s out for good, at least when Micah hasn’t already taken up a seat.

And today you’re lucky, so you sit and revel in the heat, your shawl loosely slung around your shoulders to ward off insects and unwanted attention. You left Arthur to snore softly on his cot, calm for once, and the only sounds around you are the soft nickering of the horses and Cain sniffing about, licking up any residues of food on plates and spoons the others didn’t bother to put away. A few members of your posse are missing, scattered about Lemoyne doing odd jobs or drinking, no doubt, and the rest is sleeping. You and Micah are the only ones awake, aside from Bill who’s on guard duty. You’re keenly aware of the fact that the blond is sitting by the scout fire, doing god knows what. He never really sleeps and that makes your nightly ruminations all the more difficult. You're always tense, always feeling his presence behind your back. Furrowing your brows, you poke at the fire with a stick, much like Jack often does.

Maybe it all has to stop? The thought strikes you suddenly, as you move a log. You could simply try to forget about this, especially now that you all have to work a little harder with the gang’s enforcer out of commission, but you doubt that Micah is going to let go of it any time soon. Your mind runs faster than any logical thought. An appeal to his ego could work. An apology? Thanking him? Everything in you bristles at the thought of apologizing to him. It wasn’t your fault - but he did save you, ultimately. If it hadn’t been for his quick aim, you’d be buried somewhere in the red soil near Clemens Point now. And maybe it’s the crux of the issue; that he both caused this and, somehow, resolved it again. You don’t feel indebted to him at all, it’s more of an even bigger annoyance to you. If only you had been a faster draw, then at least you would have something to hold against him. You sit and stew in the notion for a few minutes. Maybe it could really work, could get him off your back. Maybe you would catch more flies with honey than with vinegar, maybe it would give you some sleep back - if you stopped being his favorite target for a little while. And maybe you could forget about this whole thing a little faster without him constantly at your throat. You know that you’re not one for confrontations - especially with quick-tongued opponents like Micah Bell - but you can try a thank you, even a stuttered one. Even if you can already hear Karen scream at you over being even remotely nice to a snake like him, it might just be the right thing to try. You prod at the logs once more, then you swallow your pride and get up, mind quickly made up. 

Micah’s red shirt glows warm and almost orange in the light of the fire. His hair falls forward as he leans into the warmth, seemingly unbothered by your slow approach. He looks peaceful, almost serene and only lifts his head ever so often to sip away at a bottle of unidentifiable liquid, no doubt alcoholic in nature.

He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence when you come to a halt in front of him. Seated on one of the stools, he only spins the bottle in loose circles as he holds it in his lap and you can hear the liquor splashing inside. Still decently full. Both of you say nothing for a couple of heartbeats, then his head finally cocks up and he pulls his left shoulder up to rest one hand on his thigh. You feel all your courage plummet from your stomach to your feet, suddenly bewildered by your earlier thoughts. He says your name with too much flourish and it makes you cringe. “Well, what did I do to deserve the honor?” You fumble with the tassels on your shawl, unsure what to respond and already full of regret for even getting into his line of vision. But it’s too late now - simply turning around and leaving again will only give him more ammunition for tomorrow, you just know it. “I- '', you grasp a handful of thread and stare into the fire, anything to avoid his eyes. “I suppose I wanted to thank you. For shooting that bastard, I mean.” He laughs at that, even if it’s at least a little true. 

“Thank me? Aren’t you the sweetest little thing?” His tone is mean and enough for you to want to turn around again. But you just furrow your brows and finally look back at him, not trusting your mouth anymore. He sighs with fake strain and then chortles. “You know, sugarpie?”, he leans his head back and it leaves his face open, owlish eyes glinting at you. “It only showed me how much of a dead weight you really are.” The double entendre doesn’t go over your head. He’s referencing your statue, as he so often does - and it makes your cheeks sting with heat again, makes you pull an indignant face. But you have no fire to give back, you just break eye contact and grab your shawl tighter. He suddenly swings back, arms spread wide in an attempt at a welcoming gesture -  it’s such an unexpected change in behavior it catches you off-guard. Laughing as though he can read your exact thoughts, he slaps the rock next to him, voice jovial.

“Relax, relax. Come on, have a drink with me.” You eye him warily and he looks right back at you, neck of the bottle tilted in your direction. There is nothing harmful in those big, blue eyes and although something in you bristles against fraternizing with him, you finally take a seat and the whiskey out of his hands. Raising it in a bastardized toast, you sniff the liquor and give him a nod. You take a generous swig, pulling a face as the alcohol burns the back of your throat. His eyes are on you all the while, his whole body leaned over to you, watching you with awe, almost. He is chuckling to himself and you can smell him, even over the terrible sting on your tongue. Like sweat and sun and morass, a day spent in camp, no doubt. He laughs when your lips release the glass, wet and deeply amused. “Good stuff, hm? Come on, woman! Another! Loosen up a little.” It feels wrong, the way he talks, the way he switches his tone around in a second. The only time he’s at least cordial is when he’s drunk but even then he manages to be condescending. The liquor rises to your head immediately, the little food you had in the late afternoon doing absolutely nothing to ward it off. Your cheeks heat up with a more intimate burn than the one from the scout fire, a warmth that isn’t entirely foreign to you. You know this isn’t a good idea, but the thought of enduring his company without at least a slight bit of a buzz to take the edge off is just as unappealing as getting a little too friendly with Micah. He almost cheers you on as you tip your head back again, watching you down another mouthful and shivering after it runs down your pipes.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”, he grins at you and you feel like you’ve never seen him clearer - he’s so close suddenly. There is warmth on your shoulder and you realize it’s his hand, resting on your body as if it’s nothing. “I guess”, you say, before taking another sip, just to get rid of the weird feeling of him touching you. You pass time like this, sharing the bottle between you two. He talks about the job gone wrong, about Colm, about everything and anything, but with every swig from the bottle the chatter washes over you more and more, until it’s just noise. You nod and hum and dig your feet into the soil, the warmth of the alcohol enough to make you pull at your shawl and place it over your lap. His hand has wandered from your shoulder to your thigh, and he squeezes it ever so often, over the fabric of your skirt. It’s too close to your hip, too warm and too heavy and the alcohol makes you keenly aware of it, while not really minding it. It’s an odd feeling, something you almost preen at, something that has your stomach in slight knots. Somewhere, deep down, you know that this isn’t wise, that it’s the liquor working its ways into you but then his fingers twitch and you throw all the caution to the winds. He’s just getting more and more tipsy, you figure, and let him continue. He lets you finish the bottle just as the fire in front of you is slowly dying. You should rekindle it, you know, keep it lit so that Bill won’t have to do it later but you can’t bring yourself to care. The less it burns, the less heat is on your cheeks and the pleasant buzz in your head is just enough to keep you warm. Your eyes are just about to droop from exhaustion and alcohol when his hand slides just a little too close to your crotch, feather-light and careful, awaiting your reaction. You feel so unlike yourself, a spark of something white and hot coming to life deep within your belly. Some tiny part of you is telling you to stave it off, to snuff it out because you’re beside yourself, but it dies off instead when he leans over, his hair almost  tickling the skin of your face.

You glance back at him, a silent question hanging in the air even though you can barely see him in the moonlight.

And to your shame, the whiskey has worked its claws into you. You don’t say anything in response but you lean into his touch, just so.

He looks at you for a heavy second, then inhales and - laughs. It's dark and breathy with liquor, the first time you've ever heard him laugh properly, the sound humiliating. He doesn't need to utter a single word, all he ever could tell you is in his chortling. Disbelief that you want this. Mockery at your undignified state. Heat for you.

It fades into giggles and you want nothing more than to bury your face in your hands. “Come on, sugarpie”, his voice is almost dark, so close next to you. You let him help you up and only notice just how drunk you are when you finally stand, the ground suddenly softer than you remember and your legs clumsy. One step, then two and you already stumble over your own feet. Two rough hands steady you, grab your waist while you breathlessly giggle, your predicament strangely funny to you. Wordlessly, he pulls you towards the treeline, his touch never leaving you. You try your best to keep up but find that you can barely walk straight. If he is annoyed by it, he doesn’t mention it, just wordlessly guides you away from camp. Your head is thick with it, so thick that you can’t stop yourself from speaking.

“Where’re we going?”, you push out and it sounds like someone else is saying it. “A little walk ”, he says, voice so surprisingly sober next to your wobble.

You stumble alongside him, disoriented and mind hazy. Just up through the trees, right by the lake - your thoughts are splotchy and all mixed up, every second step a blur. 

