#micah's fics

[suugarbabe]

poly!slytherin boys x gn!reader; animagus!slytherin boys; ignoring the canon that once turning back from an animagus form that the person is naked because i want to :)

an: i know it's newer territory for this fandom (at least from what i've seen) so i hope you all love it

this is another addition to the yap sessions with my hubby @musingsofahufflepuff <33

“Merlin’s beard!” you swerved your hips to the side, nearly missing being taken out by a large German Shepherd. You made your way over to the sofa to cuddle up next to Enzo. He happily wrapped an arm around your shoulder and tucked you into his side. You watched as the German Shepherd chased a large grey and fluffy cat around the living room. “How long have they been at this?” You sunk further into the sofa, and thus further into Enzo’s chest as he let out a low laugh, “About twenty five minutes; not even sure what Nott did to make Matty chase him like this, but it’s been entertaining for sure.” 

Theo was always quick witted, and that skill definitely relayed to his animagus form as he quickly dodged Mattheo’s quick snap for his tail, zipping past in a blip of grey fur. “Matty’s getting a little quicker,” you smiled, Enzo nodded in agreement, “but don’t tell him I said that.” Enzo lifted both hands in surrender, “Oh I would never, darling.” 

As if Theo heard exactly what the two of you were saying, he took a different approach to avoiding Mattheo’s grasps. Theo took advantage of his smaller form, jumping from the floor to a chaise and finally up on a floating bookshelf. Poor Matty had too much momentum, not able to stop himself once he was in full motion and thus slamming head first into the wall beneath the shelf. You and Enzo winced in pain for him as Matty’s paws covered his snout while he whined. 

In the next moment Matty was no longer a German Shepherd but fully fledged himself, rolling from his back to his side and groaning, “Fucking hell, Theo. You’re such a fucking asshole.” You pushed up from the couch then, cooing out as you approached the scene, “Oh, my poor sweet boy.” Matty’s lower lip jutted as he sat up and leaned against the wall. You stretched out your arms and Matty mirrored you before his mouth fell open. You bypassed Mattheo completely, reaching up instead to grab Theo from the shelf. 

You wrapped your arms around Theo as he nuzzled further in to your hold, purring softly. Matty looked over toward Enzo, pout growing deeper, “Are you seeing this, babe?” Enzo put on a mock pout, opening his arms for Mattheo. The curly haired boy took the bait, pushing up from the floor and plopping down on the couch to let his boyfriend soothe his mental wounds. “They’re so mean to me, Enzie,” Mattheo mumbled into his chest. Enzo ran his hands through Mattheo’s curls, “I know, baby. So mean.” 

You scoffed, “You two are the most dramatic men I’ve ever met.” You sat down on the arm of the sofa, still holding Theo. Mattheo sat up at the accusation, “How dare you say that when you’re holding him.” He pointed at Theo lounging comfortably in your arms. Theo lazily turned his head towards Mattheo, meowing loudly. Mattheo threw a finger in the air, sticking out his tongue. Theo hissed back at Mattheo before you stood up, mumbling something about going in to the bedroom for a cuddle.

[allthemeniveloved]

Little Rat

Summary: Arthur Morgan saves you from an uncomfortable encounter with Micah.

-

The fire crackled low in the center of camp, casting flickering shadows against the trees surrounding Clemens Point. Most of the gang had turned in for the night, save for a few stragglers nursing drinks by the embers. You were tidying up your things near your tent, the quiet hum of the crickets offering a small sense of peace—until you heard the unmistakable drawl.

“Well, look who’s all alone in the dark,” Micah Bell said, stepping into your line of sight with that irritating smirk plastered across his face. His eyes glinted in the dim light, and you instantly felt your guard go up.

“Micah,” you said tersely, keeping your tone neutral. “What do you want?”

He feigned offense, holding a hand to his chest. “Now, that’s no way to greet someone, is it? Just tryin’ to be sociable, sweetheart. Seems like you could use the company.”

You shot him a cold glare. “I don’t need anything, least of all from you.”

Micah chuckled low, ignoring your clear discomfort as he took another step closer, his presence pressing in on you. “Now, now. Don’t be like that. I think you and me, we could get along real well if you’d just stop actin’ so high and mighty. Ain’t nobody else around, anyway. What’s the harm?”

You stepped back instinctively, your pulse quickening. “Back off, Micah,” you warned, trying to keep your voice steady.

He didn’t listen. Instead, he reached out, his hand gripping your arm as he leaned in closer. “Aw, c’mon, darlin’. Don’t be like that. I don’t bite.”

Before you could push him away, a deep voice growled from the shadows. “Touch her again, Micah, and you won’t have a hand left to use.”

Both of you turned toward the source of the voice, and there he was—Arthur Morgan, standing at the edge of the firelight. His hat was pulled low, his jaw set tight, and his hand rested casually on the butt of his pistol.

Micah straightened, sneering. “Well, if it ain’t Arthur Morgan,” he spat. “You always gotta stick your nose where it don’t belong cowpoke?”

Arthur didn’t answer right away. Instead, he took a slow, deliberate step forward, his gaze locked on Micah with a look that could freeze the blood in your veins. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried an unmistakable weight. “Ain’t no need to explain yourself, Micah. Just walk away.”

Micah raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips, “I was only paying her a compliment, that’s all.”

“You keep your compliments - and yourself - far away from her, or you’ll be eating the dirt under my boots. Got it?”

Micah hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Arthur. He opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur’s hand moved slightly on his pistol, and that was enough to send Micah scowling back toward his tent with a muttered curse.

Once Micah disappeared into the darkness, Arthur turned to you, his expression softening ever so slightly. “You alright?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

You nodded, though your heart was still pounding. “I am now. Thank you.”

Arthur grunted, his hand falling away from his holster as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to get involved, but… couldn’t just stand there watchin’ him bother you like that.”

You offered a small, grateful smile. “I’m glad you did. He’s… persistent.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened again, and he glanced toward where Micah had gone. “He tries it again, you let me know,” he said, his tone sharp with barely restrained anger. “I’ll make sure he don’t forget his place.”

There was something in his gaze when he looked at you—something fierce and protective, but also hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should let you see it. You didn’t know what to say, caught off guard by how much safer you felt just standing near him.

“Thank you, Arthur,” you said again, softer this time. “I mean it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged red beneath his scruffy beard. “Don’t gotta thank me,” he muttered, almost embarrassed. “Just… don’t like seein’ you get hurt, is all.”

As he started to walk away, you caught yourself staring after him, wondering why your heart felt a little lighter, even after what had just happened. Arthur, on the other hand, kept his back to you, his fists clenched as he cursed himself for not saying more—for not telling you the truth about why he couldn’t stand the thought of Micah or anyone else getting too close to you.

-

a/n: I’m feeling so unbelievably productive & creative this week and the thoughts are just flowing but I just know I’m going to crash this weekend or next week and not write again for another 7 years

[08melancholie]

when they accuse you of ratting on the gang but youre just a chill guy that just wants some money

[kerrslvr]

mile high club / teagan micah

in which, you and teagan join the mile high club.

warnings; fingering (r receiving), nipple stimulation, dom!teagan, sub!reader, dirty talk, strap-ons (fucking and sucking), breeding kink, praise kink, voyuerism?? i guess??

a short little smut completely inspired by teagan's insta story of her on the flight back to aus which i posted here. i have also clearly never been in a first class airplane pod, so forgive me for giving it too much space x

**** "babe. are you asleep?"

your eyes peeled open to teagan's fingers prodding at your bicep, and you shifted from a position that made your neck stiff and your legs cramp.

"i was," you grumbled, squinting your eyes closed to adjust to the light within the plane, "what's up?"

teagan's fingers danced across your arm, and even though you were wearing one of her thick, fleeced hoodies, you could feel the electricity bouncing from her fingertips.

"hm, nothing," she hummed, "just a bit bored to be honest."

"we've been on this plane two hours, teags," you shifted so that your legs were draped over hers and immediately her hand gripped your thigh. you pulled her hood down and played with the strands of her hair that fell loosely behind her ears, "why don't you try and sleep? or maybe we could watch a movie...? i bought my headphone splitter so we can watch notting hill in peace."

"i don't wanna watch notting hill, babe."

her hand moved up your leg an inch or so, and you sensed you knew what she was getting at but you were in a first class pod on a busy airplane with alanna and mary in the pods surrounding you. there was no way in hell she wanted to do that, was there?

"oh, uh, o-okay," you shifted and reached for your ipad on the table across from you both, "i have, uh, we could watch jumanji, or, uh, i downloaded the new-"

teagan's hand rose higher on your thigh until it was sitting in the crease and you lost your train of thought when her thumb brushed against your clothed clit.

"teagan."

"y.n," she taunted back, "just for five minutes."

"no, teagan, it's too risky."

"because you're going to be too loud? i have ways to shut you up, y'know."

you rolled your eyes and leaned into teagan's touch. it would be nice to just have ten minutes to yourselves, you'd both been so busy with work you were exhausted, and hadn't had sex for a reasonable amount of time.

your lips found hers and her touch was soft, even when her fingers slid under the band of your leggings and her finger pressed against your clit. you pulled the cap from her head and it fell to the floor between her legs, and you pulled her closer as you simultaneously scooched your body closer to hers so it was easier for the both of you.

she pulled your lip between her teeth and now you'd given her the green light there really wasn't much time to waste. you both expected they'd be coming round with refreshments, or possibly even breakfast soon.

"gonna be a good girl and stay quiet for me, darling?"

you nodded against her lips, and when her fingers circled your hole and curled inside you as her thumb circled your clit. your hand stayed wrapped around her neck throughout the entirety of the exchange, lips brushing against hers every so often.

"o...oh, my... t-teagan," you breathed, trying desperately not to make a sound.

"sssh, babe, i know," she kissed your jaw, "feels good, doesn't it? you're so wet and warm."

a moan escaped your lips at teagan's comment, and quickly her free hand moved to your mouth, where she stuck two fingers inside and immediately you let your tongue swirl around her fingertips.

the angle was awkward, yet somehow she managed to hit every spot. your pussy was soaked, and she could already feel your wetness dripping down her knuckles and onto her wrist. she added a third finger and your eyes locked as she telepathically swore you to silence.

she loved the look in your eyes, both of partial fear and desperation. how you looked like a deer in the headlights but still craved her enough to continue.

you shifted in your seat so you were closer to being laid down than you were sat up, and allowed your hands to push up her hoodie just enough. she removed her hand from your mouth and helped, so it was now sitting across her shoulders, where you were greeted by her sports bra.

"no," she whispered sternly, "y/n, don't you dare. you know that makes me - oh."

one of your lips attached around one of her nipples and you suckled on it slowly, and immediately she became like putty in your hands. her fingers worked faster, desperately wishing she could bring you to the edge faster so you wouldn't be sucking on her nipples. it's not that she didn't like it - if anything, she loved it - but it drove her crazy and she sometimes found herself getting out of control at the feeling of your lips all over her chest.

your breathing sped up and your legs spread wider, back arching delicately as you chased your orgasm as quietly as you could. teagan's fingers continued to curl inside of you, her thumb pressing down harder as she circled your clit to amount more pressure, and it quickly got to the point where the pressure got too heavy.

your head spun and your limbs shook as your orgasm washed over you, unable to control the feeling amounting inside of your body. your teeth dug into teagan's nipple and she had to bite down on her bottom lip so she didn't elicit any form of unwanted attention from passengers or staff.

once your orgasm subsided and your head felt floaty, she pushed your head away from her chest and looked at you with an unimpressed look on her face.

"that wasn't very smart, was it, babe, hm?" she pulled her fingers from your lap and you admired your own liquid trickling down her wrist, "because i was just going to finger you every so often during the flight until we got to sydney, but now? i don't know if i can do that," her tongue darted out to lick at the juice now rolling down her forearm, "because you decided to be a whore and take it to the next step by sucking my tits, didn't you? and you know how that makes me feel, darling."

"i-i'm sorry, teagan," you whispered, but she was already pulling the hoodie from your body and pushing down your leggings, "i just thought it would keep me quiet."

she tugged at the front of your bralette and watched as your boobs spilled out. without hesitation, the fingers that were inside of you a mere two minutes prior were now stuffed into your mouth, her lips wrapped around your nipples and her free hand began to rub harsh circles around your clit.

"n-no, t-teagan, you know what happens when you-"

"-not my problem."

she suckled on your nipples as if she were tasting them for the first time, licking her lips and allowing herself to get messy. you choked on her fingers as she pushed them further down your throat, not allowing you the space to breathe, and her fingers continued to rub harshly on your clit.

again, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold off your orgasm, and if teagan was good at one thing, it was bringing on an orgasm quickly. her tongue circled between each nipple and it sent your mind reeling, although you both knew you wanted her to eat you out, but it wasn't happening.

you clenched your eyes shut, once again gagging on her fingers as you thought back on memories of the feeling of her tongue on your clit, and soon you found yourself on the brink of an orgasm. you grabbed at the wrist that was resting on your chin, wanting to let her know your orgasm was approaching, but she knew your body too well. your legs began to shake and your stomach muscles started to tense, and she admired you as your entire body was rocked by your second orgasm in under five minutes.

your juices trickled around her wrist again and she took her sweet time this time around licking her hand clean while you tried to catch your breath with desperation.

"don't tell me you're tired," she hummed, "you haven't even repaid me with a thank you yet."

you whimpered, but moved your body as exhausted as it was, pushing your hoodie back down your body to cover your modesty just in case anybody were to walk past. as you came to, teagan had undone the drawstring of her bottoms and pushed them down her legs, and your eyes widened at the sight before you.

