#pearson x male reader

[miguel-owhora]

Simon Pearson, the man that you are. After cooking for the gang for so long, for so many years, going unappreciated, imagine pulling him away and offering to eat him out as a token of appreciation. He'd be quick to refuse but takes back his offer when you pull his pants down, pussy revealing itself.

He's a big, pot bellied man. There's no doubt in my mind that Simon has a big fat pussy. You'll have to use your fingers and spread them to get to the fat cock hiding under his mound, maybe even lift his belly up a bit to be able to properly slip his cock into your mouth.

[keppa-nero]

RDR2 x Male! OC/Reader

Robbing Stagecoaches And Killing

Lawmen

🎅Have faith it gets better!!🎅

CHAPTER 1 - Colter

TW: Bad Language \ Death \ Violence \ Mentions of mental illnesses \ Blood (?) \ Animal deaths (not cruelty) \ Posible slurs

The way from our past hiding spot to what we hoped was going to be a successful ride, had ended up being longer than we expected.

Colter was the name of land we entered, an extremely cold weather zone with heavy snow and thick layers of ice even in spring.

–Abigail says she's dying, Dutch. – I heard Reverend say as he walked near our wagon, making me wake up from my tired daze. I sat up with a groan and disconnected from their conversation, taking in the trail up ahead us this time. We got caught into a heavy blizzard it seemed, my eyes getting dry enough to itch in the two seconds I have been conscious, but I could still see the rest of our gang's coaches marching behind ours.

Sitting correctly, I tried to accommodate myself between the gang's properties pressing on my back, since I myself had chosen to travel in the transport wagon, out of all. But seeing how many horses and people were traveling all together, honestly made anyone feel we'd get caught any second now by the law, even if it was difficult with this god damned weather.

–Keita! Tighten up the ropes back there, the mountain's headed down! – Hosea's voice called from the reins, my eyes darting to see we were getting into hard terrain. Still no signs of this weather calming down.

I nodded and hopped inside the wagon, securing everything from below, and shivered a bit at the difference in temperature inside here. How I missed being in the hot wild west.

When I came back out though, Arthur had finally appeared after separating from us to search for a good spot, ended up we had luck and found somewhere nice and warm to properly rest in.

"Thank goodness" I swear I could hear all of the women say in unison from the other coaches.

I let my boots fall to touch the cold ice covered ground, moving quick to not bother the path and grabbed onto the metal hold of the back of the wood to step in the other wagon behind me, sitting down with a heavy sigh next to the ladies. Tilly, Karen Mary-Beth and Molly. Anyone would realize how violently most shivered, holding themselves to not freeze on the spot.

"Y'all doing fine, girls?" I asked softly, knowing these circumstances were being hard to handle, and more with the pressure of knowing the law was behind our feet. I noticed Molly jumped a bit at my voice, smacking my arm on instance, she probably fell asleep on the way and didn't expect me here. Like anyone ever, like I'm always unwanted.

–I thought you didn't like sharing a place, Mr. Sepúlveda. – Tilly spoke from below her scarf, as I just nodded my head slightly, leaning my head back on the wooden wall of our transport.

"Yah... I don't, no, just figured out you ladies could do some chatting, honestly thought some of you froze or something from how quiet you were" I said lightheartedly, hearing Karen scoffing.

–Because we were in peace, until you came, mister. – Karen remarked yet with a smirk, making my smile fall off subtly but I chuckled anyway and nodded, keeping the small conversation going.

By the time we got to where Arthur has directed us to, everyone was too tired and cold to complain about space. We went direct to grab any space to stay warm and try to make of this place a proper camp.

It happened to be a long gone abandoned line of family cabins, as we supposed, where we now had a large cabin and three other sheds, even a stable too, something that brought at least a hint of joy knowing the horses could rest too.

We eventually all joined inside the bigger cabin, quickly bringing Davey in too and check if he still had a pulse.

–Davey's dead. – Abigail spoke directly after noticing he didn't respond to anything, his breathing was gone and his eyes were half open staring at nothing, making everyone near the sight squint their eyes in silence. I leaned against the doorframe, keeping the quiet all of us shared while Dutch went into a little speech to give us hope, finally sending all of us to do something to help, eventually.

I didn't get any order but knew what to do, since we needed to be quick and not have more losses now that we had a spot. I went to grab some wood, for the heaters and to help Pearson with the food.