Your eyes feel slow and your body so heavy that the earth has to shake whenever you plant your soles on it, you’re sure of it. You barely notice when he pulls you aside, just far enough from camp to be undisturbed, a little spot that is free from trees, where you can see the stars dance on Flat Iron Lake. Swaying as though you’re dancing to some imaginary tune, you have almost forgotten that he exists again, too caught up in the warmth of the liquor. You don’t even know how you end up on the floor, the world around you spinning with the change in balance, turning and turning and never stopping. Micah is above you and you grip his arms to steady yourself, noises of confusion spilling from your lips like water. “What are you doing?”, you mutter into the darkness, feeling the muscles of his upper arms twitch underneath the fabric of his shirt. “Getting a proper thank you, sweetheart.” His words take a moment to reach you and by the time you open your mouth to answer, he is already nipping at your neck, the hairs of his beard scratchy on the tender skin. A hand fumbles and slips under your skirts - when did he bunch them up in the first place? - and the touch makes it so real, sobers you up.

You're about to make a grave mistake. What had flickered in your stomach just minutes ago were ideas, misguided thoughts - not real desire. Just the alcohol weaving its way into your head, putting things into it that shouldn't be. You try to wiggle away but his grip turns to steel, unrelenting and hard on your shoulders. Tears prick at your eyes as he coos down at you with fake concern, his breaths heavy in between words you don’t hear.

“Stop- Please, Micah-”, you gasp, tongue still heavy with alcohol. Everything seems slow and fast at the same time, even his hands on you don’t hurt as much as they should and yet - you’re terrified beyond belief.

“The liquor already leaving you, sweetheart? A shame. I liked you real bold”, he groans into your ear and you’re suddenly overly aware of the hardness pressed against your clothed inner thigh. “Sh, sh”, he laughs, clamping a hand over your mouth. “Bill's on guard right now, he won't hear you, sugarpie. No use in crowing for that idiot.”

You shake your head against his grip, tears pricking at you eyes. 

“Or are you calling for Morgan?”, he says, even more amused. “Bet you’d like this better if it was him. I’ve seen how you look at him, sugarpie.”

His words stir something in you awake, deep and unsightly. Is he only doing this to get back at Arthur? The thought sours your stomach until you can feel the bile rising and you go limp against him. He takes it as confirmation and almost shakes with fake laughter. “Oh, I’m gonna enjoy this, sweetheart.” One rough hand brushes over the muslin of your drawers, the other still on your mouth. You can only screw your eyes shut and silently weep against him, can only endure the way his skin warms your cunt through the fabric. It leaves for a few moments and he shifts above you, reaching somewhere - you don’t dare to peek, too afraid of what it might be. “There-”, he grunts, then the muslin strains against the fat of your thighs, pulled upward. It snaps and the unmistakable cold of a blade touches you for a split second. “There we go.” By now your grip on him has slacked, your hands barely holding onto his arms. The futility of trying to stop him sweeps over you like a veil, leaves you numb and weak. You can feel the summer air on your core, the way it cools the heat that the liquor had ignited, the way it gets churned around as he moves your ruined underwear around to gain him access. Thick fingers fumble around until they finally find what they seek and he laughs, deep and ugly. You don’t even sob when he lets go of your mouth to undo his pants. It earns you a throaty good girl as he frees himself and you open your eyes to glance up at him. He’s on you, his form an inky mass against the light of the moon as pushes himself into you, slowly and hissing at every inch. You’re not quite prepared, the alcohol mixed with terror making you dry but he doesn't care. It burns and stings and scratches, and you can feel how tight you are around him, how much you don’t want this. His hands reach up again, cradling your face in almost tender fashion while he savors the feeling. Barely giving you a moment to breathe once he bottoms out, he starts a mounting pace, grunting at every push and pull. You’re rattled with the motion, helpless and almost numb. The liquor dulls the pain but still you can’t help the yelps that leave you; not loud enough for him to care, but just loud enough for him to notice. He bows down and presses a slew of open-mouthed, wet kisses over your face, a bizarre mirror of a loving gesture, and bites you weakly whenever you clench around him in discomfort. It’s a ghastly feeling. “Oh, you're real sweet, darling, real sweet”, he moans out in a shaky exhale. You've never heard him so desperate, so genuine. He sounds grateful, almost loving, yet it’s all a ruse. You only murmur his name in response, lost and teary. You just want him to stop, just want him to get off you and go back to camp. You just want your bed, just want to hear Karen snore next to you. “I know, I know”, he mutters and clutches your shoulders again, grunting before he continues. “You’re so goddamn tight, sweetheart-”

It sounds like he wants to say something else but he chokes on the words before they climb up his throat. Instead, he fucks you harder and you’re grateful that your body finally complies and supplies you with some lubrication. In and out and in again, his full weight snaps against your hips, his thrusts slowly growing sloppy and more shallow. He grips you then, the hardest so far, and buries his face underneath your jaw, keening and sucking at your skin as though his life depends on it. Finally, he spills himself into you, ignoring your weak protests. It’s hot and wet deep within you, the mark of a rotten man. You silently cry as he catches his breath, sweaty face pressed into your neck. Minutes pass like this, him regaining composure and you trying to drown the dread that blossoms in your stomach, too afraid to move. His whole weight is crushing your chest that rattles with sobs, a weight you’ll feel for weeks to come. He slips out of you with a weak groan and heaves himself up to his knees. You feel his seed trickle down, stinging your bruised skin. He says nothing as he tucks himself back in, but you can feel him stare at his work in the moonlight. Patting your thigh, he whistles lowly, much like one would do to a horse and you tense at the gesture. “Now”, he laughs between heavy breaths. “Wasn’t that fun, sugarpie? I should thank you for the good time, hm? Real good time we had.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just adjusts his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles that have formed. “You're a wild little thing when you’re drunk, you know that?” Another chuckle. He fastens his neckerchief, then palms one of your still-folded knees. “And darling”, he croons, still sucking in the musky air around you like he's suffocating. “Remember: You wanted this. Gave old Mr. Bell something for his troubles, didn't you?” The hidden threat doesn’t go unnoticed. You know how well he can twist his words around Dutch and you have no doubt that if you were to tattle to anyone, you’d be the one getting kicked out of the gang, not him. So you nod.

“Good, good. Don't go telling that big bad”, he grins as he pushes the words out with fake sweetness. “cowboy next thing tomorrow morning, alright?” This time he doesn’t wait for your confirmation, just gets up and stretches himself with obnoxious ease. “See you around, sugarpie.”

His laugh is dark as he strolls back into camp, leaving you behind, empty and still drunk.

End note: I hope you enjoyed it! I have reworked and edited this many, many times so I definitely developed a little bit of tunnel vision. I must have written at least 8k for this in total and revamped every scene at least once and I know that some transitions are a little hamfisted - but I had to finally let this one go, it's been with me two months since its inception and I am just done with it haha. Please be kind when leaving feedback, I am not too confident in this one. And don’t be too shy to chat me up!! I am desperate to talk anything smutty and/or dark for rdr2 with someone!!!

[neon-junkie]

Headcannons for Micah with an insecure cubby Gf

sorry these are short!! :0 

When you first open up to Micah about your insecurity, all he replies is "I ain't fussed about what you look like."

He quickly realizes how awful that sounds, and back peddles quicker than you've ever seen.

"What I mean is... well, I just don't really see what's wrong? You've got some perfect curves on you, darlin'."

He notices the sourness in your face, still upset by his dismissal of your insecurities, and makes it his mission to change your mind.

He'll start off with smaller things, like saying "beautiful," whenever you get dressed in the morning. Or trailing his hand up and down your thigh as you sit on his lap, saying "ain't you pretty."

If you're feeling self-conscious about the clothes you wear then Micah will drag you onto the back of Baylock and ride you into town, throwing whatever money he has in his pockets at the tailor whilst almost ordering you to "treat yourself, sweetheart. It's on me. Get whatever's gonna make you feel good!"

He'll be brutally honest about the things you pick out, really getting into it (though he won't admit it,) and saying things like what colours/styles suit you best.

"Just my opinion though, darlin'. If you like it then I like it."

When it comes to more intimate moments, you'll notice that Micah spends a lot more time kissing along your body. His hands will knead at your skin, holding you tenderly as he admires every single inch of you.

If you comment on it, Micah will tell you "I just want you to feel good, sugar."

His hand is almost always around your waist. He'll always be pulling you down onto his lap, wanting to hold onto you throughout the day. He's needy, though he won't admit it, but he's trying to show you as much affection as he can so that you'll hopefully start taking a fancy to yourself.

[sapphiewritesstuff]

Black Panther

"Let's burn it together."