"well...?" she gestured, "are you just going to sit there? or do i have to force a thank you out of you as well?"

"n-no," you croaked, shifting your position. teagan reached past your body and locked the entrance to your pod, although it was probably clear as a bell to the staff and fellow passengers what was going on by now, not to mention that if anybody walked past in a certain lighting, they would undoubtedly see the outline of your backside sticking out in their direction as you sucked her off.

she bunched up your hair as you slid your mouth down her cock, and she shivered at the feeling. your throat had already been coaxed open by her fingers, and so, much to teagan's satisfaction, you had no trouble in accommodating the size of her strap.

you looked over at her, and she was sitting there with her hands on her nipples looking down at you through hooded eyes, and you craved her now more than ever. you would much rather have been eating her out in that moment, however the flight still had twenty hours of airtime, and you knew you'd get your chance later.

one of your hands moved to rest on her knee and one of your hands found her nipple, where you took over touching it, conveniently freeing up a hand of hers.

"fu-uck, baby, that's it. right fuckin' there," she bucked her hips up and you coughed and spluttered around her dick, "throat is almost as good as your pussy."

she reached across your body and circled your hole with her fingers, and when you flinched she smirked. "you want me to fuck you, don't you babe, hm?"

you nodded, still with her dick in your mouth.

"wanna know a secret?"

again, you nodded.

"i'm only gonna let you cum again if you get on top," she pushed the hair from your face, "you think you can do that for me, hm?"

you nodded one final time and she stroked your hair, tapping your cheek and telling you to remove your mouth from her cock. you did as she instructed, and soon enough you were straddling her cock ready to be filled.

she flung your hoodie off of your body and it landed in your seat, your leggings pushed around your ankles. the cabin must've stunk of sex by now, but surely you weren't the only animals on the plane. it must've been a regular occurrence.

as you hovered over her cock, you faced each other and she brought your lips to hers as you slowly sunk down. your moans were muffled by the feeling of her lips on yours and thankfully nobody could hear.

you rocked your hips back and forth in an attempt to adjust to her size but she kissed along your jawline. "we haven't got a lot of time, baby, they'll be bringing out some food soon."

you nodded, and carefully raised and lowered your hips in a slow but stable rhythm. you knew, realistically that this wasn't going to make you cum, and teagan knew that too, but you loved to have at least a little bit of fun, even if you were pressed for time.

"want you to fuck me, teagan."

"like this? baby, you know that's not possible," she pressed a searing hot bite to the side of your boob, "unless, of course, you want everyone on this cabin knowing exactly how much of a slut you are for my dick. it's your choice, really."

you pouted when she swatted your hand away from your clit, realistically leaving you only one option.

"yes, teagan, like this," you nuzzled into her neck and she groaned when you bit down into it, sucking at the skin, "i want you to make me cum again."

she smirked, having you exactly where she wanted you. her hands hooked under your bum and she slowly started to raise her hips to meet your bounce, which made you gasp.

"don't tell me you've lost your manners."

"please, teagan."

"please, what?"

you rolled your eyes and she pinched your bum. "you know what."

she smirked again, sucking a nipple into her mouth and you fought off an annoyed huff. "i'm not going to do it until you tell me what you want me to do, darling."

"i want you to fuck me, teagan, right here, right now," your voice was low, but loud enough for everyone to hear all at the same time, "i want you to make me cum again. please."

with that, she was satisfied, and took no time doing exactly that. your arms braced around her head and your fingers interlocked at the back of her head, meaning your chest was pressed right up against her face which made you both even more desperate than before.

"o-oh... oh fu-uck, t-teagan," you tried to be quiet, but it was defenseless, your voice continuously breaking and desperately needing some form of relief, "your dick is so... oh, fuck."

she smirked against your skin and her teeth sunk into the inside of your boob as you fought off a continuous string of moans. your skin was slapping together and it was undoubtedly all anybody throughout the entire plane could hear, but you'd cross that bridge when you came to it.

your pussy clenched around her dick and she knew you wouldn't last much longer. "can't believe you want me to fill you up in public," she teased, knowing it would get you there quicker, "on a plane full of people, including my friends, you want me to fill you up with my cum, don't you?"

"y-yes," you whimpered, "t-teagan, please i'm desperate."

one of her hands sunk down between you and she circled your clit, and immediately you began to clench uncontrollably.

"i know you do, darling, you're such a good little girl, aren't you? c'mon, baby, cum for me and i'll fill you up."

your eyes clenched shut and you focused on the feeling of being full and having teagan's fingers on your clit, and within a matter of minutes you were falling apart on top of her. teagan's hand came over your mouth to cover the unholy moan that left it, and she kept her promise and filled you up almost straight away, milking her dick of every last drop as she groaned.

your body fell limp on top of her, and you dreaded the walk of shame to the bathroom in order to clean yourself up, and you toyed with the idea of just throwing a blanket over you and laying there until you fell asleep, but you didn't want to give the flight attendant a heart attack.

"do we have to go and do the walk of shame through the cabin?" you questioned softly after a few minutes, and she couldn't help but laugh.

"you're the one full of cum, darling. not me."

"i know, but you have to come with me, by default," you kissed her lips softly, "i'll make sure it's worth your while."

she smirked and raised an eyebrow, which made you smile immediately. "i'll come with you to the bathroom, and then once we've eaten and had an hours sleep, you can eat me out all you want, darling. that's a promise."

"excellent," you hummed, "then the rest of the cabin'll really hate us."

[tinyfishtits]

Saddle Horn(y)

Micah Bell / Female Reader

Summary: Micah shares his saddle with you and things heat up when the saddle horn gets you off.

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,072 Tags: Smut, Fingering, Public Sex

Authors Note: I simply do not care about the logistics of two people riding a horse, let me live in the fantasy I have created 🤠

★ Read on AO3 ★ ☆ Masterlist ☆

Micah drags you away from a bar fight you didn’t start, but were intent on ending. He pulls you onto the back of Baylock and rides off back to camp. The saddle wasn’t fit for two people, and so you found yourself awkwardly half-propped atop Micah’s thighs, squeezed between him and the horn of the saddle which digs rhythmically into the bundle of nerves between your legs. You start to wriggle, attempting to fight back the building pleasure threatening to unwind you. 

A moan begins to rumble up your throat and you force it back down, your body erupting with heat as a climax builds, your stifled moans escaping as pitiful whimpers. You throw your head back against Micahs shoulder, panting as you come down from the apex of your saddle-horn-induced pleasure. 

Micah slows baylock, his voice concerned as he questions you. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did-“ He stops as a residual wave of pleasure causes your hips to jerk and coaxes a proper moan from your throat. “Oh doll…” his voice is a whisper against your ear, hot and crooning. Overcome with adrenaline from the bar fight and body now reeling with heat you turn your head to face him, searching for his hand and guiding it to the budding wetness between your thighs. 

“Micah” you breath against his lips and a guttural sound, almost a snarl, rips out from him as he takes your lips in his with so much force your hand shoots up to his face, grasping at him both to stop you from tumbling off the saddle and to keep him pressed against you. But he doesn’t let you fall, his arms already tightly wrapped around your waist, holding you close. His strong hands snaking under your clothes and kneading at the burning flesh underneath as his lips take yours sloppily and with so much pent up need you wonder briefly just how long he’s wanted this.

But all thoughts evaporate the second a warm hand trails under the hem of your pants and finds the furnace between your legs, burning for him. Your mouth fills with heat and lips vibrate as you both moaned into each other, sinking into the other as you lose yourselves in a flurry of want and need and primal desire… his thumb deftly circles your clit, pressing into it slow and hard when he brought you too close too quickly, the pressure of his warm digit dragging out the waves of pleasure that wanted so desperately to crash, so close to the edge but never allowed to cross it. 

You could feel his own desire stiffening in his pants at your back, throbbing with every whimper and moan he coaxed from you with only a single finger. You knew he was a dexterous son of a bitch, but this? You never thought you’d be jealous of a gun before, but here you were, wishing you were the one holstered on his hip all hours of the day… that It was you he spent hours tending to, rubbing with oil and swinging theatrically around his finger. 

Micah whispered your name as his lips fell to your neck. Thumb still teasing your clit, he slipped two fingers inside of you and your hips hungrily thrust into them, wanting every inch of him there was to take. You hadn’t been aware of your surroundings, so wrapped up in his touch, that you didn’t even hear the approaching wagon until it was just a few yards away. Micah, likely aware of the approaching witness and just wholly unbothered, continued his work between your legs.

No longer wasting time with teasing, he gave you the full force of his dexterity, the speed and strength of his fingers unrelenting. His other hand found its way to your breasts and started toying with your nipple, already hard and aching. He was giving you everything, the overstimulation bordering on torturous as your mind struggled to process all the fireworks firing in your nerves. His lips and teeth on your ear was the last straw, the sound of your name rasping out between his moans your undoing. 

The wagon was upon you now, the sound of horse hoofs and rattling wood ambling past you. You couldn’t have looked at whoever passed if you wanted to, as a devastatingly powerful wave of pleasure finally crashed, ripping through you like a tsunami, destructive and relentless as it swallowed you up and you gave into it, drowned yourself in it. You couldn’t help the scream that burst out of you as the peak hit and you came crashing back down, body trembling with aftershocks.

Micah chuckled into your neck, lazily kissing the skin there, warm hands still firmly grasping your flesh, though their ministrations had ceased. Micah’s low, gravely voice wrapped around you as you started to regain awareness. “Well well…” His mustache tickled at your neck as he spoke, “that ain’t how I saw this night ending.” He said, the tone of his voice a low, seductive purr. “Ending?” You repeated, breathless and sounding more desperate than you really meant to, but the thought of that being it … the end.   

His lips curved into a smile against your skin. “If you want to keep at it darlin I’ll be the last person to stop ya.” He said with a laugh, peppering more kisses to your neck as his hands fell away from your body, taking up the reins once more. “But we should get off the road… or the horse, at least.” Your eyes shot open at the reminder of where you were. “Oh god did that person- did they see?” You asked, the mortification finally settling in. You’d never been one for PDA, never even gone so far as to kiss a lover in public past a quick peck on the cheek.

Micah barked a laugh. “Didn’t have to, doll. Everyone within a mile heard you scream out my name.” He said smugly. You slapped his thigh, the easiest part of him to reach, and he chuckled once more. “I may have screamed yours…” You said, grinding your hips back into his lap and coaxing a sweet moan from him. “But you moaned mine” You teased, with more than just your words. The sound that escaped Micah’s lips then was practically a growl. “What will it be darlin’? Back to camp, or-” He started, but you interrupted. “Or. Definitely or.”

[rdrclo]

How they would react to you kissing them for the first time 🦢🪻

This is just the boys, i will do a Part 2 with the girls at some point too though dw🙏

I also wrote this while falling asleep on the sofa and watching Richard Ayoade clips on youtube, apologies if its rubbish x

-

Arthur:

You and Arthur have had a close friendship for a long time. You've seen the highs and lows together—the campfires, the late-night talks, and the moments where you both just share a quiet understanding. Over time, your feelings for him have grown, but Arthur has always been a man of few words when it comes to matters of the heart. He's noticed the way you look at him sometimes, and there have been moments when he might have wondered if you felt something deeper than just friendship. Still, he never pushed it, always keeping things grounded in the reality of the life you both lead.

It's late one evening, after a long day of work and tension, and you're both sitting by the campfire. The others have gone to bed, leaving you two alone with the crackling fire and the night sky above. You're tired, but there's something about the way the firelight dances off Arthur's face, the softness in his eyes as he looks at you, that makes your heart race. You've thought about this moment for so long, but now that it's here, you're not sure if it's the right time. Still, you can't help yourself. You lean in, your heart pounding, and press your lips softly to his.

Arthur freezes at first, surprise flickering across his features. He wasn't expecting it, but after a second, his hand moves to your face, cupping it gently as he deepens the kiss. There's a quiet intensity to it, like he's been waiting for this moment in his own way, though he's not sure how to navigate it. When he pulls back, his usual gruffness comes back, though there's a hint of vulnerability in his voice. "You ain't gotta do that if you don't mean it." But his eyes say something different—he's been wanting this too, maybe longer than he'd care to admit. His breath is heavy, and the moment feels like it shifts something between the two of you, though neither of you know exactly what comes next.

-

Dutch:

Dutch has always been a bit of a mystery, even to those closest to him. As the leader of the gang, he's charismatic, unpredictable, and full of grand ideas, often pulling you into his schemes and dreams of a better future. You've worked with him for a while, and while you've respected him and his vision, there's been something more beneath the surface. You've seen the moments where Dutch's mask slips—when he's tired, when he's unsure—and in those moments, you've noticed the flicker of something softer between the two of you. He's not blind to your feelings, but he's too caught up in his own ambitions and the gang's survival to admit it—at least, not out loud.

It happens after a particularly harrowing heist. The gang is on edge, and Dutch has been putting up a front of unwavering confidence, as usual. You find him alone, pacing around the campfire, looking lost in thought. He's been distant lately, but tonight, his usual bravado seems thin, and you can see the fatigue in his eyes. With everything that's happened and the uncertainty of the future, you feel an undeniable pull toward him. Without thinking, you walk up to him, your fingers brushing against his, and you kiss him—quick, but full of all the emotions you've kept hidden for so long.

Dutch pulls back, eyes slightly widened with surprise. He's not used to someone breaking through his defenses like that. There's a long, charged pause as he stares at you, his usually smooth words faltering for the first time. "What... what's this, huh?"

He sounds more curious than angry, though, his gaze softening slightly. You can see the wariness in him, a worry that something like this might ruin the idealistic dream he's been building, but there's also something else—a quiet longing. Dutch's hand comes up, not to push you away, but to pull you closer. "If you think this'll change things, you're wrong," he murmurs, his voice thick with both uncertainty and something far deeper.