I didn't walk much away from everyone else, just turning the mountain we had near and stopping by the river, where some strong looking pine trees stood untouched, up to me.

I still tried to keep facing towards the way I came from, though it was impossible for me to get lost as I was two steps away from everyone, I didn't care. I like being alone, but I do not like to go alone, they were two different things and for my brain the latter sounded like I was gonna die. It's what I constantly had on my mind.

My eyes fixed on the dark brown bark of the pine tree, taking the axe I had by my belt, tightening my hands around the handle and starting to swing. The sharp thick blade cut easily through bark, making the first hits easy until it went through wood, swinging back and forth, with every impact my arms vibrating along the weapon, my breath hitching everytime it happened.

Still, I didn't look anywhere else than what I was doing, as shadows kept appearing on the end of my eye and disappearing when I looked that way. It really felt like someone, or something, was right there, standing next to me and breathing on my neck.

I could swear I felt sweat starting to form on my palms and dripping down my neck even when there was probably negative degrees where I stood, my throat working by itself and swallowing where there wasn't even saliva, making it feel like I was being possessed. My mind was against me, and my physical body now too?

"Fuck-…" I swore under my breath when I jumped at a sudden noise, whipping my head around in panic just to see it was a pinecone that fell, next to the pile of snow that formed after I kept chopping down the tree. My eyes then narrowed as something really stung in my arm, letting my axe fall as I rolled up my sleeve, seeing a really long deep cut I made myself when I got spooked. I groaned, now my clothes were ragged too.

I squeezed my arm to let the stubborn blood fall down freely to the snow and staining it red, the same color my arm was now too. The pain now really shot up and I cursed myself yet again for being so incredibly fucking stupid I couldn't believe myself.

Realizing then that it'd be no help to complain, I rolled my sleeve back down and got back to swinging at the tree, feeling the blood soaking my dark grey coat with every movement.

"Tree!" I then yelled at, well, no one, when the wood started cracking and leaning forward, as I stepped out of the way to not get crushed to death, then left a sigh knowing I had to break it down into smaller pieces now.

While doing so, I swear I could hear a distant shooting and yelling on the either side of the mountain, but I tried to shrug it off as my imagination, it usually was just that. It took me a long good hour to finish cutting the trunk fully, putting it all in a spread cloth and hanging it over my shoulder to drag it back to camp. I left it by Pearson's place where he was stirring the usual stew, grabbing a plate for myself and humming him off when he thanked me for the spare fire wood.

I, for once, decided to eat it all right there instead of alone, since I felt way too... Watched, to go on my own for now. After checking my arm, realizing no way in hell we were prepared enough to stitch this up, I sucked it up once more and went to my supposedly assigned shed I've been told was mine, not with anyone, since I repeat; I just can't be with anyone and no one wants to be with me, I'm too paranoid for anyone to want me near.

Well this was wrong.

I opened the door quietly with my arm, looking inside and seeing my bedroll on the left side with my bag, a heater in the middle and a- A lady, sitting on the bed that was supposed to be mine. Of course I froze in my spot and just stared at her with widen eyes. I didn't recognize her at all, and she was looking at me with red puffy eyes and a hurt demeanor.

So as logically as any, my body reacted before me and slammed the door closed, rushing off to the large cabin and almost breaking the old door down in the process, attracting everyone's gaze towards me, looking confused, and then noticing my expression and went back to their thing. This was way too usual and it was getting tiring, I know.

–What's got you all nervous this time? – I heard Abigail suddenly say, being the only one to approach me in this state. Having a normal conversation now grounded me slightly.

"There was a-... Lady, in my room" I said quietly, now saying it out loud made it sound actually ridiculous without context. I looked up at her when she just snorted in laughter.

–Oh yeah, there is, she didn't bother you did she? Her name was, err, Sadie if I remember. – She spoke in her relaxed manner, making me ease up instantly, realizing it wasn't something only I 'saw'. She seemed to notice my confused look after she said so, and just waved her hand off dismissively. –Right, she's a widow that Dutch and the boys took in, she lost her husband to some O'Driscolls and her house burnt down. She got the luck of a worm, you surely wouldn't mind having her share a room with you, wouldn't ya Keita?-

I just let a little 'Oh', realizing just how wrong I got the situation. I nodded absent-mindedly and glanced around, seeing the women, Jack and Reverend resting inside, warming up by the heater.