Namor with a surface dweller child

Shuri as a big sister

Shuri with a figure skater reader

Namor being a family man

Scared with me (Shuri x reader one shot)

Namor with a chubby reader

My princess, My forever (Shuri x reader oneshot)

Shuri with a kpop idol reader

Shuri as a mother

Shuri with an introverted reader

Namor with a mermaid reader

Poly! Shuri and Riri with a reader who feels insecure over their intelligence

Namora when reader gets injured in battle

Namora, Shuri, and Namor NSFW headcanons

Namor when reader is in an arranged marriage

Namor and reader being lovestruck

Namor with a reader who sings

Dad-to-be Namor

Dad Namor

Namora with a fem! partner who is a hero

Namora and reader bickering and teasing each other a lot

Shuri and Riri with a reader who struggles with computer coding

Namor with an indigenous reader

Namor punishing reader after she calls him ‘daddy’ in front of others

Submissive! Namor

“Don’t run from me, Princess” (Namor x reader, NSFW)

Shuriri when reader brings home a dog

Soft Yandere Namor convincing reader to live in Talokan

Soft yandere Namor protecting his jumpy soulmate

Yandere Namor with a partner who is a scientist.

Namor when reader is ready to take the herb

Namor with a reader who has a child, but it's not his.

Namor when he accidentally hurts his partners feelings.

Namor when reader refuses to call him by his real name.

Toilet bound Hanako-kun

"When you die, that's it. There's nothing more. Nothing new begins."

nothing yet…

Boku No hero Academia

"Now, it’s your turn."

Midnight with a sick reader

Where they kiss you (multi)

Poly! Monoma, Todoroki, and Bakugo with a fem! reader

Miruko, Midnight, and Ms Joke with a chubby reader

Domestic life with Miruko and Midnight

Best friend! Izuku

Haikyuu!!!

"As long as I am here, you're invincible."

Waking up with Iwazumi and Oikawa

Hinata with a reader from Brazil

Suga and Bokuto after having a nightmare where you die

The arcana

"What I wouldn't do for this heartbeat."

Love or obsession (Yandere! Asra x GN! Reader, one shot.)

Big spoon (Asra x GN! Reader, Drabble)

Vampire! Asra

Asra letting reader know they're loved

Error143

"Just know, it's only you."

Flustered! Micah cuddling with short! reader

Jealous! Micah Yujin

Micah when reader gets flustered over the shirtless virus, and decides to get revenge

The last of us

"And I think I'm gonna love you for a long, long, time."

Ellie with a shy and timid reader

Moon knight

“You are the only super-power I ever had”

nothing yet…

[ohharthur]

Could you do Arthur x a reader who's chubby and short and they're insecure about it?? 💖

Hope you enjoy! 💚

Arthur with a chubby and short s/o

can I start with the fact that he absolutely loves every inch of you and your body?

i will definitely start with this fact

his guilty pleasure is to come from behind and hold you by the waist and turn you around to face him

wants to cuddle all the time

because you are the person he is most comfortable with, so he never misses an opportunity to cuddle you when you are alone

you're shorter than him?

oh boy, prepare to be teased

no big tease tho, Arthur is more comfortable with sarcasm but if he finds an opportunity to tease you he will not hesitate

you want to kiss him? Well that's too bad, because this little shit will elevate himself on his feet a little more on purpose, and you'll have to get on your tiptoes to even just brush his lips

most of the time he is the insecure one, so he doesn't immediately notice that you are unconfident about your appearance

for him it's impossible, through his eyes you're perfect

but he knows how hard you can be on yourself, so he makes sure to compliment you everyday

nothing too exaggerated or that could make you uncomfortable, but little sweet words that he whispered in your ear

he tries to occupy your mind and silence that voice in your head that constantly puts you down

and if Micah dares to laugh at you for any reason he literally signs his death warrant

Arthur will be there before that rat even finishes his sentence, punch him in the face and Micah will be lucky he's just bleeding from his nose

I think you get it, he's really protective towards you

because he loves you more than anything and if you don't love yourself he will do it for you

[littlestarofthewest]

Ooooh- can I request a Micah/Chubby! Male reader? (Smut please- if that’s ok! Maybe doggy style? No pressure though!) Could the reader be slightly self conscious about his body, but it turns out Micah ends up being absolutely bonkers for their love handles and curves? Thank you so much!!

Have an incredible day!! 💖💕💖

Such a big yes for chubby reader requests!! I hope this is to your liking! 😄 Have a great day yourself! ❤

Pairing: Micah x chubby m!reader | Words: 1978 | Rating: Explicit! (18+)

You're sitting by the fire, half-heartedly carving a small piece of wood. You're not even sure what it's supposed to turn into, but at least it keeps your hands busy. The last few days, you didn't have much to do but think, and that's never good.

From in between the nearby trees, two riders approach, Arthur and Micah. They're bickering like always, all the way to Dutch's tent. You can't understand what they're saying, but Dutch looks pleased. He calls Miss Grimshaw over, and by the way everybody acts, you see a small celebration coming on.

By the time it gets dark, almost everybody sits around the main campfire, and the drinks flow freely. It's not uncommon for the gang members to flirt with each other, even if nothing comes of it later on. You stay out of it, though. You're no Arthur or Charles, and while you might be as heavy as them, your weight isn't as pleasantly distributed. 

"What are you staring at, griddle cake?"

You jump when Micah appears next to you out of the dark.

"Nothing," you say, going back to your wood carving, although you can barely see anything by the small fire.

Micah makes a disbelieving sound, leaning over your shoulder to assume your point of view. "You got your eye on somebody?"

"Yeah right," you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What? Come on, you can tell me, sweetheart," Micah says. 

His breath ghosts over your neck, making you shiver, and you're not sure how you feel about the pet name.

"There's nothing to tell," you say, hoping that Micah will leave it alone.

He walks around you and sits down, still leaning so close that he might as well crawl into your lap. "Is that so? Not even the reason why you're sitting here when they're all over there."

"Just not in the mood for a party," you huff.

Micah looks around before reaching into his coat to pull out a bottle. "Not even a little, private one?"

You look at the bottle. It's a pricey one, still full to the brim.

"Don't waste that on me," you say, but Micah's already fumbling with the cork.

"Don't tell me what to do, griddle cake," Micah says, taking a drag from the bottle. "I ain't gonna listen anyway."

Micah holds out the bottle to you, and you're unsure what to do. The men by the fire are not the only ones you like looking at, but Micah seemed even more out of reach than anybody else. He rather starts a fight than have a conversation. Still, he's here now, trying to have a drink with you.

"Why did you call me that?" you ask. "Griddle cake?"

"It's what you are, ain't it? Just as good as a pancake but bigger, thicker." Micah licks his lips before taking another drink. "I like them fluffy and round."

You swallow the lump in your throat. Of course, you know that you're not much to look at, but for Micah to rub it in like that is just cruel.

"I might not look like it, but I can throw a punch," you say, glaring at Micah. "So you better walk away."

"Oh, come on, what's with the hostility? Can't a man talk about a good meal?"

 "You were calling me fat."

You can see on Micah's face how the gears turn in his head, then he smiles. 

"That's what you are, sweetheart. That's what I am," he says, clapping his own belly. "Doesn't mean we can't have fun."

Micah comes closer again, and you can't bring yourself to move away, caught by his intense gaze.

"You know what else is great about griddle cakes? They're soft, warm, and a little sticky." Micah lifts his hand, running his fingers over your cheek. "You're soft. I bet you can be warm and sticky, too."

"Beat it, Micah," you grunt, still convinced that he's just messing with you.

"Fine," he says, lifting up his hands before he walks away. "Maybe one of them girls appreciates a good bottle."

He makes his way to the fire, and you jump to your feet. "Wait!"

Micah turns around, pushing up his hat a little with a look as if he knows exactly what you're going to say. "What?"

"I wouldn't mind a private party," you say, your voice barely audible.

You wait for the jokes, but Micah doesn't say anything. He walks back to you with a satisfied grin, and when he runs his tongue over his teeth, you feel like you agreed to way more than just having a drink.

--------

"No way," you say, but Micah nods.

"I'm telling you, Mr. Morgan, as he lives and breathes, walking up to a duel without a single bullet."

"Then what happened?"

"The other guy didn't show, was hiding under the table in the saloon. We went back there and drank instead. I don't remember much more than that. It was a good night."

You've been sitting with Micah and talking for about two hours now. He's telling you stories, and you feel better knowing that those attractive, big, bad outlaws aren't perfect and are often not looking their best.