He kisses you again, leading it this time.

There's no immediate rush to make it more than it is, but it's clear this kiss has cracked the surface of a much more complicated relationship between you, one that neither of you knows how to navigate.

-

Micah:

With Micah, your dynamic has always been fiery and unpredictable. He's bold, reckless, and doesn't take kindly to being told what to do, but somehow, that hasn't stopped you from feeling drawn to him. At first, you brushed it off as just a physical attraction, but the more you spent time together—his sharp wit, his daring nature, and even the moments when he'd let down his guard around you—the more you realized there was more to him than he let on. You've caught him looking at you with that cocky smirk of his more than once, and though you've never outright admitted your feelings, there's always been an unspoken tension between the two of you. Micah, for his part, has definitely noticed you in ways that go beyond mere rivalry or friendship, but he's never been one to show vulnerability, keeping things playful and antagonistic instead.

It's late, and the camp is quiet, but you find yourself unable to sleep. You step outside the tent and catch a glimpse of Micah, sitting on a crate and nursing a bottle of whiskey. The night air is cool, but Micah doesn't seem to mind. You walk over to him, your footsteps barely making a sound on the dirt. The two of you start talking, as you often do, teasing each other back and forth, but this time, the usual banter feels different—more electric. Micah's looking at you with a challenge in his eyes, but there's something softer underneath it, something that pulls you in. You don't think, you just move. You close the distance and kiss him, quick and urgent.

At first, Micah doesn't know how to react. He freezes for a second, his lips barely touching yours, but then the surprise fades into that familiar smirk of his. His hand moves to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss. It's rough, full of that wild energy he always carries with him. When you pull back, he laughs softly, his breath a little unsteady. "Well, well, look at that," he says, his voice low and teasing. "Guess you couldn't resist after all." His words are laced with both amusement and something more, and as he leans in for another kiss, it's clear he's not opposed to whatever this is—he just knows how to keep things unpredictable, even with something as simple as a kiss. Micah's always a little dangerous, and he's not going to let this moment be anything less than intense.

-

Hosea:

Hosea has always been the voice of reason within the gang, the calming influence that balances out everyone elses wild ideas and impulsive behaviour. You've worked alongside him for a while now, learning from his wisdom and respect for the world. Over time, you've come to admire his patience, his intelligence, and the kindness he shows to those who need it. You've always felt a deep connection to him—something steady and sincere. He's never been one to shy away from affection, but he's also never been particularly forward, and you're not sure if he's ever noticed your deeper feelings. But you've noticed the way his eyes linger on you sometimes, the warmth in his smile when you share a laugh or a quiet moment. He's aware of your affection, but he's never said anything, perhaps because he values your friendship too much to risk complicating things.

It's a quiet evening, the camp peaceful as the gang settles down for the night. Hosea is sitting near the fire, lost in thought. You sit beside him, comfortable in the silence, your thoughts wandering. After a long day of work, the weight of the world feels a little lighter with him here. You look at him—really look at him—and realize just how much you care for him. It feels like the right moment, and without thinking it through, you lean in and kiss him. Soft, tentative, but full of all the feelings you've kept inside for so long.

Hosea is initially startled, but the surprise quickly fades into something much gentler. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his expression soft and thoughtful. He's always been a man of few words, but there's a tenderness in his gaze that speaks volumes. "Well, I wasn't expecting that," he says quietly, his voice filled with a warmth that makes your heart flutter. There's no teasing, no distance—just the honest affection that's always been there between the two of you. He reaches up, his hand resting gently on your cheek, and he kisses you back, slow and sure. When he pulls away, he smiles, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "I suppose we've both been a little stubborn, huh?" His voice is low, but there's no hesitation in his touch or in the way he looks at you now. He might not have expected it, but Hosea is more than willing to let this new chapter unfold between the two of you, with the same quiet trust that has always defined your relationship.

-

Javier:

Javier has always been charming, he's full of fire and a deep sense of loyalty. You and he have shared many moments—whether it was over a drink in camp or in the heat of a mission, his warmth always seemed to draw you in. While his flirtations have always been playful, there's an undeniable depth to the way he looks at you, as if he's known all along that there's something more between you two. You've often caught him staring at you with a soft smile or noticed the way his gaze lingers just a little too long. Javier, ever the romantic, has always believed in love and connection, and while he might not have outright confessed, he's certainly aware of your growing attraction toward him.

It's one of those rare moments of calm after a job well done. The gang has settled into camp, and Javier is playing his guitar by the fire, his fingers dancing over the strings in a familiar, soothing rhythm. You sit nearby, lost in the music, letting the quiet of the night wrap around you. After a while, Javier stops playing and looks over at you with a smile, his eyes glinting in the firelight. There's a teasing quality to his expression, but something about the way he looks at you feels different tonight. Without saying a word, you get up and walk over to him, and before he can say anything, you kiss him—gentle, but full of the emotions you've been holding back.

Of course it's not long before Javier is pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you as he deepens the kiss. His lips are warm and tender, and there's a fire in the way he kisses you back, as though he's been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. When you finally pull away, he laughs softly, his breath a little ragged. "Well, now I know why you've been looking at me like that," he says, his voice low and teasing, but there's a tenderness in his smile that lets you know he's not just playing around. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and gazes at you with that unmistakable intensity, his eyes full of affection. "I've wanted this for a long time," he admits, his voice softer now, as he pulls you back in for another kiss, his hands tender but eager. Javier's not one to shy away from love, and now that it's here, he's more than ready to let things go further.

-

Sean:

Your relationship with Sean has always been full of laughter, banter, and playful jabs. He's the kind of man who never takes things too seriously—except when it really matters. You've spent countless nights drinking with him, teasing each other mercilessly, and occasionally bailing him out of trouble. He flirts with just about everyone, but with you, it always feels different—like there's something more beneath the jokes and exaggerated bravado. He's never outright said anything, but there have been moments when he's looked at you a little too long or toned down his usual antics just enough for you to notice. You've always wondered if he feels the same way, but with Sean, it's hard to tell if he's just playing or if he's actually hiding something deeper.

It's after a successful robbery, and the gang is in high spirits, drinking and celebrating back at camp. Sean, as usual, is in the center of it all, telling some ridiculous story and making everyone laugh. You're leaning against a tree, watching him, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. After a while, he catches your eye and saunters over, grinning like he knows something you don't. "Y'know," he says, nudging your shoulder, "if ya keep starin' at me like that, I might start thinkin' ya fancy me." His voice is teasing, but there's an underlying curiosity in his gaze.

Without thinking, without giving him time to make another joke, you grab the front of his shirt and kiss him. It's quick, but firm, and when you pull away, Sean is completely still, his mouth slightly open in shock.

For once in his life, Sean MacGuire is speechless. He blinks at you, as if trying to process what just happened, before a slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. "Well, shite," he breathes, his accent thicker than usual. "That was... unexpected." He lets out a breathless laugh before shaking his head. "Not that I'm complainin', mind ya."

Then, before you can say anything, he grabs your face and kisses you back, all heat and excitement, like he's been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours, still grinning. "Y'know, if ya wanted a piece of ol' Sean, ya could've said so sooner," he teases, but his voice is softer now, more genuine. There's still laughter in his eyes, but also something else—something real. And just like that, whatever this thing between you and Sean is, it's no longer just a game.

-

Kieran:

Your relationship with Kieran started off rocky, much like everyone else's in the gang. He was the outsider, the O'Driscoll-turned-hostage, and at first, you didn't know what to make of him. But as time went on, you saw the real him—the nervous, soft-spoken man who just wanted a place to belong. Unlike the others, you were kind to him, offering him small gestures of friendship when he needed them most. He grew attached to you quickly, often seeking you out just to talk or sit near you.

If Kieran suspected you had feelings for him, he never let on—mostly because he was too caught up in his own insecurities. He always assumed he wasn't worth that kind of affection, that you were just being kind because that's the kind of person you were. But what he didn't see was how your heart ached whenever he looked at you with those soft, uncertain eyes.

It's a quiet night in camp, and you find Kieran brushing down his horse near the edge of the trees, murmuring softly to the animal. The sight makes you smile—there's something so genuine about him, so unguarded. You approach, and he jumps slightly when he notices you, but then relaxes when he realizes it's just you.

You talk for a while, about nothing and everything, until the conversation drifts into something more personal. He admits, in a quiet voice, that he still isn't sure if he really belongs here. That maybe, one day, the gang will decide he isn't worth keeping around. The sadness in his voice breaks your heart, and before you can stop yourself, you reach out, gently cupping his face. He blinks up at you, startled, his lips parting like he's about to say something—but you don't let him. Instead, you lean in and kiss him, soft and deliberate.

Kieran freezes completely. For a second, you think you might have made a mistake—that he's going to pull away or panic. But then, slowly, his hands come up, shaking slightly, as if he isn't sure he's allowed to touch you. He kisses you back hesitantly, unsure at first, but when he realizes this is real, that you want this just as much as he does, he melts into it.

When you finally pull away, he's breathless, staring at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Well... that's, uh... that's real nice." He's still flustered, still trying to wrap his head around what just happened, but there's a light in his eyes now—a happiness he never thought he'd have. And as he shyly reaches for your hand, holding onto it like he's afraid you'll disappear, you know this moment has changed everything.

-

Josiah:

Josiah Trelawny is a man of mystery—always appearing and disappearing, charming everyone in his path with his silver tongue and extravagant tales. From the moment you met him, he treated you with a particular fondness, always greeting you with a flourish and a playful remark. Unlike the others, he never hesitated to compliment you, to offer a sly smile. But beneath all his theatrics, you saw the real Trelawny—the man who loved the finer things, who longed for something beyond the outlaw life but was still tethered to it.

Your dynamic was built on flirtation and wit, a constant dance of teasing words and knowing glances. He absolutely knew you liked him—he could read people better than anyone, after all. But did he take it seriously? That was the real question.

It's a rare quiet evening, and you find yourself sitting with Josiah near the edge of camp, watching the sky as the sun starts to set. He's in one of his talkative moods, spinning some elaborate story about a time he outwitted the law in Saint Denis. You listen with amusement, but your mind is elsewhere—on the way he gestures with his hands, the way his voice lingers on certain words like a melody.

At some point, he catches you staring and smirks. "Now, now, my dear, you mustn't look at a man like that unless you intend to do something about it." His tone is teasing, but there's something more in his eyes—something knowing.

And so, you lean in and kiss him. It's slow, deliberate, a way of answering his challenge without a single word.

Josiah hums in surprise against your lips but doesn't hesitate to return the kiss, deepening it with a practiced ease. His hands move to your waist, pulling you in ever so slightly, like he's savoring the moment. When you pull back, he lets out a soft chuckle, tilting his head as he studies you with an amused gleam in his eyes.

"Well," he murmurs, his voice lower now, more intimate. "I must say, I do love a woman of action." He brushes a thumb against your cheek, his expression softer than usual, though still carrying that ever-present mischief. "But tell me... was this a fleeting impulse, or have I truly captured your heart?"

It's clear he's still playing his usual game, but there's something genuine beneath his words. He may be a man of theatrics, but he's also a man who understands emotion, who knows the difference between a passing fancy and something real. And as he watches you, waiting for your answer, you realize this isn't just another story for him—this moment, this kiss, is as real as anything he's ever had.

-

Charles:

Since you met, you and Charles have had frequent deep convictions. From the start, there was an unspoken understanding between the two of you—one built on mutual respect and quiet companionship. While others filled the camp with noise and chaos, you found comfort in the rare moments of stillness you shared with him. Whether it was hunting together, tending to the horses, or simply sitting by the fire in silence, you always felt safe with Charles.

You weren't sure if he knew how you felt—Charles was observant, but he was also humble, never assuming too much. If he noticed your lingering glances or the way you always seemed to gravitate toward him, he never mentioned it. And yet, there was something in the way he looked at you sometimes, something soft and knowing, as if he was just waiting for you to make the first move.

It's late in the evening, and the two of you are returning from a long hunting trip, the quiet of the woods stretching between you. The air is crisp, the moon casting a soft glow over the trees, and for once, there's no urgency—no gang, no danger, just the two of you. As you walk side by side, you steal a glance at Charles, watching the way the light catches his features, the quiet ease in his expression.

Something about the moment feels perfect. Without thinking too much, you stop walking, reaching out to gently tug his arm. He turns to you, brow slightly furrowed in question, but before he can say anything, you kiss him—soft, hesitant, but full of meaning.

Charles stills, completely taken by surprise. For a moment, you worry you might have misread everything—but then, his hands come up to cradle your face, careful and deliberate, as he kisses you back. It's slow and steady, just like him, as if he's making sure you know exactly how much this means to him. When you finally pull away, he doesn't let go immediately, his fingers lingering on your skin as he searches your eyes.

"You sure about this?" he asks softly, his voice low but steady. Not because he doesn't want it—because he wants to be absolutely certain you do.

When you nod, a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, warm and genuine. "Good," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. And just like that, the quiet understanding between you deepens, shifting into something undeniable—something real.

-

John:

You and John have always had an easy, natural friendship. He's rough around the edges, stubborn as hell, and constantly trying to prove himself, but you've always seen through the bravado to the man underneath. You tease him when he gets himself into trouble, patch him up when he takes a beating, and stand by him when he needs someone in his corner.

John, for all his recklessness, isn't exactly the most observant when it comes to emotions—especially his own. If he's noticed your feelings for him, he hasn't let on, too caught up in his own struggles to realize how much you care. But he's always been comfortable with you, always sought you out when he needed someone to talk to, even if he'd never admit it out loud.