"Speaking about them, where's Arthur?" I asked, it was very noticeable when Arthur wasn't around.

–Arthur, he went with Javier to look for John, hope he's okay, that damn idiot. – She said in an almost angered manner, probably gotten pissed over the simple thought of John, understandable really. I laughed a simple 'Heh' in a dissappointed manner, knowing I'd have to socialize first with someone that was now sleeping next to me.

My feet brought me into my now shared shed, closing the door behind me as I sat on my bedroll on the floor, putting my bag next to it and taking off my boots, just sitting there with my elbows on my knees, my gaze down. The whole thing was silent and painfully awkard, the only sound being the creaking of the wooden planks with each uncomfortable movement I made.

"Hey" I greeted first in what I tried to make a calm tone, realizing she wouldn't talk first. "They didn't tell me I was having a roommate... Not that I mind I mean, what was your name again?"

–Sadie... Sadie Adler. – She croaked out after some seconds of reading me fully, looking away, making me do so too noticing I was staring, in not a romantic or charming manner.

"Well I'm Keita... I won't get in any of your business if you don't want me to, you can ask me anything you need if you want, no problem with me..." Like I wasn't the one being all worked up over a simple 'Hello', this was my shed, damn.

She simply answered with a nod and a slight sniff, turning on the bed to most surely go to sleep, signaling no more interaction. I decided to do the same, laying on my back and covering myself with the thin cover, taking off my gloves and putting them with my other things for tomorrow, noticing they were slightly blood stained too. I just stared at the ceiling, my eyes feeling heavy and a sigh left my lips, finally dozing off.

...

"...- Shit- Ah! Ah! Fuck! Ah!" I woke up by some yelling, sitting up quickly with my breathing now heavy and my eyes looking around in panic, sweating cold.

"God... I hate my life..." I mumbled and fell back on my bedroll, passing a hand through my stubble. Great way to do first thing in the morning.

Well, I guess the lady I was sharing a room with also heard me or I've been like this for a while, from the blank spot on the bed.

Fuck... I need a cigarette.

END CHAPTER 1

AN: Y'ALL I FINALLY FINISHED 👹👹. Those weird things and all are all based on my own experiences so please don't drop comments saying it's not like reality at all. The following parts of this fanfic I'll try to make them more interesting, I just couldn't do much in Colter. Don't lose hope in me‼️

[issdisgrace]

LOST BETS AND SKIRTS

In order to get money for the camp. The men and woman in the gang made a bet against each other that whatever group could con/rob the most out of people by the end of the week would pick what they did with the money raised but they also got to pick the punishment for the other group’s failure to collect.

The bet was won by the women and they decided that the men all had to wear skirts for the next week and that all of them had to go out of camp at least 5 separate times with the skirts on and they couldn’t just sit around camp and wait for the week to be over.

So all the men had to go into town to buy a skirt to wear for their punishment, using their own money. In the end Dutch ended paying for everyone as he was feeling very generous. But anyway, picture a group of men going into a boutique looking at skirts and trying them on. It was a sight to see.

Also, the women managed to get them all together at the end of the week and took a picture of all of them together in their skirt. Ms Grimshaw later on got a frame for the picture and she often walks by it and laughs, thinking back to that week.

WHAT TYPE OF SKIRT THEY GOT

Arthur let Charles pick out his skirt, as he was too overwhelmed by all the choices. Charles ended up pick out a light brown skirt for him. It was simple and Arthur can easily move around in it.

Bill got a simple dark brown skirt that flowed way too much in the wind and he may or may have not accidentally flashed some people because I fell like the man hates wearing underwear.

Charles got a purple skirt with a nice lace detailing on it. He looks magnificent in it. He looked like a god, even. Arthur spent almost his whole week drooling over Charles.

Dutch being Dutch got a really nice expensive black skirt with a nice red jeweled pattern. He also got the skirt tailored to him because he is Dutch.

Hosea got a blue skirt that reminded him of something Bessie would have worn. It made him feel powerful, and he rocked that shit.

John and Javier got matching black skirts. They both rocked them and in the end, the two started to wear skirts around camp 24/7 unless they were some place cold.

Kerian got a simple blue skirt that matches his shirt. Initially, Kerian was very self-conscious about the way he looked in his skirt, but over the week, he slowly became more and more confident.

Lenny manage to find an orange skirt that looked similar to his orange handkerchief. He mostly liked the experience, but he hated the attention that just wearing a skirt caused.