Micah reaches for the bottle, his fingers tracing your hand before he gets a grip on the glass. The touch sends a jolt of lightning through your body, and you can't help and stare at Micah's lips when they close around the bottle once more.

"Sure you're not looking for something, sweetheart?" he asks after taking a sip.

"No, not at all."

You hold out your hand, but Micah sets the bottle down on the ground instead of giving it to you. Then he puts his hand on your knee before running it up your leg.

"Don't lie to me," he says. "You wouldn't like what I do to liars."

"I'm not-" you start but can't talk when Micah's hand reaches your crotch.

He cups your balls with his fingers, his palm pressing hard against your cock. You've been so close to an erection the whole time that Micah doesn't have to do much to get you hard.

"You still up for a private party, boy?" Micah asks, palming your dick through your pants.

"Yes," you groan, wishing you wouldn't be so needy.

"Come on, then," Micah says and gets up.

You miss his touch and jump to your feet, following him into the nearby woods. Micah doesn't bother to go far. As soon as you're somewhat out of sight, he pulls you close and kisses you.

With someone like Micah, you imagined it to be rough, but he starts slow, teasing you until you're comfortable to give as much as you get. Micah lets go of you when you grind against him, unable to help yourself.

"Let's get you on your knees," he says, and you happily go on all fours. "Drop those pants."

You hastily get out of your suspenders, and the second you open the button on your pants, Micah pulls them down to your knees. 

"Look at you, sweetheart," Micah says, slapping your ass. "Warm and round, just the way I like it. Now let's get you sticky."

You can hear his coat rustling, your heart beating a mile a minute. You've never been so exposed, and with Micah, you never know what you'll get. You turn around to see what he's doing, but his hand is already on your ass. 

Micah rubs something cold and wet around your rim before pushing his finger in. You whimper at the sudden penetration,  and Micah chuckles. "That's good, let me hear you."

You try to relax your muscles, and Micah doesn't bother with much foreplay. He comes closer, and you feel him hot and heavy between your cheeks before he pushes in.

"You're even better than I thought," he says. "Tight and hot."

Micah stretches you open around his cock as he pushes in deep, then he stops. While he gives you a chance to get used to him, Micah runs his hands all over your body. 

"God, you feel good," he praises, pushing your shirt up, so he can trail his fingers over your belly. "You ready for me?"

You're not sure what exactly he's asking, but you haven't felt this good in a long time. All you want is more of this. "Yes, please."

"How polite," Micah says with a chuckle. "That should be rewarded."

Micah runs his hands down your body and pinches you in a few places, making you buck under him, his cock only pushing deeper into you. When he reaches your hips, he digs his fingers into your flesh to have a better grip. 

"Let's ride," Micah says, his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

He pushes into you with quick, hard thrusts, and you're sure you're going to have bruises with the way he holds on to you. Not that you mind. You're happy about anything that's going to remind you of how you feel right now.

Your insides are on fire, and you can barely hold in your eager moans. Micah keeps touching you wherever he can reach, letting you believe that he actually enjoys your body the way he told you. 

You get so into it that you forget everything around you until Micah leans forward to hold a hand over your mouth. You hold still, leveling your breathing, and then you can hear it. Somebody is walking around in the woods. You recognize Sean's and Karen's voices.

A cold shiver runs down your back at the thought of them catching you here, but Micah shows no sign of wanting to move. Sean and Karen seem to have stopped, and turning your head, you can make them out through the trees. There's no direct line of sight, and you can barely hear them, but you're still frozen in place.

A few more seconds tick by before Micah moves again. At first, you believe that he's about to leave, but then he thrusts back into you, his hand holding on to your face. Although it barely muffles your moans, Micah keeps going, obviously not caring that two gang members could find you like this any second.

You consider ending it yourself, but then think better of it. Micah rarely has a nice word for anybody, but if he doesn't mind being caught with you, that surely means something.

Raveling in that thought, you push back against Micah, and he groans. "Look who's shown up to the party."

He slaps your ass, the sound overly loud in the woods, but neither of you gives it a second thought. You keep moving, and Micah takes his hand away from your mouth to grab your dick instead.

You bite your lip as he strokes you, knowing full well that you won't hold on much longer.

"Micah," you gasp, and he moans behind you.

"Come on, sweetheart, make it good," he says, driving you over the edge.

Your dick pulses in his hand, your come trickling to the ground while your muscles clench around him. Your fingers dig into the ground, and Micah's grip becomes almost painful as he pounds into you. He grunts, his hips stuttering, and you hold still while he fills you up.

After a few deep breaths, Micah slides out of you, his hands rubbing in careful circles where he held onto you. 

"You're a damn good ride, griddle cake." He slaps your ass again, but playful and soft. "Let me know whenever you're in the mood for another party." 

He walks back to camp, but you're not even mad that he leaves you like this. You roll onto your back and look up to the stars, thinking about the money you have left from your last job. It should be enough to buy a decent bottle for a little private party.

[mi-olaaa]

Distracted much? (18+)

Fem!reader, dilf!toji y’all 🤭 and of course plussize reader pookie

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

The night had started with you and Toji, you two had some free time finally, both off work, Megumi wasn’t at the house for the weekend for once, at Yuji’s house for a sleepover, it was just you two. So with the newfound freedom you had, a night out was in order. Toji took you out, spending the day at a carnival, playing games, winning prizes, getting on rides, until the sun started to set.

When you both got home, carnival prizes in hand, it was still kinda early, you suggested a little movie date to top the night off, Toji agreed. Once the two of you settled down and popped some popcorn, it was time for a movie. You sit on the couch, looking at the tv idly, scrolling through Netflix to see what movie to put on. Toji comes in, popcorn in hand, plopping down on the couch. “Here doll.” He murmurs, handing you the popcorn, you hand him the remote, letting him chose the movie since you couldn’t decide, eating some of the buttery, hot popcorn as you wait.

Toji found a random comedy to put on, just as you lay up on his shoulder, a blanket on your legs. At first, you two were paying attention to the movie, laughing along, adding unnecessary commentary when someone didn’t stupid shit, it was fine, but if anyone asked, he started it, no he didn’t. After about a hour into the movie, you decided to be a little vexing. You took it upon yourself to move, sitting on Toji’s lap, ignoring his questions and murmurs, “Whaddya’ doin’, doll? I’m trying to watch the movie—”

And after about another minute, it clicks for him when you start to move your hips, facing him while you wrap those pretty hands of yours around his shoulders and neck, whispering in his ear, “I don’t have any panties on, I thought you were smarter than that Toji.” And you did it. You finally got him irritated, he looks at you, shit-eating grin on his face, “Oh really now? You being a brat today?”

He snakes his hand in your shorts, feeling how wet your cunt was already, teasing and rubbing your clit, nipping at your neck.

You let out a gasp at his touch, your back immediately arching and his grip on your neck softening. Toji was a tease at heart, so his long and muscular fingers found a way to your entrance, prodding and poking in a teasing manner, but never entering where you ached. So in response, you start rushing him, hurriedly taking his shirt off, trying to take his pants off too, but he stops you.

Toji is quick to put you in your place, picking you up off of him, stripping you bare, and bending you over the arm of the couch, spreading those precious thighs of yours, his breath fanning over your dripping cunt before he dives in. Absolutely devouring your cunt, He’s such a fucking munch, but not for your pleasure, for his. Licking a fat stripe up your equally fat pussy, your arousal on his tongue tasting like heaven.

Your moans don’t stop, and it doesn’t help that his tongue pushes in and out of your cunt, and how his hand is on your clit. He decides to change the flow, suckling on your clit, eating it so well. You’re losing your fucking mind at how good he feels in between your thighs, and lost in your pleasure, you cum. Right on his face, and he laps it up, grinning as he comes up, licking his lips and tasting you. He just looks at how good you look, plush, pretty thighs slick with your arousal.

But yet again with the impatient shit, you turn around, pouting after a minute when you don’t feel anything, you needed him now, and he was just fucking around. Toji was patient with his princess, but clearly he spoils you too much if you can’t even handle a literal minute of him not touching you. “Ass up. Face down.” You look confused at his words, with a rebuttal, “But—” “But nothing. I’m not asking princess.” Since you seem to not comprehend that, he drops his boxers, cock springing up at attention, tip pink and flushed with precum.

In the same movement, he gets closer to you, flipping you over his damn self, grabbing your wrists in one hand, and lining his dick up with your folds. He pushes in effortlessly, given that you just came not too long ago. Toji grunts, setting a brutal pace, with no room to slow down, making you moan and whine wantonly. “Toji..” is all you say, too caught off guard to say anything else. He was rough with it, smacking your plush, fat ass, watching it jiggle with each thrust.