It's late, and most of the camp has gone to sleep. You and John are sitting near the dying embers of the fire, the conversation drifting from old stories to the future—what you both want out of life, if there's anything waiting beyond this outlaw existence. There's something unusually quiet about him tonight, something thoughtful, and you find yourself watching him as he stares into the fire, lost in his own thoughts.

"You ever think about just... leaving?" he asks suddenly, glancing at you. "Starting over somewhere?"

You hesitate for only a second before answering. "Yeah. I do."

He nods slowly, as if turning over the idea in his mind, then looks at you properly. And for once, there's no smirk, no attempt at bravado—just John, open and uncertain. Something about the moment makes your heart ache, and before you can second-guess yourself, you lean in and kiss him. It's soft, careful, like you're afraid he'll pull away.

John tenses up at first, caught completely off guard. His brain seems to take a second to catch up with what's happening, but then, just as you start to pull away, he chases after you, pressing his lips back against yours in a way that's almost desperate—like he doesn't want to let the moment slip away. His hands come up, hesitantly at first, but then they settle against your waist, pulling you closer.

When you finally part, he blinks at you, looking equal parts shocked and breathless. "Well, uh... that was—" He rubs the back of his neck, stumbling over his words, before finally settling on a lopsided grin. "Guess I shoulda done that a long time ago."

He laughs, a little nervous but genuine, and shakes his head. "You're gonna have to be patient with me, y'know. I ain't exactly good at this sort of thing."

You smile, squeezing his hand. "Good thing I'm patient, then."

John lets out a breath, his smile turning softer. "Yeah... yeah, it is." And just like that, something between you shifts—something real, something neither of you can walk away from now.

-

Lenny:

You have always had an easy camaraderie with Lenny—quick-witted banter, shared laughs, and an unspoken trust that runs deeper than words. While others in the gang see Lenny as the sharp, ambitious young outlaw with a bright future, you see the man behind the gun—the one who dreams of something better, who carries the weight of his past with quiet resilience.

Lenny has always enjoyed your company, but whether he realizes your feelings for him is another story. He's smart, but when it comes to romance, he's a little oblivious—too focused on surviving and making something of himself to think that someone might look at him that way. You don't mind, though. You know him well enough to understand that sometimes, he just needs a push.

The two of you are sitting near the edge of camp, away from the noise of the others, passing a bottle of whiskey between you. It's a rare, peaceful moment, and Lenny is in a particularly reflective mood, talking, about how he wonders what his life would've been like if things had turned out different.

"You ever think about what you'd do if you weren't runnin' with this gang?" he asks, tilting his head to look at you.

"All the time," you admit, watching the way the firelight flickers against his face.

He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. "Damn shame, huh? Feels like we ain't got much of a choice."

You hesitate for only a second before reaching out, gently brushing your fingers against his. "Maybe not. But that doesn't mean we can't have something good while we're here."

Lenny turns to you fully now, brow furrowing slightly as he studies your face. "What do you mean by—" But you don't let him finish. Instead, you lean in and kiss him, slow and deliberate, giving him the chance to pull away if he wants to.

For a moment, Lenny is completely still, like his brain is short-circuiting trying to process what's happening. Then, all at once, he exhales against your lips and kisses you back, a little clumsy at first, but warm and eager. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, as if he needs to make sure this is real, that you're really here, really kissing him.

When you finally pull away, he blinks at you, then lets out a breathless laugh. "Well, damn," he says, shaking his head. "I did not see that comin'."

There's a pause, then a slow, growing grin spreads across his face. "Not that I'm complainin', of course."

You chuckle, nudging his shoulder. "Good."

He looks at you for a long moment, his smile softening just a little. "Y'know," he says thoughtfully, "I think this might just be the best thing to happen to me in a long time."

And just like that, whatever was between you before is something more now—something real, something worth holding onto, even in a world as uncertain as this one.

[burning-polaroid]

Who is this Michelle Kisser and why is he german

[the-karma-cafe]

My Kingdom for a Dance | Arthur Morgan

a/n: excerpt from a way longer work in progress i was working on many months ago, and haven't had the time to work on more. better to get something out now than nothing out ever, right ? - also will probmaybe post this on ao3 under same user

Arthur hummed, either not believing me or just not caring, and his eyes skipped down my form to the bottle clutched in my hand. His eyes widened a fraction, and he laughed, “You’re not messin’ around, little lady!”

I took another sip, trying to act nonchalant (never before had I fought a cringe so hard). “This is nothin’.” I shrugged.

Something sparkled in his eyes at that. “Oh yeah?” he laughed, and cocked his head over towards the other table. “You wanna put yer money where yer mouth is, sweetheart?” His hands rested heavy on his belt as he looked down at me.

I balked (and attempted to ignore the small flutter my heart made) at that. My eyes dragged over to the other table where Micah was pouring shots with Bill and John. I hadn’t meant for it to sound like a challenge.

Well. I couldn’t very well back down now, could I? Not when he was looking at me like that, calling me that.

I swallowed back my nerves and strolled over to the table like it didn’t matter. He snickered behind me, following.

“Thirsty, sugar pie?” Micah sneered up at me as I plopped down next to John.

“Parched,” I retorted, grabbing one of the shots from his spot across the table. Arthur settled down next to him, across from John, Bill, and I, and grabbed one of his own.

“One… two…” Bill began to count, but Micah threw his back before the other man finished. Irritated at not being followed, Bill scoffed and awkwardly cut himself off, throwing his back as well. John, Arthur, and I followed suit.

Or, well, John and Arthur did. Half the moonshine made it down my throat before I gagged and spit the rest back in the cup. Micah barked a laugh at me. “Bet you’d do better with somethin’ else in yer mouth, huh, girlie?” John laughed along with him.

My cheeks burned, if not for the drink, then especially for that. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I bit back, stuffing down my embarrassment.

“Well,” he curled up his lip, “if the lady is offering…” He leaned back to gesture towards his lap.

I opened my mouth before I knew what I wanted to say, but thankfully was cut off. “You’re a real charmer, ain’tcha?” Arthur drawled. I glanced over at him, seeing that his cheerful expression from earlier had soured.

Micah shrugged and pushed up and away from the table. “Just the merry dance of the sexes,” he raised his hands in mock-defense. Bill pushed up to follow after him. Micah waved at me, his eyes narrowed and his grin wide. I looked back to Arthur.

“Creep.” Arthur muttered, his eyes not leaving the table.

My heart warmed a little. Arthur often defended the other women of camp from Micah’s comments, but I’d never had that kindness extended to me before now. It was sweet, his protectiveness. His gaze shifted across the table to my drink. He cracked a smile, “You gonna finish that?”

I snorted, pulling the cup towards me. “This is probably half-spit, you don’t want it.” I brought it back up to my nose, trying not to cringe at the smell. I held it away from me again. “How the hell d’you guys do this?”

John chuckled beside me. “Just don’t think about it, I guess.”

I nodded and took his advice, trying to throw the alcohol over my tongue to choke it back. I wasn’t sure what the percentage was on moonshine, but I was sure it didn’t matter at this point, my head now well-fuzzed. Arthur’s eyes were trained on me, a small smile on his lips. “You really are all talk.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile of my own. “Whatever.”

Arthur and John took a couple more shots, getting sloppier by the minute. John was friendly next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder and talking too loudly in my ear. It was nice, though, hanging out with the two of them. Strange, but nice.

ARTHUR POV

He watched John say something else to her, but he wasn’t sure what, nor did he really care. His gaze was shadowed under his hat, staring across the table at them. John laughed, pulling (Y/N) closer as he rocked to the side. She smiled back at him, her cheeks ruddy. Arthur forced a laugh of his own, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered.

She looked nice.

He didn’t want to think about it, but with her right in front of him like this, it made things hard. He had tried all day not to think about that morning: waking up to the rest of the camp asleep, going to get coffee, getting distracted by the way the pale sun shone down on her hair, the sweet way she had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

He had found himself sketching it later, while waiting for Trelawney with Javier and Charles. He remembered closing his journal a little too quickly when he realized Trelawney had walked up and stood behind him to announce himself.

And she had washed his jacket. It was the slightest bit damp, but he kept it on anyway, even after he rode off. She pulled it out from under that blanket, bunched up by her side, and handed it to him. He wondered briefly how it would look on her一if she’d look as sweet in his jacket as she had with her blanket; if she’d grow to prefer it more.

He threw back another drink, seeking to quiet his thoughts. It didn’t matter, anyway.

John scowled at something (Y/N) said, and got up, stumbling off somewhere else. She turned those eyes of hers on Arthur. He fought the urge to look away, holding her gaze. “What’s his problem?” he asked.

“Told him to go see the missus,” she smiled, taking a sip of her beer. He forced himself to look away from the unfair way her lips looked pressed against it.

“Ah,” he hummed in understanding, raising his cup in acknowledgement. “Smart idea, gettin’ him to do it while he’s drunk.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dutch’s gramophone clicked to life, playing some fun, but calm, instrumental. Arthur glanced over, watching Dutch turn away from the machine and hold his hands out to Miss O’Shea, who happily stepped into his embrace. They swayed together to the music, her high laughter floating over the noise.

“That’s sweet,” (Y/N) whispered from across the table, just loud enough for him to hear. He looked back to her, watching her watch them, a soft expression on her face.

The sun was almost completely hidden behind the mountains now, the last valiant orange fading from the sky. Light from the nearby oil lamps and campfire took its place, most of her face shadowed despite their efforts. It played on the apple of her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the reflection in her eyes. His fingers itched for his journal again.

“D’you wanna dance?”

She blinked in surprise, and looked over at him. That was strange, though, because he hadn’t said anything. He wondered who asked her, although he hoped she would say no to them, and stay with him instead. Her cheeks appeared to flush the slightest bit一or maybe he was just seeing things一and she shyly smiled.

“Sure, Arthur, I’d love to.”

Oh. He asked.

He felt a heat of his own creep up the back of his neck and ears, and hoped it didn’t show. He stood up abruptly from the table, and swayed a bit on his feet. She mirrored his movement, getting up and steadying herself.

He held out his hand, forcing the other behind his back awkwardly. “M’lady,” he joked.

She giggled and placed her hand in his. It was a bit roughened compared to the night before, but still soft. It likely wouldn’t stay this way for long, running with them.

He tugged gently (or he tried to, at least), pulling her closer. She made a small noise of surprise and stumbled over to him, placing her other hand between them before they collided. It rested heavy on his chest, more an indicator of her drunken state than anything else. Warmth spread from her to him, and he wondered if he was giving any back.

Arthur brought up his hand to rest clumsily at her hip, unsure where exactly to place it. Why had he asked her to do this, again? He was clearly just going to embarrass himself.

Wherever he had settled it, though, she seemed content with, and she smoothed her hand up from his chest to rest on his shoulder. The line of contact seared like fire over him, and he made some noise in his throat. He hoped she hadn’t heard.

With their other hands clasped together, they swayed gracelessly, but he didn’t mind, and she didn’t seem to neither, a broad smile stretching her face. Her rings felt cool pressed against the heat of his palm. She kept laughing every now and then, stepping on his toes or knocking their knees together. He couldn’t find it in him to care.

He attempted a twirl at some point, but halfway through she fell backwards, losing her balance. He reached out and caught her, selfishly letting her head and back fall against his chest. “Y’alrigh’?” he slurred.

She tilted her head back, her face upside down, looking up at him with a sly grin. The campfire light caught her chest and jaw. “Better now in these big arms o’ yours, cowboy.” She winked, a stupid grin on her face.

He almost dropped her out of surprise. He stiffened, forcing out an awkward laugh that he hoped sounded casual.

This was ridiculous, he wasn’t some blushing schoolgirl. She was just teasing. He willed his taut muscles to relax.

“‘S that right?” he brought his arms around her to cage her in, linking his hands together by the front of her hips一two can play at this game, Miss (L/N). He leaned his head down by her face. “How ‘bout now?” he cooed.

The grin dropped from her face, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, an embarrassed flush painting her cheeks. Damn, he hadn’t meant to come off like Micah.

His grip loosened, nervous now. (Y/N) wasn’t nearly as close with him as the other girls were, and he inwardly cursed himself for getting familiar with her like this. If only Mary-Beth or someone else had been nearby when he’d asked to dance一he could’ve pretended like he’d been asking them. Shit, he would’ve danced with John if he had to.

“I’m probably about perfect, now,” she recovered, her laugh ringing up towards him like a bell. She moved her head back to face forward, snuggling back against his chest.

He exhaled, a stupid grin overtaking his face. He began to rock them side-to-side, listening to the campfire song that had sprung up between Bill and Karen, the latter perched on a certain Irishman’s lap. Arthur hummed along under his breath, resting his chin on her head. Her hair was soft, still, just like the first time. This was nice. She was nice.

He wasn’t sure when his eyes had drifted closed, but (Y/N) made no attempt to leave his bear hug, and he found himself thankful for it. He felt his throat still rumbling with song, but wasn’t sure if he was humming anymore or actually singing.

“You don’t mind if I take over from here, do you, Arthur?” an amused voice whispered beside him. He cracked his eyes open, dragging his chin across her head to look at Hosea. The man was staring at him with a sort of fond pity, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t a child. (Y/N) moved out from his embrace and he stepped back, keeping his hands up to steady her if he needed to.

She swayed, but Hosea caught her arm, throwing it over his shoulder and stepping in front of her. “Oh, hello, Hosea,” she greeted politely, but glanced around in confusion. Hosea jutted his chin over to where Arthur stood behind her, and she craned her neck to look at him.