Micah got a red skirt because he loves the color red. He decided to fuck it if I’m gonna make a fool out of myself. At least I look good. So he fully committed to his art and got the whole womanly shebang and for his week he dressed up as a woman and robbed way too many men blind.

Pearson picked out a simple black skirt. He spent most of his week in the saloon with the others. He enjoyed the skirt, and it reminded of his time in the navy. So when he got drunk, he spent his time telling stories of his time in the navy.

Sean got a green skirt that matched his hat perfectly. He also got it because it has ruffles at the bottom of it. Sean flashed multiple camp members on purpose as a joke.

Swanson was surprisingly fine with the whole ordeal. He got a black skirt and rocked that shit. Now he only really wears pants when it’s cold and those are under the skirt.

THEIR FEELINGS ON THE PUNISHMENT

9/10. Arthur thought he would absolutely hate the whole experience, but he enjoyed it. He also thought it was funny that he was a man in a skirt chasing down his bounty. As no one really thinks that they would ever be chased down, tackled, and hog-tied by a man wearing a skirt. Also during this time his wallet kept fluctuating as he kept buying Charles fancy drinks then would go and caught a bounty to get back the money he spent on Charles.

8/10. Bill was surprisingly fine with having to wear the skirt. He actually enjoyed it, but he would never tell anyone. But sometimes when he’s a little too much to drink, he slips it on and struts around the camp in it. But during his week he went out more than the 5 required times and he surprisingly enjoyed everyone’s eyes being on him. Also, the first time he wore it to the saloon in Valentine, some drunk made fun of him and he beat the absolute shit out of him. So when he continued to show up throughout the week with the skirt on, no one dared to say anything to him.

10/10. Charles liked the whole experience. On the occasion he does wear the skirt as it is the perfect thing to wear when the weather is warm. Charles didn’t mind the attention he got while wearing the skirt, as it was mostly people completing him or buying him drinks.

7/10. Dutch thought he would hate it but ended up really like the whole experience. He kept the skirt and wore it on occasion around camp when it was hot as hell out as it had a nice breeze and he didn’t feel so hot and stuff down there. Dutch also had the thought when he was wearing the skirt and people would look at him funny that at least he’s wearing something and not going around butt ass naked.

7/10. Hosea enjoyed the experience and took it as a good lesson on women’s beauty standers. It had a downside, and he wasn’t able to con as many people as he would have liked due to the skirt, but he still managed to get a good bag in the end. At the end of the week, he took it to Bessie’s grave as a gift.

10/10. Javier really enjoyed it. He enjoyed the attention that came along with the skirt as well. He picked up many ladies and men in the saloon due to his skirt and his charm. Like I stated, he is only ever found in a skirt when he’s at camp. He finds it nice and comfy. He also likes how he is defying societal norms.

8/10. John enjoyed it. The whole experience brought something out in him. He started to care more about his appearance and his clothes. The experience also brought out a more feminine side in John, but if anyone dared questioned or asked him about it, he would threaten them with his knife. His thoughts were definitely along the line of if you say the wrong thing about me and my knew found femininity, I will cut your balls off and shove them down your throat.

6.5/10. Like I said, Kerian was initially very self-conscious about the way he looked in the skirt, afraid that one of the others would make fun of him despite being in the same boat. As the week went on, he slowly found confidence not a lot, but some was better than none. Due to this whole experience, Kerian started to feel more comfortable with himself and the way he presented himself. He started presenting more androgynous. Eventually, overtime he wanted to explore his feminine side beside wearing skirts around camp. So he managed to work up the courage to ask the girls how to do makeup. They were all happy to give him tips and tricks. In the end, Kerian never thought a stupid bet would make him more comfortable with himself.

7/10. Lenny is very chill and enjoyed his time in the skirt. Like I said earlier, Lenny didn’t really like the attention when he wore his skirt out for the designated 5 times. The only times he was fine with the attention was when a surprising amount of women kept buying him drinks. After the week was up, he cut the skirt up into different sizes and uses them as rags.

10/10. Micah has commitment to his craft. He shaved his facial hair off; he got one of the girls to do his makeup. He made up a fake back story and perfected his voice, which he surprisingly sounded like a woman. Some of the guys thought the girls brought another woman back to camp, only to find that it was Micah. The whole camp, even Swanson and Pearson, went to see Micah put his plan in action. They watched from a far as Micah played damsel in distress and robbed man after man. He ended up with a bag full of goods. He also kept the git up and on occasion when he’s in a good mood he’ll put it on and play damsel in distress.