With your hands behind your back as Toji‘s drills his cock inside your velvety walls, spongey tip filling your insides and making you see stars, he’s right next to your ear, panting and grunting as he speaks, “This enough attention, princess? i gotta be mean for you to stop being a fucking brat, huh?” he gives you another spank, watching the welts on your ass form.

Meanwhile, you were a fucking mess. He was fucking up into you with so much force, you were a drooling, babbling brat, pussy fluttering around his cock, squelching with each thrust. “Mhm— hm..” you open your mouth to speak, but nothing can come out coherent, but that’s exactly what Toji wanted. He sports another devious grin, smacking your ass again till hot tears of pleasure start to fall from your eyes. “Yeah doll, that’s it. You can take it, just shut that pretty mouth of yours and lemme take care of ya’.” You whine in response, too fucked out to say something of actual meaning.

“You got a bad attitude,” He murmurs, finally letting go of your wrists, deciding to toy with your breasts, hands on the sensitive mounds, toying with your pretty, pert nipples. “Gotta’ fuck it right out of you.” And all you can do is whine, feeling his dick hit all those soft spots your own fingers can’t even touch. It doesn’t take long for you to start seeing stars this time, letting out a loud cry of Toji’s name, cumming.

“There we go, attagirl, good job. All the nasty attitude gone now?” He purrs in your ear, kissing your neck as he slows his thrusts, leaning off of you, looking at the creamy white ring around his cock, groaning softly as he pulls out. It doesn’t matter to him if he cums or not, not when you look so beautifully fucked-out, thighs creamy and sticky, ass sore and slightly bruised, hickeys on your neck.. No. He can’t give a single fuck, not when he’s blessed with the heavenly feeling of massaging you afterwards, lying on the couch in his lap.

He kisses your body lovingly, massaging you, it’s peaceful, intimate but not sexual. The way he loves all of you, kissing and rubbing your sore ass, pouting and murmuring ‘sorries’ in your ear, kissing your neck, loving your love handles and hip dips, admiring how they move under his touch. All the while, you love it. You don’t even care about the welts on your ass, or the hickeys on your neck, you love them, just like you love him. “So pretty doll, and all mine too.” He whispers in your ear, kissing your cheek, savoring the ‘I love you’s’ between the two of you.

You don’t remember what happened afterwards, since you were fast to fall asleep in his arms, letting him do as he pleases, comforting warmth around you. But you do know that you were blissed out, thanks to the man who drives you fucking crazy.

☆ ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ ☆

Author’s note: YALL. Hi. Uh.. this one pissed me off, i accidentally deleted half of it and js rushed to fix it 😓 I hope it’s good tho

Anywayssss— I love yall, stay cool bitches 🫶🏾

[cowboy-canoodler]

Balthazars Writing Masterlist!

Welcome to my Masterlist of RDR2 Writing, headcanons, and smut! 

HC’s means headcanons or headcanon Fic

Arthur Morgan:

The Needle In a Haystack NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

Drunken Lovin NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

Jealous Arthur (X Fem! Reader)

Pregnant Reader HC’S (X Fem! Reader)

Taking Care of Arthur After Blessed Are The Peacemakers HC’s (X GN! Reader)

‘Stop Acting Like Children’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

‘You’re Making This Harder Than it Should Be’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

‘Are You Naked?’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

I Wont Wait Around Forever (X GN! Reader)

Thunder (X GN! Reader)

Sunset (X Fem! Reader)

‘I Don’t Wanna Move’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

‘I fuck Everything Up’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

Arthur Morgan and Adopted Child HC’s:

Adopting an Orphan HC’s

Going Into Town HC’s

Thunderstorm Anxieties HC’s

Night Terrors HC’s

With The Gang HC’s

Sean Macguire:

Hate Sex With an O’Dricsoll NSFW HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Morning Wood NSFW HC’s (X Fem! Reader)

How Sean Shows Interest in You (X GN! Reader)

Just a Tumble, Nothing Big Fluff (X GN! Reader)

John Marston:

“Dirty HC’s” NSFW (X Male! Reader)

Cuddly Reader HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Touch Starved and Gagging NSFW HC’s (X Fem! Reader)

‘You’re Making This Harder Than it Should be’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

Charles Smith:

Short HC’s NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

With a pregnant Reader (X Fem Reader)

‘Do You Want to Die? Is That It?’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

Javier Escuella:

Oral HC’s NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

Thigh Riding NSFW HC’s (X Fem! Reader)

You’re More Than Your Actions (GN! Reader)

Shy Reader HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Dutch Van Der Linde:

Gunplay HC’s NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

Chubby Reader NSFW HC’s (X Fem! Reader)

Reader Jealous of Mary-Beth HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Premature Ejaculation NSFW HC’S (X GN! Reader)

Micah Bell:

Overtired and Overstimulated NSFW HC’s (X Fem! Reader)

‘Just One Kiss Alright?’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

Lenny Summers:

General HC’s (X GN! Reader)

‘Why Are we Whispering?’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

Sadie Adler:

‘It Amazes me How Beautiful You Look’ Prompt (X GN! Reader)

Eagle Flies:

Eagle Flies Flirting With a Gang Member HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Multiple Pairings:

Sean Macguire x Reader X Arthur Morgan NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

Javier Escuella X Reader X John Marston NSFW (X Fem! Reader)

Charles, Arthur, and Sean Touch sensitive HC’s NSFW-Ish (GN! Reader)

Arthur Morgan and John Marston Tickling HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Sean Macguire and Arthur Morgan Flirting HC’s (X GN! Reader)

Dutch and John with a Cheeky S/O HC’s (X GN! Reader)

The Gang React to Skinny Dipping HC’s NSFW-ish (X GN! Reader)

Charles Smith and Arthur Morgan Rough sex NSFW HC’s (X GN! Reader)

A High Note of Love (Arthur Morgan X Fem! Reader):

Masterlist and AO3 Link

[mileycyprus-hill]

Bumblebee

Domestic/Papa Arthur

This is a lengthy single-chapter story I decided to write after making the mistake of watching Arthur’s low-honor/high honor deaths when he goes back for the money. It put me in such a terrible mood and I cursed myself for watching it, so I decided to make myself feel better by writing a heart-warming fic. I hope you enjoy it too.

High honor Arthur Morgan x female reader

TB doesn’t exist in this storyline.

———————

For the first year since you both escaped, every night Arthur sufferered night terrors. You’re both long gone from Dutch, Micah, and the Pinkertons, but Arthur still has fear. Fear that turns to panic in the middle of the night while you’re both asleep.

You’re often shaken awake by Arthur gently thrashing on the mattress, holding his arms up as if he’s fending off an attacker. By now, you can figure out what he’s dreaming of. It’s the same nightmare each night: Micah has him pinned to the ground and is pushing the knife closer and closer to his chest. Arthur wakes up in terror right as the knife is plunged in his chest. He clutches at his heart while he pants heavily and blinks his eyes in the darkness. You hold him and give him the same little speech each night this happens: he’s alright, you’re alright, and most importantly...your growing child inside you is alright.

Arthur rarely cried in front of you until after that fateful night. That night you almost lost him, fighting off Micah at Beaver Hollow while the camp burned around them. If Dutch hadn’t shown up at the right moment to stop it, Arthur wouldn’t be here with you right now. He thought he was as good as dead when Dutch and Micah left him, until he saw you ride in on a white horse. Literally.

The sun rose behind the trees as you rode back on your snow-white warmblood and he swore he saw an angel coming to take him away. He cried into your shirt when you held him close, grateful for this final moment with you.

He thought each day was his final day with you, and waited for death to come. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened. Fate granted him an extension on his life, and Arthur is forever grateful.

However, he fears his enemies will soon catch up with him and take you both away. He refuses to relive that pain.

Arthur would sell his soul if it meant preventing that from happening again.

Arthur sits up in bed and the sheets are dampened from his sweat, despite the cold winter night. His cheeks are wet with tears as he gently grasps at your growing stomach. He rests his head against the bump and attempts to feel for your child behind the barrier of your womb; to feel if it’s still there, undisturbed in its peaceful pod in your body.

There’s one comfort Arthur has and that’s the feeling of his unborn child within you. You’re only four months along and the bump has just become noticeable. Arthur’s breathing calms at the sensation of your warm skin against his flushed cheeks. His eyes feel hot from the panicked tears of his nightmare. He still trembles as the images of his nightmare blink into vision with every fall of his eyelids, but in time they dissipate. His trembling becomes faint once you brush your fingers through his hair.