He felt awkward and big and out-of-place, now, all by himself. He flexed his hands by his side and gave her a tight smile.

“Thank you for dancing with me, Arthur,” she said sweetly, her gaze fixed on him. The red bloom of drink had held steadfastly to her cheeks, her eyes glinting in the light of the oil lamps.

He felt himself nod and grunt some sort of response before he turned on his heel and trudged off towards his tent. That was enough drinking for him.

~Journal updated.

On one side, a detailed sketch of a plant, the words “Indian Tobacco” scrawled next to it. On the other side, a sketch of (Y/N) in the morning, her blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders. There are the beginnings of a focus on her hair, with a random sharp line dragged to the side, as if the artist was startled.

[esquilone]

❤︎ Between sheets of fire

RDR2 | Micah Bell X Female Reader

❤︎ Summary: You and Micah are fathers, but lately you've both been getting annoyed with each other, and Micah being the proud man that he is; he's not the type to apologize directly. Until he finds you in your nightgown in yours bed...

❤︎ Classification: explicit adult content, fluffy, mentions of pregnancy, the reader's hurt feelings towards Micah, breast milk, finger masturbation, etc.

Possible accidental spelling mistakes, as English is not my first language so I don't have much experience!

Morning

It was a muggy morning, the sun was already high in the sky, the sharp wind was caressing the trees outside the window, making them sway with the force of a light morning gale, but the problem was something else; the deafening silence inside the house seemed as suffocating as the tension between the two of you. The wooden walls of the house, once welcoming, were now impregnated with a tension between the two of you that dragged on and on. You, in front of the kitchen sink, washed the dishes and smelled the coffee brewing in the bule while Micah, standing by the window, watched the distant countryside. His broad shoulders were tense, which you were able to interpret very well: he was furious, you knew your husband well enough, but he didn't want to admit it.

The reason for the fight? The baby, of course, but not just him. Micah had been as impetuous as ever in his stance as an indomitable knight. He'd been out drinking, riding and smoking for days and the main thing? Bounty hunting to ward off the desire to shoot someone and take out the frustrations of broken pride, while you, alone at home, dealt with the demands of being a mother. When he came back, he was prouder than ever, taking pride in the way he still shot well and headhunted bounties so well, as if absence had been a favor to his freedom. "I needed the hunting, the space. You should understand," he had said, with a harsh arrogance that overflowed. But you didn't understand. No longer, you had let go of all your past interests. Your son was at home, and you were no longer just the wife of the head of the Bell family, who had his own gang in the past; not now, you were mommy.

"Why the hell are you still angry and ill-bred? Why are you just so grumpy? Hm?" He asks you disdainfully, but you don't give in and continue washing the dishes, he pinches your bottom with his fingers, making you startle and move away in denial of his provocations. What you realize makes his smile drop, okay, that's a good start, point for you. But it was obvious that it would turn sour faster than milk on a hot day, overnight.

"See? That's why no one likes you, right?" he spat with annoyance and his bad mood, "Don't test me again." He threw it in the air and left.

The argument was inevitable, harsh. He couldn't see your side, in fact he didn't want to be contradicted and didn't like to see that you didn't play his games, and you... well, you didn't know what to expect anymore. So all you could do was ignore him, try to calm the rage that was growing inside you, and avoid smashing a clay jug over his head if he continued to harass you. When he, with his harsh tone, asked if you were still angry, you just snorted, without a single word. The door of the house slammed hard behind you, and you stood there, feeling the weight of the anger and frustration of it all.

Days later:

It was late afternoon in the cold autumn, you were finishing your household chores in the small cottage, with the cold wind blowing outside at the half-open windows, but the heat from the fireplace still doing its job of warming the interior of the room. The smell of burning wood mingled with the aroma of bean soup simmering in an iron pot on the stove. Her fingers were reddened from the constant work with soap and water, and her back was beginning to ache from bending over, scrubbing and cleaning. With motherhood you knew that the day never really ended, there was always something more to do, whether it was sweeping the floor, washing the bed linen or putting the house in order. But now, after you'd managed to finish the chores and breastfeed your son, he was finally asleep in his crib and you'd done everything. Your eyes were heavy with exhaustion.

With a deep sigh, you moved away from the wooden table where you were cleaning the utensils. The room now looked simple but cozy. The wooden floor had been swept, and the furniture, made of rough wood, was in good condition and organized, despite being worn down by time. You made your way to the bedroom. At the end of the room, an iron basin filled with warm water awaited you, one of the few luxuries you were allowed, since there was a river with clear, clean water nearby. The water wasn't abundant, but you had managed to heat enough for a quick shower, which was only a small relief. You undressed behind the screen, threw your clothes in the hamper and went to get cleaned up.

You took the linen towel, already yellowed by years of use, and, with quick gestures, dried yourself. The ritual was simple: wash your face, hands and body quickly, because the hot water would soon cool down and the time it would take to heat up more water would wear you out. After washing up, you put on a cream silk nightgown with lace trim, whether you liked it or not, it was the thinnest and shortest nightgown you could get and it was still Micah's favorite. The movement was repetitive, automatic, while your thoughts revolved around Micah, or rather, the 'lack' of him. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and you knew it wouldn't be the last. . Your stress was there again, although still stored and boiling inside, growing inside you like a weight, a hurt that he was so difficult to understand and talk to, Micah wasn't the feeling type, but you were still angry and nothing could change that at the moment. With your hair now brushed, you closed the curtains on the windows and lit the wax candles on the bedside table. The soft light illuminated the room, making it slightly more pleasant, but you still missed it. You lay on the bed, hugging the pillow, your mind still heavy. Your eyes were fixed on the wall in front of you, your thoughts lost in the darkness. You were too tired to cry or complain, you just wanted to fall asleep and not wake up so soon.

(…)

Opening your eyes in the middle of the night, still dazed, now with the sound of hooves waking you up, you were lying in bed, under the thick blankets, the heat inside the room and the blankets still enveloping your skin. The contrast between the cold outside and the heat of the moment made the scene in the house more evident. The warmth of the room seemed to intensify the proximity between cold and heat. You considered getting out of bed and going to check if it was really Micah, but as soon as you felt the slight chill in the air, you gave up and went back under the covers again. Just pretend to be asleep or ignore him.

Micah approached the hut still riding, the soft light of the lamp in his hand partially illuminating the darkness as he pulled on the reins, leading Baylock into the small paddock. Baylock neighed softly, uncomfortable with the silence of the night. He dismounted his horse with a sudden movement, the stirrups creaking. Without haste, he tied him to the paddock, the sound of the ropes stretching and the saddle being removed echoing in the stillness. Baylock snorted one last time, shaking his head, before settling down in the darkness.

He walked towards the stairs, up the porch steps with heavy steps, his leather boots tapping on the wooden treads, leaving dirt and dust marks from the path he had traveled. He swung the lamp with his right hand, the flame dancing to the rhythm of the cold night wind. When he reached the door, he paused for a moment and, with a sigh, tapped his boots on the floor, as if to rid himself of any trace of dirt from the world outside.

He kept his heavy feet against the threshold, taking off his boots one by one, and put them aside without haste. With a final movement, he pushed the door open with his shoulder and entered, his steps now slower, as if the weight of the day was weighing more heavily on him than before, the lamp casting faint shadows on the wood of the floor. The night outside was distant now, replaced by the stillness and warmth of the hut. The heat from the fireplace still burned, trying to warm his skin, but his pride seemed colder than any wind outside.

The door creaked slightly as Micah entered, his footsteps echoing in the room. He didn't say anything, but the sound of heavy boots and the creak of hunting gear on his belt made it clear that he had just returned from another of his endless days away. The thud of boot leather being slammed against the front door and the sound of guns being carefully put away were as familiar as the grumbles he made when he got home.

You could tell now; it was really him who had arrived, you could hear his heavy footsteps in the other rooms finishing something, anyway; you didn't care either. He entered the room, pushing open the door as he finished putting his own suspenders away, sat on the bed as he took the objects off the bedside table and put them in the drawer, now putting his pistol on and lighting a new candle on the cabinet to replace the previous ones, now dimmed, feeling the softness of the mattress, and then, you could feel his head turning over his shoulder, watching you with his eyes, with a wry smile, he commented, looking at the fabric of your nightgown:

"you are warming yourself here, then? Or do you just want to tease me with that lace camisole?" The teasing was there, as always, but something in his tone revealed a vulnerability that he was trying to hide. He was well aware of the situation between you, Micah has many layers of pride and peeling them back isn't so easy

but sometimes he allows you to make him spit that pride and anger out, he probably knows you're awake and wouldn't give in. You didn't answer straight away, still with your back to him, your face turned towards the pillow, as if looking for the answer in your own thoughts was easier than talking to him.

He was visibly irritated, with frowning eyebrows and a slight tremor in his hands, perhaps more from anger than frustration at not having been able to provoke a reaction from you, his penetrating gaze fixed on your shrunken figure with your back to the wall on the other side, dead with your back to him. The silence between him and you remained heavy and the tension almost palpable.

Micah stretched lazily, leaning back on the bed. His thoughts were muddled, but his voice, as it merged with the sound of the crackling fire, seemed softer. The house was still deafeningly quiet from the tension still lingering in the night. The fire in the fireplace crackled softly, and the candles on the oak table cast dancing shadows on the walls. You didn't dare say a word as you lay in bed, hugging your pillow, your face turned to the side, as if the simple act of not looking at him was a form of punishment. The weight of your feelings, still on the boil, seemed to choke the breath out of you.

Micah, with the elegance of a mischievous feline, stretched out on the bed, now sitting a few centimeters closer to you. He stood with his back to you, but not before glancing again at what you were wearing - that same cream lace camisole, light and delicate, that he had always commented on liking. His eyes, imposing and implacable, shone with a mixture of desire and disdain, an almost instinctive reaction.

"You're not asleep, then?" He grimaced, arching an eyebrow with a mischievous smile, and clucked his tongue. "Or are you ignoring me once again?"

with his shoulders tense and his eyes focused on the floor. He knew he'd done the wrong thing, but it wasn't easy to admit it. It never was. Your pride, always as sharp as a blade or as venomous as a snake, prevents you from apologizing as easily as you deserve. However, the heavy atmosphere in the house couldn't be ignored. The silence between you outweighed any quarrel, and he was really getting disturbed by it.

He closed his eyes, huffing in frustration, took a deep breath and, in a low, slurred, almost hesitant voice, said: "I... I know I screwed up. I'm not one for apologizing, you know that yourself." He looked away, his fingers restlessly tapping his own knee, as if he didn't know what to do with his hands.

His posture remained firm, but there was something in his voice that betrayed a deep discomfort, that Micah stubbornness. He didn't know how to deal with it, with this need to expose himself, to let it be known that, yes, he felt it too. He hesitated, as if each word were a weight. But he knew he had to speak. He had to make it clear that he was recognizing what he had done wrong, breaking down that barrier, even if his pride wanted to tear him to shreds.

You listened to him, silently, your eyes softer now. Micah moved towards you on the mattress, crawling, his shaky hand reaching up to your hair, pulling a few strands from your neck. He ran it gently between his fingers, tucking it behind your ear, trying to convey, through the gesture, something that words couldn't express; when he didn't say anything, he was touching you, a way of trying to appease his mistakes.

The touch on his hair was gentle, almost as if he was trying to communicate what he didn't know how to say. You could feel it; feel the sincerity in this unusual little gesture coming from him, Micah is not a "romantic" kind of man.

he let his own pride and stubbornness get away from him.

You looked at him, the silence between you fading, and without needing to say much, you just came closer. The longing for the hug, for the contact that was missing, took over you. Micah pulled you closer, with firm arms, but now without the hardness of before. He was there, trying, and that was slightly pathetic to you, but you liked it even though you denied that you didn't want him close.

The hug was affectionately exaggerated, he still liked to make fun of the two of you in situations like this, but he was still and silent, and you let yourself be carried away by the feeling of finally being less upset. Micah behind you, next to you on the bed, the room quiet and silent except for the soft sound of his breathing and the breeze coming in through the window. He stares at you for a moment, the outline of your body illuminated by the soft moonlight spilling through the window. You're already lying on your back, and he approaches you as gently as ever. With a careful movement, he wraps an arm around your waist and presses your body against his in a gentle but protective and territorial way.

He nestles his face into the back of your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin and the soft scent of your hair. The pressure of your embrace is firm, but not suffocating — it's the kind of hug that conveys the necessary longing for him. His fingers slide lightly around your waist, in a gesture of affection, and he takes a deep breath, as if he were completely closing in on himself at that moment. Your heart skipped a few beats, you hadn't let him touch you in the last few months, you were so absorbed in tasks and stress that you fell asleep first to avoid him inside the house, good months without feeling your bodies.

It's obvious that Micah grumbled when, months after you'd recovered from childbirth and the complications, you denied him because you were bored-which also made him grumpy, almost every time of the week he wanted to pin you down in the corners of the house or in the kitchen sink when you were washing dishes, and....STOP IT! You wondered about the erotic thoughts floating around in your head.

just forgive him and go to sleep.

I'm not like that. I'm not one to forgive easily. He needs to learn. He has to learn that he can't do this and expect everything to go back to normal. You thought in your mind.

But then something inside you broke. His coldness, his grumpiness, everything that always seemed to push you away, was now there, in front of you, so... human. He was trying and, as much as you didn't want to admit it, that meant something. It was a change you didn't want, but knew you needed to see. At least so you wouldn't regret it later.

You took a deep breath and, as you let it out, the weight on your back seemed to lessen. Slowly, you approached him, your gaze still steady, but your voice softer than you would have liked:

"This time... I forgive you, Micah. But only this once. But you have to do what you have to do," you gave him a threatening look. He only smiled with a drawn-out laugh.