8/10. Pearson enjoyed the whole experience but he won’t tell anyone that. While Pearson was out, he blended in well and never got any comments on the skirt. Also, like I said earlier, when he got drunk, he told stories of his time in the Navy. Let’s just say the gang found out how much of a freak Pearson was when he was younger. 0/10 the gang will never let him get drunk enough for story teller Pearson to come out.

9/10. Sean loved it. He still wears his skirt around camp. He doesn’t give two fucks what others have to say about him and his skirt. He went out his required 5 times, but other than that, he mostly lounged around camp. When he was out, he found that he was mostly ignored. Most people thought it was a cultural thing, so they didn’t say anything.

10/10. Swanson throughly enjoyed it but he was also drunk half the time, so that also probably added to his willingness. He spent more than his 5 required times out of camp. He never got questioned on why he was wearing a skirt as people just thought it was a religious garment. Also, like I said earlier, Swanson now only wears a skirt, but when it’s cold, he wears pants underneath his skirt.

EXTRA

Jack got jealous after 2 days that everyone was wearing a skirt, so he convinced Abigail to take him to go get one. He got a black one to match John’s.

10/10. Jack loved it and he, like his father, wears the skirt around camp all the time. I feel like he also continued this into his adulthood as a way to honor his father. But during the week, Jack went out with John a couple of times to show off that he was matching with his daddy. While Jack was out with John, he saw his father threaten and beat the shit out of a couple of people that made comments about the two of them. John then made Jack promise to never tell Abigail and Jack stuck to his promise and never told his mother.

Trelawny was just visiting for a week and the week he came was the week the punishment happened. Trelawny decided eh why not, even though I’m not a part of this I will participate. He went in to town with the others ended up getting a really nice red skirt with black lace detail on it.

10/10. Trelawny loved the whole experience. He also very much enjoyed the attention that he got when he was out. He also enjoyed how many men and women bought him drinks throughout the week, but as pay back he would do magic for them. I must warn you, when he gets too drunk his magic starts lacking, and he starts speaking French. So if you don’t speak French, I’m afraid that you’ll be very lost when he starts ranting.

[fox-bee926]

My Tailor

Harvey Specter x fem!reader

Masterlist A/N: holy shit dudes I finally did it. It was hard and full of procrastination. But I did it. I might make another one. I might not. At this point consistency is a figment of my imagination. (not really edited don't come for me) Anyway! Enjoy! TW: suggestive talking, but only a bit of a joke. Nothing really scandalous or anything of the sort; Harvey being jealous Word Count: ~997 (nothing real crazy dw)

(Third POV)

Mike walks up to the door of Ms. Tailor’s Thread and Needle, business card in hand. The sign says closed, and the shop seems dark, but there is obvious movement. He is just about to knock on the door when it swings open. The woman seems very surprised when he stumbles back, rubbing his hands on his pants.

“Hello... Do you work here?”

“No, I sneak in just to eat my lunch.” 

Mike looks panicked for a moment, then composes himself. “By the sarcasm, I assume you do. I was sent by Harvey Specter. He has made his opinion on my suits very clear.”

“Of course he did, they’re terrible," Mike looks down, confused, thinking they were top of the line. "I’m Ms. Taylor, come on in.” Ms. Taylor opens the door wider, but keeps the sign flipped to closed. She smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress pants. “The other girls went out for lunch but Jessie told me I had a priority one booking. I’m going to assume that’s you.”

Mike walks into the shop and looks around. He stops in his tracks with a deer in headlights look. “Wait a minute, Harvey told me not to talk to you.”

“Did he now? Oh, don’t worry about him, honey. I promise he won’t mind.” The door shuts closed and Ms. Taylor turns the rest of the floor lights on as she grabs a small box of tools.

Mike goes to stand on the raised platform encircled by lights. “Are you sure? He seemed pretty... clear. Just as clear as his hating of my suits.”

“Positive, Mike. Now, let’s see what we’re working with. Oh, and please, call me Y/N.”

___

(Second POV)

You unlock the door to your shared apartment with Harvey. Mike had talked to you quite a bit about his time at Pearson Hardman. Especially how much of an ass Harvey had been to him. You had thought about talking Harvey into easing up on him, but in the end you decided against it. Harvey was bound to be upset hearing you two even talked at all. 