The two of you lay in silence. The only sounds are the wet sniffles from Arthur’s nose while he rests his head on your torso. These nights become routine until the day your child is born.

Since the first day your daughter arrived, Arthur hadn’t slept. He’d watch her sleep in her tiny bassinet on the other side of the bed. His arms are laid across your waist and looped within your arms. He rubs his fingers against your skin while guarding his little princess, ready to leap across at the first sign of danger. The only way to get Arthur to fall asleep is to caress his hair and whisper soft reassurances. He’d fall asleep resting his head on your chest, listening to the calm beating of your heart.

Arthur would still wake up throughout the night, listening for your daughter’s breathing or perking his head up at the sound of a little cough or whimper. The only time the poor man would get sleep is when he’d put her down for a nap. You’d walk into the bedroom and find him softly snoring with your little girl on his chest. His large, calloused hands hold her in place.

Arthur finally begins to calm down when your daughter reaches her first birthday. A warmth inside him grows and starts to bloom like the once tight bud of a rose opening to reveal its lush layers of pedals. Arthur had always struggled with insecure relationships, but you and your daughter give him the security he desperately needed all those years ago.

His nightmares are less frequent, and instead he dreams of the gang. He misses them greatly: Miss Grimshaw, Lenny, John, and most of all Hosea. At night, Arthur dreams of introducing his little girl to Hosea. He would hand his giggling daughter to Hosea’s arms, and the old man would laugh with delight. Hosea would hold her up against the sun, basking in her glory. Her little legs kick happily as Hosea spins her around before bringing her close to kiss her chubby cheek. His silver hair and her golden locks both shine as the sun.

You wake early in the morning just before dawn and roll over to an empty space beside you. You could always sense Arthur’s absence shortly after he got up. The bed would feel larger and his spot would feel cold without his warm body. Blinking your dreary eyes, you see Arthur sitting on the edge of the bed with his head down low.

“Arthur?” You reach a hand out and faintly rub his back with your fingertips. Arthur looks over his shoulder and reaches behind him to hold your hand.

“I dreamt about Hosea again,” he answers you softly. A tiny smile is visible for a short moment, before a gloomy frown returns to his face.

Scooching closer to him, you ask, “A good one?” Your arms wrap around him, holding him close to you. Arthur instinctively leans his head as soon as your chin rests upon his tense shoulder, his earlobe just within kissing range. The tension in his shoulders relax at the feeling of your warm breath against his sensitive skin.

“Yeah,” he replies solemnly. He continues to frown at the bittersweet memory of Hosea.

You ask Arthur to describe his dream to you, and reassure him that it’s okay to miss his family. You giggle at the image of Hosea proudly holding your daughter high, showing her off to all the members at camp, teaching her to read, how to hold the reins on a horse, and how to steal people’s hearts.

“He would’ve spoiled her rotten,” Arthur croaks, the richness of his voice breaks slightly.

You smile through the pain of grief you both share. “Yeah he would’ve,” you state, “But you spoil her enough.”

Finally a chuckle rumbles lowly from Arthur, like a dim charcoal that’s been gently stoked back to flame.

Your daughter is the definition of a daddy’s girl. She hardly demands Arthur’s attention, as he’s more than ready to give it to her when she needs it. He’s the first to rise when hearing her wake from her bedroom across the hall. Your daughter happily waits to hear her father’s habitual greeting.

“Good mornin’ little bumblebee. How’d you sleep?” He’d always ask, scooping her up into his arms. She is always his little bumblebee, a nickname he thought of from her given name: Beatrice. He began to call her Bea for short, then soon after she became “bumble-Bea”.

Arthur presses his face against hers and rubs his scruffy beard against her cheek. Bea squeals in laughter at the rough sensation that tickles her cheek.

“Papaaaw! Staaaa-haaap!” She yells, attempting to push his squared jaw away with her petite hands. Her cries are quickly drowned out by Arthur’s rumbling chortles that echo through your small home.

Only Arthur can make his daughter’s special breakfast: pancakes and bacon. God forbid Daddy doesn’t make them for her. Arthur swears he doesn’t make them any different than you do, but somehow his pancakes taste better. The best is when he’s able to find wild berries and toss them in the batter. Those are Bea’s favorite.

Each day Bea gets older is another day Arthur grows happier. His worries will always linger though; anxieties always creeping behind his shoulder. He is not a man without his faults. He tends to be overprotective of you two when it comes to wandering the woods alone, staying alone in the house, or riding to town without him. Arthur won’t have it. His paranoia gets the better of him and his temper flares when you argue with him. He’ll slam the kitchen countertop and finalize his decision with an angry, “End of discussion!”

His anger quickly turns to guilt at the sight of Bea’s upturned lip, quivering in fear of his authoritative roar. She stands in the entryway with her teddy bear clutched in her arms, listening to you two argue and her little heart hammering. It’s rare she experiences this side of Arthur at her young age, no matter how frustrating she can be as a toddler.

That familiar whimper slowly rises to a wail. Bea attempts to keep a tight lip, whining through her closed mouth but her cries soon take over. She sputters and sobs as you pick her up and hold her against you, running your hands over her golden head.

It breaks Arthur’s heart to see Bea so upset, especially when he’s the cause of it. When it came to her crying for attention, you had to hold him back numerous times. Too often would he run to her room in the middle of the night at the first sound of her cries. You tried many times to explain to him that he should let her cry until she goes back to sleep. You had your maternal instincts to rely on when it came to knowing when to respond.

But Arthur? He can’t stand to hear his little bumblebee cry. He’s made too many mistakes as a father early in his life, so he strives to be the best he can be. And sometimes, he can try a little too hard.

Arthur’s favorite moments are those sitting by the fireplace after a hard day’s work. His stomach is full, the sky is dark, and the fire is warm. He watches the sparks pop from the dry firewood stacked in the flames. The creak of his rocking chair syncs with your voice like a metronome. You’re reading a storybook to Bea, who sits cradled in Arthur’s arms. Her hair is still damp from her evening bath, and she’s dressed in her fresh cotton nightgown. With Arthur’s arms wrapped around her, his palms placed in the crook of her knees, she idly fumbles with the sleeve of his shirt while listening to you read. Arthur struggles to stay awake with his head dropping occasionally and his eyelids growing heavy while Bea listens attentively to the story.

The story is indeed an interesting one, a children’s biblical story you were given by a church woman a couple years ago. She had seen you passing by the church after you stopped for supplies and offered it to you. A blessing for your little one, she said pointing to your pregnant belly. The old woman was kind and asked to pray for you and your child, to which you humbly accepted.

The story was of a man named Daniel, who served under a king and was accused of breaking the law of worship that forbid any man from praying to God without the aid of the king. He was ordered to be thrown into a den of lions, but when the king checked the next day, Daniel was alive. An angel was sent down from heaven and shut the mouth of the lions, saving Daniel’s life.

Bea was enraptured by the story and asks you, “Are angels real?”

Closing the book, you open your mouth to answer until Arthur speaks up.

“ ‘f course they’re real,” he says softly, “We all got a guardian angel.”

Bea lifts her head off his shoulder and looks to him with glistening eyes, “Even me?” She asks.

A crooked smile adorns Arthur’s lips, “Of course,” he answers, breaking eye contact with Bea and gazing over at you with a loving stare.

Arthur lets you slip into bed as he offers to tuck your daughter in. Her lamp on the nightstand dimly lights her room in a honey glow.

“Y’know, yer mama’s an angel,” Arthur whispers, pulling the sheets over her. “Did you know that?”

Her eyes grow wide and she replies with a shocked whisper, “No.”

Arthur smiles and nods his head, “It’s true. Now don’t tell her,” he warns, looking back at the doorway. The door is cracked only slightly to let in the light from your bedroom across the hall. “She ain’t supposed to know that we know,” Arthur says.

“Why not?” Bea asks, gripping the edge of the quilt.

“Well, then she can’t have her powers no more.” Arthur answers.

“But how do you know she’s an angel?”

Arthur looks at your daughter with a fondness in his eyes. She has the same curiosity as you do. His thoughts are immediately flooded with memories of that terrifying night at Beaver Hollow.

Arthur breathes a deep sigh. “She saved my life,” he explains, “Y’see, Daddy was hurt real bad. And she came flyin’ in on her white horse and saved me. She told me everythin’ was gonna be alright...and then she carried me home.”

His daughter looks at him in shock, her jaw dropped. “Wow,” she says.

Arthur nods his head and smiles at his daughter’s astonishment. He reminds her, “Now remember, this is just between me and you,” he tucks her in tighly in her warm blankets, “Okay?”

She nods her head so hard she nearly makes herself dizzy.