His eyes shone with a mixture of pleasure and control. He slid his face down to your shoulder, nibbling on it, kissing your neck.

He leans forward, almost touching your ear, his voice soft but slurred with pleasure. Micah slides his hand up to your face, his fingers pressing into your chin, forcing you to feel his dominating presence. He moves even closer, the heat of his body almost overwhelming.

- "I know... I know you could. I'll do anything you want, anything you need. Now, thank you, my little doll... such a good girl for forgiving me." He smiled, his breath warm on your ear. His scent was like a mixture of strong tobacco, woody whisky, leather and a primal hint of musk. It's intense, borne of someone who liked danger and something irresistibly attractive, as if he were a fire about to consume everything around him.

You felt the inside between your legs stir, taking a deep breath to prevent yourself from making any suspicious sounds. You stiffened a little when he pressed his calloused hands to your sides, your breathing making a strange mixture of hitching and quickening at the same time. "Relax, doll." His chin rests on your shoulder and he whispers to you softly, trying to keep you relaxed for him. All the while his hands were running over your abdomen and waist, waiting patiently for you to fall asleep or tell him to leave. But you chose to go with the first option.

You were about to close your eyes, until, just as you were about to fall asleep, something strange caught your attention. Something… between your legs. When you moved slightly to adjust yourself, you realized that Micah's knee was there, wedged between your legs.

You didn't know if he had done it on purpose or not, but when you noticed it clearly, feeling it, a heat rose on your skin. At first, you tried to ignore it, not finding it so strange, in fact, when you slept together he did that to pull you closer.

but soon the movement was repeated. Micah moved his knee slowly, fitting it more and more between your thighs, as if trying to warm you up, but you couldn't help but notice how flaming the touch was. The seemingly perverse gesture, typical of him, however, was starting to make you excited, you weren't sure, you could barely reason, the force with which he was rubbing, moving your folds and intimacy.

“Micah…” you tried to say, your voice weaker and muffled than you intended. But he didn’t seem to be paying much attention to you. His eyes were closed, or at least he was pretending to be. His knee was moving even more provocatively now, putting a little pressure on his casual, almost disinterested tone, but you could hear a slight smile in his voice.

“What’s wrong? Are you feeling too tight there?”

He feigned concern “-or… is something bothering you, hmm?” You could feel the humor on the tip of his tongue.

"Relax, woman. I'm just trying not to freeze to death... and you're a furnace, very warm, you know?" He kept his knee in the same place, moving faster, one of his hands going under you on the mattress, reaching your shoulder, his hands going up to your breasts.

You bit your lip, trying not to give in to the sensation of pleasure and warmth that was growing inside you. "You…are...What do you think you're doing?!" The question came out weaker than you would have liked. Micah didn't answer. Instead, he moved his knee once more, now more slowly, forcing his body to move to accommodate the touch. He seemed to expect your reaction, as if he was enjoying the effect he was having.

You felt your throat close and you could feel his hands opening the first buttons on the front of your nightgown. The way he flicked his knee continued, provocatively making you roll your eyes for a few seconds, testing your limits. And the worst part? He knew the effect he was having even though you were still annoyed, but he still carried on, as if he was having fun with it.

You stopped thinking when his hands finished unbuttoning the fabric over your breasts, calloused hands reaching brazenly up and squeezing and massaging them slowly, you choked on the touch, the nipples hardening in the early dawn air. But he just laughed again, a soft laugh, kissing the back of your neck and continuing to massage them, now twirling his thumb around your nipples. You just squirmed without being able to deny it, your mind so focused on his fingers that you didn't even notice his other hand sliding down and pulling at your underwear, with the same hand he slowly arched one of your legs, lowering his hand to your insides, now already needy, clenching around nothing.

"Oh ho...were you ready, dear? Why didn't you tell me? I would have...hurried." he says, a low laugh resonating in his voice, as if he's having fun with some kind of secret plan. You just moan, squeezing your thighs together as you feel his fingers foaming with your wetness and then laying into your folds, his middle finger penetrating and making you arch up and sigh, which made your breath engage, your legs shaking with stimulation, pain and excitement.

Micah presses his fingers against your lips more firmly, then, tilting his head slightly to the side, he makes a soft but clear sound - a "shhh" that seems to reverberate in the darkness. He moves even closer to you, his warm, controlled breathing almost blending in with the sound of the chaos outside.

With almost predatory speed, his large, icy fingers press against your lips, slamming your mouth firmly shut. The touch is unexpected, but effective at silencing.

"Shhh..." He leans close to your ear, his voice whispering with intensity, low, almost like a command, the tone allowing no questions. The closeness of his body warms you even more from the lack of warmth in the room.

You try to murmur, but all that comes out is a muffled hum, like a wordless "mmmmm...", the muted sound being crushed by the pressure of his hand.

His fingers slipping in and out, the knot in your abdomen forming as you sighed harder. Long enough for you to be trapped in that hazy stage of the mind where you only felt him enter you, just like that. The sound of a needy moan resonated in your chest, his dick pulsing inside you.

"Mmmm.....yeah, good," he growled in your ear, thrusting his pelvis against you, both of you shuddering with pleasure."Hehe... you're still the same as you were that night years ago..... perfect; perfectly made for me, huh? Don't you agree?"

"S-Shut up!" you scolded, looking at him over your shoulder. He kept hitting that spot on you again and again while moving with slow vigor. And as he pushed you to the top of that sea wall. Still, he didn't give in, his hand finding your throat again, forcing your head back as he descended into your mouth. Until your eyes rolled and rolled behind your head, and a wave of pleasure exploded through you, your mouths colliding in a quick kiss, Their mouths together tasted of smoke, alcohol and something almost sweet.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin. “You’re amazing” You returned that feeling with a moan, pushing your ass back, which only served to bring him deep into you. His large body twitched in his grip, a deep growl emanating from his chest.

Without haste, you slowly turn to the other side, where Micah Bell was standing, he's there, quite desperate, with the darkest blue eyes fixed on you, almost as if he knows exactly what you need, even without saying a word. The desire for affection becomes inevitable, and you approach him without hesitation, kissing his lips with a soft, almost lazy touch. The kiss is almost gentle, but it also has a hint of affection and needy, as if you were asking for something more, something that can't be said, but is understood.

With a soft sigh, you wrap your arms around him, hugging his shoulders with a certain amount of fragility mixed with firmness, your body seeking his warmth. Your body lifts as Micah grabs you by the hips, seeking to penetrate you anew, and you can't help the feeling of vulnerability and excitement that comes with the moment. Micah, with that smile so characteristic of him - a smile of someone who knows his own feelings, but is unable to hide his tenderness - squeezes you and arches his hips upwards, pressing you against himself in a protective and selfish way.

The heat between you becoming uncontrollable, the only sound in the middle of the silent dawn, are the muffled, wet noises and sounds between you, together, sharing and processing the various feelings that once were, but full of affection and complicity. He wraps his arms around you more tightly, and you forget that, for a moment, you were trying to be silent, but him coming in and out of you like that was too much....You rolled your eyes inside your head, panting above his head, yours almost suffocating him as they moved up and down, both of them and your bodies.

You removed your arms from his shoulders and then slid the soft cotton fabric of your nightgown completely between your own body, over your shoulders, pulling your hands over your chest and twisting. His nipples hardened, whether from the slight chill of the night or from lust, he couldn't tell. But Micah found himself unable to resist the sight, leaning forward and capturing one between his lips, biting and sucking. You choked softly, a sound so beautiful it made him moan.

Soft, gentle sighs as his tongue moistened the material of your sensitive, milk-filled breasts, teeth gently pulling you in. Your hand found his blond hair again, running your fingers through the strands and arching your back into his touch, moaning slyly when you felt the milky yellow droplets dripping out, you tried to pull away, but Micah kept pulling you forward, finishing sucking and tasting what was dripping.

He wanted to pinch your skin, bite you and soothe you with his tongue. You opened your mouth at times, when the pleasure became too much, with him taking the opportunity to plunge his tongue into the warmth of your mouth. His fingers in your hair, twisting strands around his fingers and tugging lightly.

Letting you take him inch by inch, watching the look of ecstasy take over his features. His eyes closed. He didn't struggle to keep his composure, overwhelmed by the tight, moist heat of her walls enveloping him. Being able to feel every unique ridge and bulge that made your vagina so perfect, to feel every muscle stretch and contract as you welcomed it.

 "Oh my…!" You spoke, sounding louder, covering your mouth to keep from making noise, lightning buzzing through your veins, coursing through your entire body. His pace was almost animalistic as he panted behind you.

"Shit. You're delicious, darling…" He hummed, his large , rough hand coming down against your ass in a crushing slap. You groaned, tears stinging your eyes, but not from pain. Your body hummed beneath him as you teetered on the edge of pure pleasure.

Only seconds later it happened. You clapped a hand over your mouth as your orgasm hit, muffling your choked moans. Micah finished as well, making low, panting sounds as his body gave in to extreme exhaustion. The sound of his joints cracking as he lay back down was followed by a deep, drawn-out breath, the tension slowly leaving your bodies, both of you going limp and closing your eyes. You felt drops of cum running down your thighs, but you refused to get up to wash again. Maybe tomorrow morning...

Micah's head rests softly on the pillow, his breathing now regulated. Next to him, you settle in, resting your head on his shoulder. The temperature of the room is pleasant, and the welcoming silence of the room makes your sleep come closer and closer. But a few minutes later, you are woken by a sound that cuts through the silence of the room—the baby's cry coming from the other room. You let out a soft sigh, hesitating for a moment, feeling discouraged and laziness setting in, but knowing that you needed to check on him. Ready to get up, intending to pick up the baby, but just as you were about to make any movement, Micah's voice reemerges, firm and direct.

“Go to sleep, I’ll calm him down,” Micah murmured, the words clear and straightforward. His voice had a tone of authority, but it wasn’t harsh, just practical, like someone who knew exactly what they were doing. He moved away from the bed without waiting for a response, his footsteps firm on the floor as he walked through the door toward the next room.

You let out a low laugh and, with a smile on your lips, snuggle back into your pillow. The comfort of the mattress, the familiarity of the surroundings and the thought of Micah taking on what he never took on, dealing with the situation, brought you immediate relief. You hugged the pillow, letting yourself be enveloped by the warmth of the sheets. Your joy coming in small doses, even if you were hurt before, but at this moment you can forget that and allow yourself to truly rest, talk and sex almost never failed when it came to your conflicts with each other.

THIS TEXT IS NOT COMPLETELY

CORRECTED, I BELIEVE.

Author: I apologize if some words seem unconnected, it happens that when passing the original text from my language to English, some words and expressions do not exist, so in these cases I use the translator to try to “normalize” what I wrote. That's it.

People who asked to be tagged in this post (I believe ;P) @08melancholie @yey56 @rom-707

[bluecanvasshoe]

Runaway

Part two of Arthur Morgan & teen!reader

Warnings: BIGGGGG Rdr2 spoilers, mentions of racism, after the gang gets split up, big time jump, no beta reader, i tried to be historically accurate!!!, descriptions of a panic attack

Summary: It's been a few years since the gang split up. You don't know anyones whereabouts, nor do you know if they're alive or not. But in your new, mundane life, you find a lead to your past. (PS: the most of the story is snippets of the gang splitting.)

AN: sorry this took so long.......... stuff is happening in my life and i found this in my drafts while looking for a distraction. i also didnt know if this was good or not, and idk if u guys would like the big change in the story but i hope u guys like this!!!

word count: 1.9k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

------

Beaver Hollow sucks. Everything sucks. Honestly, maybe this entire gang sucks.

Dutch sent you two out, acting as messengers for Eagle flies and his father. Neither of you agreed that what Dutch was doing would benefit their tribe, but Eagle Flies was determined. His courage, although strong, blinded him.

After you and Arthur had gone on that fishing trip not long ago, you’ve found yourself hanging around him more often; not that he minded. Naturally, you two started talking. You opened up about your past before the gang, and he told stories of his youth that hadn’t already been shared around the campfire.

However, this came with some downsides.

You and Arthur had an argument the other day. Well, you tried to have an argument, and Arthur listened.

You and Arthur went hunting this time. The sun was setting, and crickets emerged along with god-awful amounts of mosquitoes. After countless tries at Arthur’s bow and arrow you grew more and more frustrated. Turns out, it’s not as easy as pull and release. Because of the added factors of your now seemingly constant anger and the frustration of each failed attempt, you blew up at Arthur.

This included the usual, “people are worried; Dutch is insane; do something,” pleas coming from you, and Arthur’s “i know, kid; kid, I know; we’re trying our best; keep it down the camp’s gonna hear,” replies.

You went to bed that night fuming. ’We’re doing our best’? Come on! After all that’s happened, the best is far from the current situation of the gang. He’s just lying through his teeth, and for what? 

You can take the truth.

The path below you two crunched as gravel dug deeper into the earth, your horses occasionally huffing as they walked along the trail. Tall, top-heavy trees were scattered amongst pine, birds chirping and singing on sturdy branches. Wildflowers that sprouted in vibrant shades of orange and purple were scattered along the sides of the path, mingling with short grass that wasn’t entirely green, yellowing as the year grew old. 

Critters, mainly squirrels or chipmunks, ran across the beaten path. It gave both of you quite the scare as you rode along, not wishing to kill the poor creatures for no inherent reason. The air was chilly, but not cold. It wasn’t warm, but it was stuffy. From the ridge, you could see more trees separated by a shimmering lake in the distance, which was surrounded by… more trees.