“He just said not to talk to you. No explanation or anything. I was worried that you had torn his suit or something.”

“I tore the buttons off one time, but that was completely non-work related. I’ll talk to him when I get home. For now, just say Jessie tailored you. Have a good day, hun, and good luck.”

You couldn’t lie, you were a bit upset that Harvey told his own associate not to let you tailor him. You had tailored every person even remotely close to Harvey, even Louis. However, Harvey’s jealousy was understandable. After Louis had not so subtly flirted with you, and not so subtly got his pockets’ seams ripped, Harvey was weary of sending his male coworkers to you for a suit.

The sound of the front door closing and your bag hitting the floor caught the attention of said Harvey Specter from the kitchen. As soon as your eyes met, he knew he was in trouble. Harvey waited patiently, wine glass in hand, in silence as you took your coat and heels off. Finally, you spoke.

“You told your own associate not to be tailored by me?”

“That little snitch. I knew something was up when he said Jessie had tailored him. You would never send Jessie to tailor a priority one.”

“That’s right. I would never send Jessie to tailor a priority one. I would never send anyone but myself to tailor a priority one, and you knew that. Yet, you were going to have Mike get a below-standard tailor job because you couldn’t handle your girlfriend hemming the pants of your coworker.” The more you talked, the more you realized just how angry you were. 

You and Harvey had had this conversation several times. You always said how you could handle yourself when male clients tried getting frisky (they always tried,) and Harvey said that he hates you getting so close to his male coworkers.

“This is- This is ridiculous! I shouldn’t have to ask you not to tailor my coworkers! I don’t like your hands being so close to their... inseam.” He made a confused face for a moment before going back to his rant. “How should I feel knowing that every man you tailor in New York feels your hands on him? How should that make me feel other than angry and very, very shitty?” His hands gripped the counter in frustration, and you copied the motion.

“You should feel angry. But you should also trust that the only thing I’m doing is poking a needle very close to their ‘inseam,’ as you put. I promise you, I can handle myself.” You reached across the counter and wrapped your hand around his.

Harvey hung his head, knowing he wouldn’t be getting anywhere. Also knowing, deep down, that he was overreacting a bit. “Fine. I’m sorry. But I’m still not going to recommend anyone unless absolutely necessary.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t expect anything less.” You walked around to his side of the counter and wrapped your arms around him, leaning your head against his back. He smelled of ballpoint pen and whatever cologne he decided to wear that day. You could never tell them apart, but you’d never tell him that.

After a minute or two he turned around in your arms and gently placed his hands on your face. 

“What would I do without you?”

“Not have the best tailored suits in New York City, at the very least.” You both chuckled and he placed a small kiss on your lips. “To be fair, I wouldn’t have the first clue how I would survive without you.”

“Well, for one you wouldn’t have the best kisser in New York City.” You let out a loud giggle and a few murmurs “oh really?” as he attacked your face with kisses of various weight. Finally, he left a passionate kiss on your lips, right where he started. He brushed a lock of hair out from in front of your face.

“What is a man without his best suit, anyways?”

[orphicrose]

Ok so i just saw your Hosea x child reader and it was amazing (obviously) now I'm wondering if you could do Hosea x reader who's an old friend. The reader has a somewhat stable life, used to be a doctor but moved to a small cot in the mountains. They kinda keep in contact via letters but not really that often because the reader isn't too keen to gi into town and send out mail. What if Hosea has to introduce the reader to the gang at some point, like what if they are on the run again so Hosea leads them up the mountain onto the reader's property to kinda hide there. At first reader doesn't recognize Hosea because they haven't seen each other in a long time, but then he invites them all in, maybe he's even got enough room for all of them and the reader is just this sweet old man, same age as Hosea who treat everyone with respect if they deserve it, helps them out, doesn't judge etc. Hosea is just so glad that his family and his crush best friend are getting along.

Colter (Hosea x Male!Reader)

Note: In an au where Hosea takes the gang to readers home instead of colter. Thank you for the Request!

Warnings ! ! None

W/C : 1.1k

----------------------------------------

The harsh wind was suffocatingly cold, rugged mountainous landscape making travel near impossible. The atmosphere unforgiving, and bleak. The van der linde troops struggling to maintain life, every exhale met with a cold cloud. Huddling together in the back of the wagon to invade at each others warmth. Arthur shivered on his horse uncontrollably, him and Dutch shouting back and forth.