“That’sa good girl,” Arthur praises softly, “Now, go to sleep. I love you.”

He kisses her forehead just before she wraps her arms around her neck, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too, Daddy.” She says sleepily.

For the rest of Arthur’s life, he firmly believed he had not one, but two guardian angels who loved him.

[ny-writes]

dreams

male orc x unspecified reader. maybe a T rating - mentions of alcohol and tobacco use as well as some sexual themes. 1200 words

---

When you meet him for the first time, you’re at a loud party and you don’t catch his name. You’re too embarrassed to ask for it later, so in your head he’s Micheal, and you do hope that isn’t his name, because you don’t really like it. Something with an “M”, though. He’s a friend of a friend, a tall and admittedly chubby orc with a kind face and short tusks that give him a slight underbite. You get along alright - he seems shy but nice enough to you.

When you meet him for the second time, you give him your number and he smiles at you. You want to make him smile like that again and again. You want to hear his laugh and see if it gives you the same warm feeling in your chest. Later, your friend laughs at your crush and tells you that his name is actually Micah, and he hates being called Mike, and maybe he’ll call you because he seems to like you, too. You’re informed that he’s very shy and won’t make the first move, so you’d better if you want anything to happen.

When you meet him for the third time, it’s because he called you, drunk sounding frantic through the static of the phone. He apologizes profusely for calling so late - it’s past two in the morning - but he didn’t have anyone else to call to drive him home and he was too drunk to drive himself. You laugh at him a little, but you agree to come get him, and after getting the address, you throw on some sweatpants and a tank top and hop in your slightly beat-up car. With a text that you’ll be there in fifteen, you plug in the directions and drive, wondering if tonight would be the night that something happens.

You pull up in the driveway of a small house that certainly looks like it’s been hosting a party. Several people are standing around outside, on their phones or waiting for rides, and you text Micah that you’re outside because you don’t see him. He comes through the door and his smile is radiant. When you unlock the doors, he collapses into the passenger seat and throws his head back against the headrest. He seems exhausted, so you coax his address out of him and start driving. It’s about twenty minutes away, so you sit in silence for the first five, and then he reaches over and grabs your hand, quite frankly startling the hell out of you.

He’s lacing your fingers together over the gearshift and you can feel your heart in your throat because maybe you were right. For a little while, you let him ramble about the party he was at, and how he doesn’t really like parties that much but this one was important for some reason, and then he looks at you and asks if it’s okay to smoke in your car. It’s not.

You pull over on the side of the road and you stand beside him, leaning against the trunk, and pass a cigarette back and forth. Watching him exhale a stream of smoke makes you more aroused than you’re willing to admit, so you urge him back in the car and keep driving, trying to focus on the road and not the pressure of his hand in yours. He tells you about how he only smokes when he’s been drinking, about his dogs, about what he learned in college and where he works now.

On impulse, you lift his hand to your mouth and kiss his knuckles, enjoying that his hands are bigger than yours, and rougher. For a moment, he’s silent, and you wonder if you did something wrong, but then you look at him and he’s smiling such a soft smile that your heart hurts.

It isn’t long before you’re at his house, sitting in the driveway, neither willing to broach the subject of leaving. You talk about everything else, but finally, there’s nothing else. You ask to walk him to the door and he agrees, so you get out of the car and make it to the entryway, but as he goes to open the door you grab his arm and pull him down to your level because you feel like if you don’t kiss him immediately, you’ll die. 

He reciprocates with a passion you didn’t expect, and his lips are rough but nice, and his tongue swipes against your mouth for entry and you do it without thinking. By the time you have a thought, he’s picked you up by the backs of your thighs and is pressing you against the door, sucking on your neck.

Unfortunately, your thought is that he’s drunk and you’re not. You break away and look at him, lips swollen and face flushed, and you almost lose your willpower, but not quite.

He understands, though, when you explain that you do really like him but you would like to do this when you’re both sober, and he still invites you in for some tea, and you sit on his old but very comfortable couch and meet his dogs, two huge beasts that both want desperately to sit in your lap at the same time.

Tea made, the pair of you sit and pet the dogs and watch a few episodes of an old sitcom together. In the end, he does ask you to stay the night, citing that he doesn’t want to be by himself and so drunk, but that nothing has to happen if you don’t want it. So you cuddle in his bed under a thick blanket and you politely ignore how messy his room is in favor of enjoying the feeling of having him in your arms - even if the dogs are taking up most of the bed.

When you meet him the fourth time, you’re waking up together, curled in on each other, and you are way too hot. You throw off the blanket and he grumbles at you good-naturedly, and you don’t turn a light on because you know he’s hungover. You go through his dresser and find a shirt and a pair of pyjama pants and then go to the kitchen and find some water and aspirin that you bring back to the bedroom for him, and you go back to sleep for thirty more minutes until the alarm on your phone insists that it’s time to get up, because you have to go back to your house to dress appropriately before work.

You decide to call in sick, something you do rarely, and roll over to drape your arm around Micah’s back. 

Later that morning, he makes you breakfast to thank you for bringing him home, and he kisses you again, so softly this time, and you agree on a real date next time before you leave. On the way home, you call your friend to tell them about the night you had, but the line is busy, and a few minutes later you get a text from them saying they were on the phone with Micah, and just a winky face.

You suppose you’re friends for a reason.

[reddeadrevival]

RedDeadRevival - Master List (List)

Please check if the ask box is open AND read my “What I write” post before sending in an ask. Thank you.  

Match Ups - Master List

NSFT/W - Master List

Character Specific - Master List

Angst - Master List

💛 - no specific genre

🧡 - Moderate to Low Fluff

❤️ - High Fluff

💙 - Moderate to Low Smut

💜 - High Smut

💚 - Moderate to Low Angst

🖤 - High Angst

(if any of the hearts don’t seem to fit, let me know and I’ll fix it)

Headcanons

💛 Ages of the Van Der Linde Gang

❤️ / 💙 Lovey Dovey Headcanons (Some nsft) Bill and Kieran

💛 Pokemon AU: Pikachu, Arcanine , Absol, Togepi,  Togepi 2,

❤️ Chubby S/O - Bill and Micah

💛 War (Undead Nightmare) Horse HCs

🧡 Cuddly S/O - Kieran and Bill

🧡 Cuddly S/O - Micah and Sean

🧡 Random “Imagine” Headcanons

💛 Reactions to “Modern” Music

🧡 Helping with Panic Attack/Anxiety - Charles, Sadie, Sean, Javier

🧡 Poly relationship with Javier, Charles & Lenny

💛 Sniper S/O - Javier, Charles, Arthur

💙 Reaction to Bandana Kink (SFW) - Javier, Arthur, Bill

💛 Modern!AU Roommate Headcannons

💛 If they had a kid - Charles, Bill, Javier

💛 If they had a kid - Dutch, Micah

🧡 Kieran x Mary-Beth Headcanons

🧡 Petnames for their S/O (Dutch, Micah, Arthur, John, Javier, Kieran, Charles)

🧡 Petnames from their S/O (Dutch, Micah, Arthur, John, Javier, Kieran, Charles)

🧡 Giving them gifts - Javier, Micah, Kieran, Arthur, Bill

❤️ Super ticklish s/o - Sean, Kieran, Arthur

🧡 Sweet Baby Names from S/O - Dutch, John, Kieran

❤️ /  💚 Reaction to learning you share his feelings (Arthur, John, Kieran, Sean, Bill, Micah)

❤️ Comforting their s/o after Dutch yells at them (Arthur, Charles, John, Javier)

❤️ Crush/ s/o who helps everyone - Arthur, Kieran, Charles

🧡 S/O Scared of Storms - Lenny, Charles, Micah

🧡 Getting caught making out - Charles, Micah, John

❤️ The gang helping you through a depressive episode

🧡  Sleeping next to them when you have a bad dream/can’t sleep (Hosea, Bill, Micah, Dutch)

💛 Reacting to you getting taken by the pinkertons (Kieran, Arthur, Sean)

💛 Saving Them From the pinkersons (Kieran, Arthur, Sean)

🧡 Javier and Charles find an abandoned baby

!Readers

💛 Accident Prone! Reader

💛 Asthmatic! Reader

💛 Autistic! Reader

💛 Blind! Reader

💛 Deaf/Mute! Reader

💛 Magician! Reader

💛 Modern! Reader / Vines

💛 Self-Insert(/Modern?)! Reader

💛 Photographer! Reader

💛 Proven Psychic! Reader

🧡 Pregnant!Reader (Kieran, Micah, Bill, Javier)

💛 Telekinesis Using Reader

🧡 Self Conscious Reader (Javier, John, Arthur, Dutch)

💛 Superhuman! Reader

💛 Demon! (Horns/Tail/Fire) Reader

💛 Afraid of Spiders - Finds a Spider

💛 Werewolf!Reader

💚 Reader Who left (Angst?)