“It’s been a weird few days,” Arthur spoke up, his voice gravelly, rough. He sounded hesitant and almost awkward, like he was trying to talk, but couldn’t find a good starter. 

You cleared your throat, “Yeah. Do you… is Dutch… Does this sorta thing happen often?” you asked vaguely, glancing at Arthur in your peripheral vision. 

“What do you mean?

“...This. Y’know the runnin’ east, and… people dyin’. It’s makin’ me worried, Arthur.” 

Arthur fell into a short, thoughtful silence, disrupted by a harsh cough to the side. He cleared his throat and looked forward again, reaching ahead to pat his horse on the neck. “This ain’t happened before. Lots of folks are worried, but… We’ll do what we can, kid, just try to stay strong.” He replied, using the same excuse he’d use for every other person at camp.

You hesitated. The gang had been doing what they could. They had for a long time, but it only seemed to kill people. Dutch lead the gang with determination, mowing down anyone standing between him and his unachievable goals. These decisions, however, came with sacrifices. Sacrifices that stood behind him, praised his actions and followed his lead like a lamb, because they wouldn’t be able to do such a thing if it weren’t for him. Sacrifices that never stood in his way. Sacrifices that were lucky to have a grave, to be spoken of afterwards.

What if you became one of them?

“But Dutch, he- he made these choices, and… I don’t… he’s not right in the mind,” You reasoned in the nicest way possible, praying that the man beside you wouldn’t be ticked off by your remark. Judging by his opinions on the gang’s recent affairs, though, you don’t think he will.

Arthur, again, was silent. You took this as an opportunity to continue.

“I’m scared, Arthur. I’m really scared.” God, that’s not how you wanted to sound. Saying those words sounded like a plea, like you were a child. But what you said was partly how you felt, and maybe honesty was what was needed at the moment. Anxiousness and anger bubbled under your skin, the seeds of upcoming dread sprouting from when they were sown at the Blackwater robbery. “It- this ain’t normal. This is bad, Arthur, there must be somethin’ we can do.”

“I know, trust me, and I wish there was,” Arthur sighed, adjusting his gambler hat. “I’d be lyin’ if I said I weren’t scared, too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. It ain’t fair to you; you’re just a kid.” He finished, neither agreeing or disagreeing with your previous statements. “But I’m… look, we’re all doin’ our best.”

Now, you know that’s true. You’re not stupid; but really? I mean, the gang had been on the run for months. So many people have died, and now Arthur’s saying that’s the best that they could do? Bullshit. Frustration simmered in your chest, like an urge that needed to be quelled. It itched and burned, your jaw tensing as he spoke.

“I know, but that’s- we wouldn’t be here if we were doin’ our best, I mean, God, come on, so many folks are dead, and it ain’t gettin’ better-” “Kid, please-” “and people are worried! People have died, Arthur, and Dutch won’t give up. Please, Arthur, just listen-” “I am listenin’, but-” “nothin’s getting better, people are scared, and- and what’s wrong with you? You ain’t been actin’ like you usually do, people are worried-” “That’s enough. We’ve already discussed this,” Arthur interrupted, his voice serious and hardened. It cut through the sound of birds chirping, the sound blurring into the background as your stomach practically dropped. Arthur never spoke to you in that way, meaning you likely crossed a line; with the tensions and questions coming from the members of the gang, it’s not surprising he was a little fed up.

You took a deep breath, glancing at him before looking forward once again. “I just- Arthur, we’re worried. We wanna know what’s wrong.”

The two of you fell into silence once more. This time, though, the sound of birds, leaves, or wind didn’t fill it.

“Kid, look, this isn’t your business. You shouldn’t be the one worried about this stuff, this ain’t what you should be spendin’ your time on.”

“Arthur, please-” “No, and I ain’t gonna say it again.”

So that was that.

In the back of your mind, something screamed that you had to do something, anything. But Dutch was so on edge, and after Micah did who knows what with the dog, Cain? You’re a little scared to step out of line.

But when Molly was shot by Ms. Grimshaw, you screamed at her. Then, when everyone chose sides, you went with Arthur. 

Dutch stood at one side of the camp, shouting at Arthur with Micah by his side. With him stood Micah and Javier, though the latter was aiming his gun towards the hazy, darkening sky. You, despite the fact that the others told you to go, stood with Arthur, Sadie, John and Charles. Without a gun to aim at the others, you simply stayed to show who your loyalty lay with. 

And then the men came.

The law.

You ran, and you ran hard. But horses were no match for a scrawny teenager's legs, and you didn’t get far before a lawman tackled you down. 

At the moment, the only thing running through your head is that this has got to be a nightmare. No, this is a nightmare. Your vision almost seemed to darken, everything around you growing suffocatingly close. The lawman’s shouting drowned in the dark abyss of tree shadows and your cotton filled ears. Your heart beat out of your chest, and in the back of your mind, you knew that this was happening. That this isn’t a nightmare. 

They dragged you away kicking and screaming, away to the shit filled streets and swampy air of Saint Denis. You could’ve sworn you’d seen John before you were taken away from the gang’s campgrounds.

Now, your life lay in the biassed hands of the law, and not a mentally ill middle aged man and the snake in his ear. You thought that you would’ve been sent to the gallows without another thought, but despite being an ‘outlaw’, you never truly committed crimes. At least, no one saw you commit your crimes. Therefore, the law deemed you a kidnapped child in need of a ‘civil’ way of life.

So, you were taken to what they called the “orphan trains”. An ominous thing that you were not thrilled for. They were trains that’d take orphaned kids from big cities to the lonely midwest, a place you were so unfortunately familiar with.

-----

It had been years.

Years of helping the woman you were supposed to find maternal collect eggs, of tilling crops, of scrubbing dishes with rowdy, annoying kids you were meant to call your siblings. Of birthdays past without the gang; and now, you were almost an adult.

But one day, your foster dad left his newspaper on the dining table, a mistake he would regret later. The newspaper said something that, after months of mundane and domestic boredom, piqued your interest.

Morning light streamed through the lacy curtains of the kitchen’s windows, the wood of the house creaking under the pressure of the wind. 

Your foster dad, David, was reading the daily news, an ankle on his knee as he went about his morning routine while you were sitting at the dining table quietly. Your foster mother, Anne, was washing dishes from breakfast when one of the boys you’d been living with barged through the door of the house.

The woman startled, dropping a dish into the water. “Jeremy!” Anne scolded, looking at the boy.

“I think one of the horses is having a baby!” he shouted, two of the other kids following him and saying things along the lines of ‘hurry up, come on!’ at the man and woman. David shot up from his seat and Anne dropped what she was doing, telling you amongst the chaos to finish up the dishes as she left the house.

You stood from your seat, watching everyone rush out with slight annoyance. When the door shut, you pushed out your chair, the wood making a screeching sound as it slid across the hardwood floors. Standing up, you walked over the creaky wood to David’s newspaper that sat on the dining table. 

It was full of boring deals and uninteresting stories, but one stuck out. It was about an underground fighting ring, which wouldn’t have caught your eye if it weren’t for the witness statements.

One in particular said some very distasteful things about a man of mixed race, but the summary was that he was Indigenous and African-American.

Indigenous and African-American.

You only know one man who is of those two ethnicities. Granted, you don’t know many people; but still, Indigenous, African American, and an outlaw? Come on.

The second after you read that passage, you made a plan. You’d leave at the dead of night, as soon as possible. Maybe it’s not solid, nor is it well thought through, but there’s no time for that. That night, you pack your things as light as possible.

And then, you finally start your journey back to Saint Denis.

[josephquinnswhore]

the devil is real and he’s a besotted outlaw - micah bell x female reader

summary: Micah bell can be a twisted man, and you’re complacent in his actions.

word count: 1.7k

content warning: micah bell, LOL. micah uses a gun to get reader off, p in v, raw sex, creampie, f and m orgasm. use of degrading words. Karen slander (just for the plot I swear I love her.)

At this time in the evening, generally everyone around camp had retired to their tents, the sun had set many hours ago. But the orange hue from the fire burning around the empty campfire still flicks embers into the sky, you watch them disappear.

Your boyfriend had been stoking the fire every so often before tossing the stick with his usual carelessness beside the seat he had leaned backward in to find a comfortable position. As comfortable as he could with you sitting on his lap, cradling the warm metal mug in your cold palms, sipping occasionally.

“Shouldn’t be drinkin’ that right before bed,” he chastises softly, but there's no real scolding behind his words.

“It don't seem like you're gonna head to bed anytime soon.”

Not now that he’d picked up one of his twin revolvers. The custom piece featured a unique dark grey steel frame, one that had been polished only the evening prior. The grip was also custom created, black skulls engraved and delicately painted contrast against the red grip.

He pours some gun oil onto a cloth, and wraps his arms around your hips to your front as he begins his chore of cleaning the weapon, movements precise and meticulous. After a few moments, he feels a strain in his neck trying to gaze over you, so he simply rests his chin on your shoulder, stopping the task for but a moment to press a delicate kiss to the exposed skin.

A small hum escapes you, and he gets back to his task at hand. One thing you liked about him, he didn’t favour small talk, he preferred these moments of tranquility with you where there were no peering eyes and stout whispers.

When you finish your cup of coffee, your attempt to stand was intercepted by Micah’s hands gripping onto your hips. “Where do you think you're going? Weren't you stayin’ up with me?”

“I am, just going to Pearson’s wagon to clean my mug and I’ll be back.”

You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you back down onto his lap, taking the mug out of your much smaller hands to set it carefully on the ground beside him. It was sweet, seeing how he cared for your things with a delicacy that he held private for the things most important to him.

“Ain’t goin’ nowhere without me, an’ I ain't ready to get up yet.” His tone is quiet, but you know better than to disobey what he asks when it's not reasonable. The mug could just be cleaned later on.

A small yawn escapes you, regardless of the mug of caffeine you’d finished moments before, and Micah sets aside his guns at the noise. “Tired?” The soft murmur against your skin created a demand for goosebumps on your neck. Coarse hairs of his moustache tickle your neck as he begins to kiss the raised skin.

“Partially,” you reply in a quiet murmur.

“Well, I best wake you up, hm?” Pulling away from your neck, all of your attention is now drawn to his large hands on the skirt of your dress as he bunches it at your waist to expose your legs underneath. “Now ain’t that a sight?”

“Micah–” a soft protesting whine is about to deny him, and he interrupts.

His hands trail upward, making you forget what you were about to scold him for, fingers trailing up your thighs over the sheer material of those pretty drawers you always wore. His thick digits were moving the piece to the side delicately to get where he wanted without much resistance from you, to his delight.

“Christ, girl, ain’t fair keeping this all to yourself.”

A protestful noise escapes your throat when his hands pull away from your need, causing you to rut your hips in search of his thick fingers. “Tsk, so impatient,” he chastises.

But it's not his hand that returns to caress your swollen clit, it's cold, and you flinch backwards against his chest. When you look down to see what it was that he was using on you–a part of you stills, perhaps in curiosity, fear or need. You weren’t entirely sure what you felt.

Before you could say anything he runs the already oiled up clean gun against your sensitive nub, causing your back to arch further, head resting on his shoulder behind you. “Oh.. Micah..” you trail off, unable to deny the pleasure from the crude act. “This.. is so twisted.”

His chuckle is deep and causes another demand of goosebumps to rise against your hot skin, rubbing the sleek barrel of his revolver agasint your clitorus at an agonisingly slow pace. “I don’t see you pulling away from it, girl.”

The sensation is incredible, ending up in you resorting to seeking more friction by rutting against the weapon sloppily, the increased pace makes your thighs tremble against his own. “Seems like my desperate girl is just as twisted as I supposedly am.”

Unable to control yourself, selfishly ravishing his weapon for your own sake, the orgasm you experience has you crying out softly into the still air of the evening, a smirk plastered on Micah’s face as you tremble against him. Your hips finally still from your greedy seeking ruts.

Micah partially lifts you off his lap, unzipping his cream coloured jeans before lowering you back down onto his hard cock. Your hole was perfect, the kind of pleasure that a man would seek salvation in. His hands are guiding you in a repetitive motion, a low groan coming from Micah that only allows his cock to slide easier into you.

“Micah..” there's not much more you can think to utter other than his name. Completely unable to make any sense after that absurd orgasm he caused moments before.

There's one thing about him, his impatience, the need for you. In his greed, he tires of slowly guiding you down onto him, and prospers to drill into you harshly as he raises his hips to thrust into you. No coherent words leave your lips, merely the strangled sounds of pleasure as you struggle to catch your breath against his cock pummelling into you. Hands sliding underneath the bodice of your gown to grasp roughly onto one of your breasts.

With a few harsh and desperate deep, sloppy thrusts he is spilling into you, pulling you closer to him as he bites down into your neck. His breathing is uneven and hot against your shoulder, giving your breast one last squeeze he removes his hand, and a wince of overstimulation he pulls his cock out of you.

Offering one of his hands, he helps you to stand, fixing your dress and helping smooth it out at the bodice. You're still in a daze, confused and your entire body feeling the aftermath of the explosive intimate encounter.

You didn't say anything as Micah led you to his tent, a hand resting on your lower back to guide you, but you didn't need to. “You did good, girl. Real good.” At his praise, your skin warms, flushing with your entire body at the sweet sentiment.

Of course you're having troubles the next morning, because why did you think that no one heard your performance with Micah last night? Karen is the only one with enough gall to confront you, the look of pure disgust she gave you, and the way she tried to stand over you like she was trying to intimidate you. “You’re disgusting, Micah of all people. You must really be some desperate kind of whore.”

This infuriates you, they didn't know micah like you did, how sweet and consolable and caring he really could be. “No, I guess you don't understand, do you? You’re being sour toward me because you know no man wants you at all!”