"There's nothing out there, Dutch!" He yelled over the heaving of ice through the air, powerful enough to pull him from his horse.

"Keep looking!" Dutchs voice broke as he shouted back.

"I know a place, keep going north!" Hosea gripped at the reins on his icy seat atop the wagon.

"You heard him!"

The group travelled the treacherous land, having no other choice but to push on. A flicker of life in the distance shining hope down on them, a small cabin revealing itself from the harsh winter.

Hosea let himself in first, letting the group know there was no danger. The beautiful heat from the raging fire hit them hard, offering instant relief from their dampened cloths. But perhaps they should have knocked, first. As a strange man had the barrel of his gun pointed at Dutchs head.

"Easy, yn" Hosea stepped forward, hand stretched in front of him.

The old man slowly dropped his weapon,, eyes lighting up at the sight of Hosea.

"Hosea! Long time no see old pal" His arms pulled the man into an embrace, Hosea appreciating the extra layer of warmth. "Caught in the Blizzard, I see?"

"Oh you know me. Always getting myself into life or death situations" He patted his old friends back and then retreated from the hug, pointing to the shivering group of people behind him. "Speaking of, don't suppose you could help a old bunch of delinquents?"

Y/n stood there for a second in thought, frail hands touching at his chin. "Well, There's not a lot of space but I don't mind sharing it for a few nights. As long as y'all don't reck the place"

"Of course, y/n. And no need to worry, we will repay your kindness. We have some skilled hunters amidst our criminals." Hosea pats Arthur on the back rather hard, an indication to his next mission.

"I'm sure you do" Y/n chuckles, inviting them inside.

"We really appreciate this, what was it, y/n?" Dutch offers the man a hand.

"Thats right" He returns the hand shake and smiles warmly at the charismatic man.

"Dutch, I suppose you could call me the leader of these 'bunch of delinquents'"

"Ah, I see" Y/n gave Hosea a knowing look. Having spoken about him in the letters they shared over the years. The moment took a turn when Pearson and Javier began to heave in the injured Davey. His pale skin mimicking that of the snow that surrounded them.

"He's not going to make it for much longer if we don't do something" Abigail moved everyone out of the way as they hauled the almost corpse from the bitter cold.

"Bring him in here" Y/n waved his hand as he cleared the wooden table sat in his small kitchen.

At least 20 minutes of tireless work and tense vibes had passed, y/n doing his best to stop the bleeding and prevent infection. Davey was in a stable position, his body being warmed by a fire as he lay in a makeshift bed on the floor. Still remaining still and in a deep sleep. But alive nonetheless.

Everyone had found a space to settle in. Drying out their clothes around the room, and taking the time to finally rest. John, who had been picked up on the way, lay similarly to Davey. Still and wounded. The idiot was mauled by wolves. Luckily for him, his horse braved the blizzard enough to get him back to the group in time.

The rest of the men sipped on hot beverages made by y/n, enjoying the company of good stories and a warm shelter. Taking it in while they could, for the morning to come could only bring worse obstacles.

"I was a Doctor, years ago. Saved Hoseas life countless times. But, as most people do these days, I had bad people after me. Had to move somewhere more remote. Its really not that bad in the summer." Y/n sat, leaning on his knee on the floor with a coffee in his hand.

"Saved my life" Hosea scoffed. "You bandaged up a little scrape for me. A child could have done that"

"It was a bullet hole wound you terrible man" Y/n laughed, playfully shoving him.

They chuckled together. Listening to each other as they shared their silly stories. Ones about when Arthur was a boy, or how they'd picked up John as a child.

"We can't put into words how grateful we are for the shelter, Y/n" Dutch put a hand to his heart.

"My pleasure. Think of it as a sorry for almost shooting y'all earlier"

"Don't worry about feeding us. Pearson over here has been our designated chef for years now. I can't imagine he is about to quit now" He pointed to a larger man in the kitchen, making conversation with Swanson with a bottle in both their hands. Y/n chuckled and nodded.

"Well, good luck finding food or even fresh meat. I have to sacrifice myself once every two weeks at the moment to make it into the nearest town"

"Valentine?" Hosea questioned

"Yeah, that's the one. Not to far South-East of here" Y/n had planted an idea in Hosea's head. That would be where they will find themselves next.