💛 Reader with extremely heavy Australian accent

💛 Alchemist!Reader

🧡 Epileptic!Reader

💙 Succubus!Reader (Sean, Kieran, Charles)

💛 Read who’s good at Parkour

💛 Cyborg! Reader

❤️ Very Soft!Reader (John, Arthur, Javier)

💛 Jack finds a Mermaid!Reader

FICs (with OCs not Readers)

Stealing Our Place in the Sun (Possible Kieran x OC)

  (If I missed something let me know and I’ll add it to the right list)

[somethinwickedthiswayrides]

Masterlist

First shot at a masterlist, hope I can figure out how the hell this works. :\ Let me know if any links are broken or aren’t going to the right one.

My face - if that’s somethin ya’ll wanted to see. :\

Smol baby - me again. lol

It’s been a month

Stuff I’ve come up with:

Animal Affinity - Gang reacts to a reader who has an unnatural affinity with animals.

Horsey Headcanons - My headcanons about the horses in camp!

Trapper/Camp/Satchel - Animal parts needed

Requests: (SEND ME SOME PLEASE!)

Arthur breaks the reader out of jail - Angst!

Equinophobia - Kieran helps a reader who has a fear of horses.

Girls headcanons - my headcanons about hanging out with the girls at camp!

Dance with me? - Reader ask’s Charles to dance at Sean’s welcome back party!

Wasn’t so hard was it? - Micah tries to teach the reader to play poker only to make a different kind of bet.

You’re not ‘fine’ you’re sick! - Kieran gets himself sick and the reader takes care of him.

Accidentally calling Dutch/Hosea ‘dad’ - pretty much what the title is.

Drunk Headcanons! - Charles, Arthur, Javier

Model - Arthur ask’s the reader to model for him

Anytime - Reader takes care of an injured Micah

Fight Song - Charles teaches the reader how to fight

Competition - Micah bell is trying to win over a Fe!Reader!

Dutch and Hosea - Who’s more likely for a Whump moment?

Bill - Some headcanons for Bill Williamson fluff

Charles & Javier - react to Micah insulting their S/O

Kieran - reacts to a more obvious Fem!Reader liking him

Competition for love - Sean, Charles, and Kieran all vying for readers affection.

Bill finds out that reader was captured and tortured by O’Driscoll’s - ANGST!

Karen falls for Fem!Reader - And has to chose between Sean and reader.

Javier - reacts to someone else in camp flirting with his S/O

Flower Crown Fiasco - BILL FLUFF

Who says ‘I love you’ first? - Arthur fluff

MOAR BILL FLUFF - Reader is chubby and insecure with themselves and what Bill does about it.

Sean get jealous over Kieran having your attention - pure sweet fluff and typical Sean is an idiot.

A story that can only end in tragedy - opinions/headcanons on if Micah was the first death.

Kieran romance - reader is tailor made for the ask!

You have wings?! - reader has a set of wings and is terrified of the gang finding out!

Who would bring in a cat? - Who out of the gang would be the most likely to bring in a stray cat.

What would make them cry? - What would it take to make the men in camp cry? Mostly angst, but a bit of humor!

Your horse is a what?! - DRAGON BABAH!

X-ray fever - Gang reacts to a reader who is taking x-rays for research.

Spirit - Reader gets visions of the events that the Van Der Linde gang go through.

I love you - 100 follower special (NSFT)

I don’t wanna go alone! - Reader can float but is perceived as lazy

A Short Walk in a Pretty Town - Reader is Immortal and takes the bullet meant for Sean.

Soulmate - Sean, Kieran, Micah

Kieran Deserved Better - Reader dotes on Kieran

Bath Time - Kieran, Charles, Arthur, Sean, Javier, Bill, John, Micah

Bath Time 2 - Dutch, Sadie, Abigail

Comfort - Kieran & Sean

Bad Blood - Mother nature coming in like ‘what up bitches’

Ninja - Reader is a ninja, and basically me geeking out over weapons.

And Now I Weep - Arthur, John, Kieran, Javier, Sean, Bill, Charles, Micah react to the reader breaking up with them.

Kieran x Mary-Beth - shipfic

Spoiling Kieran - Spoil the horse boi

Stuff I’ve asked for (cause I’ve seriously NEVER seen this!) (I reblog anything someone takes the time to make for me, I’ll be linking the reblog but GO SUPPORT THESE PEOPLE!):

WAR - RDR1′s Undead Nightmare horses as readers main steed! (I know it said anon, but I had no idea how it worked and I guess I checked the box and forgot to uncheck it, i was just hittin buttons.)

Karen matchup! - :D:D:D

Accent appreciation - Sean, Molly, and Javier react to a reader who is weak for an accent.

Plucking the cords - Javier teaches the reader to play guitar

A sad return - Arthur/Javier return from Guarma to find their S/O on their deathbed. Dutch update!

I need to feel something - Javier returns from a long trip and is on edge (NSFT)

Lily Asteria - @anna-morgan1901 drew this for me! I didn’t even ask for it she just did it! I’m so happy!

Sadie x Molly - My fic for winning 4th place in @seanmacguires giveaway~ :D

[saxxxology]

BITTEN - Epilogue

After getting bitten by a werewolf, Sam finds himself trying to adapt to a brand new lifestyle that brings him closer to the girl he loves, but threatens to tear him apart from his family for good.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~500

WARNINGS: non-consensual werewolf bite (not sexual), a/b/o dynamics: heat/rut, knotting, claiming, breeding kink, angst, time hop (season 9 to 12), and more.

NOTE: Edited by @kayteonline and @kittenofdoomage - please heed all warnings and enjoy! This is NOT intended to be a dark fic, but if you read something that bothers you, it is your responsibility to stop reading, keep scrolling past it, or contact me for content clarification.

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Series Masterlist

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

~TWO YEARS LATER~

Just like Sam had promised, you became pregnant in late August of that same year. Soon after you announced it, Dean and Mary insisted that you and Sam had moved to the Men of Letters bunker with them, explaining that “it would be safer” and “we could spend more time together as a family.” Eventually, you agreed, partially because there was only one bedroom in your house, which would mean either adding on (which you didn’t have the money for) or moving. It hurt to leave your pack, but they understood and promised that if you ever returned, you would be welcome.

Several months after moving in, you gave birth to a healthy, screaming, slightly wrinkled girl. Her face was too chubby and pink to discern anything from you, but without a doubt, she had her father’s sharp, pointed nose. After some whispered bickering about unisex names and which one sounded better, you and Sam finally named her Micah, after the angel of miracles.

Now, it was Christmas Eve. Mary was busy cradling her granddaughter in her arms. From the kitchen, where you and Sam were busy preparing dinner, you could hear her singing quietly.

Hey Jude, don’t make it bad Take a sad song and make it better Remember to let her into your heart Then you can start to make it better

“She’s been singin’ that nonstop,” Sam whispered, “she used to sing that to Dean and I...”

You smiled and pulled the heavy, sizzling roast from the oven. “Well, she’s probably happy she’s got a little granddaughter to sing it to.”

Once the heavy pan was safely on the stove, cooling, Sam slipped his arms around your waist and pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “We should have another one.”

You shook your head “No more pups, Sam. I don’t have the support I would have had with Garth and Bess, I’d go nuts if you guys took off and left me all alone.”

Sam sighed heavily and rested his forehead against yours. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you replied. “We’ve got our hands full with Micah, we don’t need another.”

Sam pouted, then kissed you again. “Oh well.”

You took his hand. “Hey, I didn’t say we could stop practicing. I just said no more pups.”

Sam grinned and pulled you back against him. “Well, I’d hope so. I mean, I could die otherwise.” He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “And we both know you couldn’t go a week without gettin’ me inside you.”

“Sam!” You playfully slapped his shoulder. “Keep your voice down! Your mom’s in the other room.”

He only smirked. “You know it’s true, though.”

“Damn right,” you replied under your breath before hugging him tight. “I love you, Alpha.”

Sam nuzzled your cheek. “I love you too, Omega.”

THANK YOU FOR READING! If you really enjoyed this series, go and give the masterlist a reblog with your feedback!

Forever tags: @atc74 @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lunarsaturn88 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @spnwoman @smallgirlbigpersonality @shaelyn102 @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

“Bitten” tags: @linki-locks11 @lovelyxserpent-br