The blonde woman saunters closer to you, with a tone of threat. “What did you just say?”

Micah hears the commotion and intercepts, changing his course as he starts walking towards the scene.

“Oh look, it's the sack of shit himself.” Karen gestures towards Micah and you sneer at her.

You’re quick to lash back to defend Micah. “Get back on the bottle, you miserable cow.”

Things are heating up between the two of you, Micah standing tall beside you.

“Back off you drunken wench,” Micah snarls, finally stepping in front of you.

But Karen does not allow this to deter her rampage directed at you, looking past Micah to spit drunken insults. “I mean seriously, sleeping with Micah Bell? You’re making a damn fool of yourself. Micah is the last person you should trust. He’s no better off than the devil, you’d do best to stay away if you had any mind!”

“I didn't ask for your goddamn opinion, now shut the hell up!”

“You stupid little girl,” she spits, pointing a finger at you. “You think you're safe with the likes of him?”

But this had gone on long enough and Micah had finally had enough of Karen and her drunken tirade against you. “Enough outta you.” Glowering down at Karen, “say another word that insults her, and I promise I’ll make use outta that gun I cleaned last night, y’hear me?”

“Now back off.” He threatens, standing tall in front of you, creating a barrier between the women as he protects you from any further in slew of insults.

Finally, karen gets the message, albeit muttering as she walks away from the scene she had created.

“You alright? She didn't touch ya, did she?” He murmurs softly as he glances at you, inspecting you to make sure you are unharmed.

“I’m fine. I.. I mean I’m not hurt.” You correct yourself.

He grips onto your chin softly. “Don’t listen to her nonsense, y’hear me? I ain’t about t’let her get in your head.” A frown forms on his face at your silence. “It don't matter what she, or any other folk think about us. You trust me, don’cha?”

“Course I trust you,” you utter in promise.

“Good.” His murmur is soft, meant for only your ears. As is his gentle caress as he runs his thumb over your cheek, his frown fading into a more neutral expression. “Then don't you pay no mind to what folk say about me, especially when it comes to my involvement with you. They don't know the first damn thing about me, none of ‘em.”

His words sink in, and a crack of a smile finally reaches your lips, to which his expression mirrors your own. “There's my pretty girl.”

Yeah, it was worth it.

[suugarbabe]

curls || mattheo riddle

summary: you couldn't help yourself, you just had to fix them. it's not like he seemed to mind your fingers in his hair anyway.

an: another yap fic courtesy of me and @musingsofahufflepuff ; you're welcome. had to include the pic because if you have brown curly hair i'm in love with you.

warnings: none; just fluffy goofiness.

Staring wasn’t usually an issue for you. Typically you could take your glances here and there and still focus on what you needed to do. But today, you just couldn’t turn away.

Mattheo wasn't your boyfriend. He wasn't even really your friend...you didn't think at least. You weren't in his little group of pals. But he also didn't ignore you like he did most people.

People often thought it was strange how nice he was to you. Not that he ever really sought you out or anything, but if your paths crossed he would say hello to you, would smile at you even.

You knew he was attractive, and your friends were convinced that he thought you were too. Of course you brushed those off. However if he was your boyfriend your current irritation could be fixed without question.

Mattheo's hair looked flat as hell.

The top of his head looked like he'd been wearing an American baseball cap for about a week straight. His hair seemingly flat around his skull and his curls twisting at the ends.

It really was a shame. If he would just fluff his roots his entire hair would come back to life, you were sure of it. But you couldn't just jump the desk in front of you to get to him, rifle your own fingers through his scalp and revive his ringlets.

"Alright everyone! Partner up, partner up!" Slughorn waved his hands in the air, dismissing the class to form pairs for brewing Draught of the Living Death.

Immediately you rounded your table, lightly grabbing his elbow. Mattheo turned towards you at your touch, a grin forming on his lips. "Partners?" You asked, hoping your look didn't appear to pleading.

"Sure thing, babe," Mattheo responded without hesitation, pulling the stool next to him out for you before grabbing your books from your previous table.

Throughout the potion preparation you kept stealing glances at him. Er, well, his hair. You did need to brew the potion, but you'd be damned if you left this lesson without correcting his curls.

"Have I got something on my face?" Mattheo jested. You laughed lightly, shaking your head before picking up the last of the ingredients to toss them in the cauldron.

Mattheo began to sir, the color of the potion changing correctly with what you both were doing. And you were staring again. You knew it. You knew he could feel it because he was grinning once more.

"Can I just.." you pointed somewhat shyly at his head. Mattheo cocked his head slightly, giving a small nod.

You let out a sigh of relief, lifting your hands and quickly threading your fingers between curls and to his scalp. As you fluff his hair, nails scratching at his scalp slightly, Mattheo's eyes almost involuntarily roll.

"Merlin's fucking beard, that feels good," Mattheo praises as you finally take your hands away from his head. He shakes his head back and forth, his curls flopping this way and that before standing still again, giving you a big smile, "Better?"

"Godric, yes," you breathe, "I'm sorry, Matty. The flatness was killing me." Mattheo bit his lip to stifle a laugh, "Oh yeah? Tell me how you really feel, babe."

You gave a playful shove to his shoulder, "You really should pay attention to your hair more. It's one of your best features. But Enzo did just get that new haircut and might I say..." you gave an exaggerated sigh and fanned your face with your hand.

"You saying Enzo's hair looks better than mine?" Mattheo laid a hand on his chest, mocking offense. You shrugged, grin continuously growing.

Mattheo gasped at your lack of response, squeezing your side playfully. You giggled, pushing his hands away, "Okay, okay. I'm just saying you need to take care of those curls or one hot guy haircut is gonna make you fall down the ranks."

Mattheo shook his head, his now lively curls bouncing as he did. "Listen, if you ever. And I mean ever see my curls dead again, I don't care what I'm doing, you stop me and fix them. Preferably with the head scratches like you just did."

There was no thought needed, no extra considerations, before your immediate response, "Deal."

[trevination]

sink to black from blue (a marlie drabble)

(for those sadly uninformed, marlie is micah foster/charlie torres-moore aka trevor & josh’s greaser characters who are basically our ocs <3) (just scroll the #marlie tag on my blog lmao

inspired by this post! canon universe, post-rumble! shout out to @elisadoreyou & @wassupmygays creating these guys with u have been so fun omg

—————

Micah winced at the alcohol sting. The cut on his temple was nasty, probably could use a stitch or two. The thought was almost funny ‘cause he sure as hell didn’t have enough money to afford stitches. It’d leave a tough scar. Good.

“I said I’m fine, okay? This ain’t my first rumble,”

Charlie’s face was pinched tight, lips pressed in a thin line. He was kneeled in front of the toilet, where Micah was leaned over himself. One hand on Micah’s knee with his thumb rubbing back and forth.

He hissed at the next sting. It did nothing for his bitch of a headache.

The rumble did a number on him, he’ll admit it. He could hold his own fine — more than fine. And he did— but those football Socs could throw a hard punch. It made something rough boil in the pit of his stomach.

“Don’t care. You shouldn’t go out getting all hurt like this.”

It felt like a stab to his pride. He’s been doing this for seventeen years— yearly eighteen. He can handle himself. He don’t need taking care for.

“I fight, Charlie, that’s what I’ve always fucking done. I don’t need a babysitter,” He bit it out in quick barks. Everything felt red and hot.

“That’s not—��

“I’ve done this a million times alone—” He tried to swat the bottle out of Charlie‘s hand, but Charlie pulled away quick. It just made him madder. “And I don’t need someone to fucking lick my wounds for me.”

“That‘s not what I’m trying to do!” Charlie snapped back. Blood rushed in Micah’s ears. He could feel the anger on face through heat and the strain on his scraps. It burned

“It fucking feels like it,”

“I’m trying to help, okay?”

Micah couldn’t even process the sweep of desperation in Charlie’s tone before the dam burst.

“I don’t need help, damn it!” He was too loud, he was gonna wake the kids up. Fuck. “I’ve been out in Tulsa my whole damn life, and y'know who looked out for me? No one. I sure as hell don’t need someone to act like I’m some baby! You weren’t out there fighting with me so you can fuck off trying to help now!”

He knew he didn’t mean the words as soon as he said ‘em. Charlie didn’t need to fight in that rumble. He didn’t think he wanted him to. That night was ‘bout the bloodiest night that he’d seen in a long time. He gets why. Ponyboy and Johnny Cade’s face are still circling the papers every morning, calling for their arrests. Those Socs aren’t letting ‘em go for nothing.

He didn’t want Charlie caught up in that at all.

The blood in his ears and pounding in his head was so loud, Charlie had to squeeze his knees for Micah to realize he’d been talking.

His jaw was set hard and his eyes were so damn sure. But trying to get through a brick wall with words did nothing. Something inside of Micah ached. Was that all he was now?

“I ain’t a fighter, Micah,”

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t met what he said. “I don’t need you to be one, Char. You just—”

“No, look, I— I don’t get this fighting stuff. I wasn’t raised with it, I’ve never fought a fight like— like that shit in my life, okay? That’s not ever in the cards. I’m useless right now and seeing you all beat and bruised makes me feel sick or somethin’. I gotta…” He swallowed thickly and the frustration on his face broke into something raw. His breath trembled. “I gotta do something to help. I can’t fight and I care about you so—”

They both paused at the confession. Charlie’s brown eyes were wide and Micah was sure his were too.

What’s been going on between ‘em hasn’t necessarily been left unaddressed, but it’s been left unspoken. They both know. It’s obvious as hell to the both of ‘em. It hasn’t been spoken not because of fear, but survival.

“I know,” Micah whispered, almost a croak. Hope sparked to life in Charlie’s eyes. “I do, too, I…”

He didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know what he could say without crossing some unspoken line.

Micah has only focused on the important things— his family and their survival. That’s the whole point of his fighting, his work, his life. He’s never wanted. Not like this. Not in such a selfish, indulgent way that feels like something stabbing through his heart.

Nothing else could be said from him.

Charlie smiled tentatively. There was something fragile in the air.

“Just let me do this.” He whispered. “For me. Seeing you like this all alone makes my heart feel like it was in that rumble, too.”

Charlie’s eyes practically pleaded with his resolve. He wanted to shut the door in his face and gasp through the pain and slip into bed next to his siblings and pretend like nothing hurt until he couldn’t anymore. He was used to being alone. What was one more night?

But another part, something so deeply pushed down, he barely even knew it was there— longed. For Charlie’s smile, his touch and soft hands on his face, his lips on his head, whispered words only the two of them knew. It was a terrible part of him but Charlie didn’t care.

So. Against all his seventeen years of fighting, Micah let his wall break down and he nodded.

“Thank you,” He croaked. He wasn’t going to cry, but the emotion was there all the same.

Charlie’s smile was gentle, so sure, so caring. He could tell Micah all the world would be fine and he’d believe him. He picked the bottle of alcohol up off the floor and raised a hand to Micah’s cheek.

His palm was soft. It just grazed against his face, but for once, Micah let himself lean into the touch until Charlie’s hand cupped his cheek. Charlie rubbed a thumb over his cheekbone. His dark eyes reflected the bathroom lights.

God, Charlie could break open Micah’s every defense and he doesn’t even know if he could put up a good fight.

“Thank you,” Charlie whispered back into Micah’s eyes. His lips parted— and he picked up the wash rag.

[08melancholie]

the vanderbells yuri in dti goes hard

dutchy: @angel-w1ngsss

[zweigsons]

art would be so clingy i need him to be real. like brother i am tweaking out. he said himself he thought tashi was equivalent to jesus???? wow i love. anyway you can respond to this agreeing and fangirling or write something😁

sorry for disappearing but i'm SO BACK!

clingy art is my fav fucking concept ever. imagineeee dating him at stanford and he texts you in between classes constantly, asking what you're doing, how you're doing, when you can see him again

and then in the present day while you're at work he's doing the same thing, except this time he's your husband and can't get enough of you and sometimes you spend your precious time at work letting your husband text you in detail what he wants to do to you that night.

[miguel-owhora]

not to spam post but hardcore thinking about Micah being wedged between the gang's two biggest members, Arthur and Bill, and letting both men have their way with him. He'd be stuffed on both ends, taking Bill's cock down his throat and Arthur up his ass.

I can't stop imagining Bill squeezing his head with his thighs; not enough to hurt him, of course, but enough to really emphasize just how physically powerless he'd be against them. Micah wouldn't be able to properly breathe, ragged and heavy as the burly man forces his fat cock down his throat, giving a light squeeze to the faint bulge of his throat. How Micah would slobber around him, flushed across his face, maybe with a few tears. His eyes would be dark with arousal and half-lidded, absolutely loving the taste of Bill on his tongue. His nose would be buried into his nest of dark pubes with each thrust, Bill's mighty hands gripping his head in place, forcing him to breathe him in, but fuck if he doesn't love it.

But it's hard to solely focus on the big cock in his mouth, when there's an equally big cock stretching him open. Micah wouldn't just be moaning because of Bill, no, for he also sings a chorus for Arthur. For Arthur and the way he grips Micah's waist with rough, calloused fingers, holding onto the pudgy waist and fucking into him as if it's the last thing he'll ever do. How his balls smack against the curve of his ass, how he fails to hide his low groans and curses, fingers tightening their hold on Micah as he fucks into him, splitting open his gummy walls and warm cavern, feeling his ass bounce against his sharp thrusts.

It's a position none of the men would ever imagine they'd be in, never mind at the same time. But none complain, because it's hard to complain when all you can do is moan and chase that hedonistic feeling, even if it's in the form of some outlaw.