The group found themselves drifting to sleep as the night grew old. Scattered on the chairs, the floor next to the fire and any space they could find. But they were warm and they were ok.

Y/n and Hosea moved to the bed, away from the swarm of people on the floor. "You are welcome here whenever you need, old friend" y/n got himself into bed and patted the empty space next to him.

Hosea gladly took the invitation and plated himself in the warmth of the blanket.

"Noted, y/n" They shared a smile, before letting themselves fall to sleep.

It had been weeks since they had left the mountains, and settled in Horse-shoe Overlook. Hosea thought about y/n most days, wondering how he was getting on. He still hadn't replied to the last letter he sent. But he will be waiting with anticipation. Perhaps he should take a trip up there soon.

[euoniatz]

Hey I saw your post abt writers block! I never really see people write much for Charles smith x male reader, can I get a fluff + smut pleaseeeeeee?

hi anon! i don't really write smut sorryy :( but fluff i can definitely do! 🙊💕 my brain decided to go chaos mode with this so it's a little all over the place. i hope that's fine anyways and that you'll enjoy!

☆ charles smith x male reader

tags: fluff, first kiss, getting together, pre-canon

wordcount: 1417

(not proof read)

<3

no one notices him as he slips back into camp with a pack slung over his shoulder. no one except you.

ignoring your mare's protest to the lack of movement of the brush in your hand, you watch as charles, the one you can't seem to place, drops of a pair of hares at pearson's stand before heading back towards the edges of camp.

you furrow your brows and glance at the moon high in the sky. why he's heading out in to the woods at this time of night evades you.

he has a lean-to in camp. one that he sleeps in more often than not. one that you share.

you've come to know charles as someone far from what you first expected him to be like.

where you only saw broad shoulders, bulging muscles, and an aura steering even a drunk-off-her-ass karen away, he shows you kindness wrapped in crafted arrowheads and feathers for your hat.

he shows you gentle in the way he murmurs to the deer and the fox and the elk before stabbing his knife in their hearts. in the way he weaves his fingers together as he tells you about his sad, sad past and teaches you about things you'd never even thought of.

he shows you passion in the way his voice turns fiery with rage as you confront bison-killers together. in the way he's steady when he tells arthur or john or you that the fool at the end of your gun doesn't need to die.

yeah, it's safe to say you've never met someone quite like charles smith.

you barely even remember how the two of you got so close. it's only been half a year since you were thrust into the madness of the gang, but all the memories of being distrusting and unsure of yourself have been replaced with the one's of charles' hand brushing yours as you work together on chores or talks that muddle time in some crazy way only mary-beth and her novels could explain.

maybe you are simply both of the quieter nature. maybe your shared interest in nature and animals is what brings you together. or it's the fact that you're both relatively new to the gang. perhaps you just simply like each other.

nevertheless, charles sneaking off in the middle of the night after just returning tells that either he's taking a leak and will be back within the next minute, or this is a sign for you to talk to him.

you wait a minute. no sign of him.

making up your mind, you give your horse an apologetic pat and ventures into the dark of the surrounding woods. the moon is bright enough so you won't fall face first in the dirt, but you still fail to suppress a shudder as a crow caws above you and the bushes around you seems to move.

heart thundering like hoofbeats inside your chest, you swallow and push through the thick leaves ahead, eager to find charles before the silence of the woods consumes you, barely realizing the way your foot snags on something before you're falling-

someone catches you halfway on your descent to the thorns below. gasping, you quickly get your feet back under you to push the stranger away.

"woah, easy," charles says as you breathe a sigh of relief, hands hovering next to you before he realizes the fact and hastily clenches them at his sides.

"you fool," you huff, still breathless from your battle with the bushes or maybe the way his hands felt on your skin. "what are you doing out here?"

charles raises a brow, clearly amused. "could ask you the same thing, but i won't," he holds out a pouch full of bloodied and dull arrowheads. "i need to get this done before i forget."

that's a lie, he never forgets anything. you're about to make an excuse so he can be left to the solitude he so clearly went looking for when he nods to a patch of grass beyond the trees.

"if you're not busy doing... this," he gestures to the godforsaken bush again "you could help, if you want?" he asks, tone suddenly unsure.

you do. god, you do. you nod fiercly and set off for the clearing, really just hoping you won't fall over on the way there. you hear charles sigh behind you, and you think it's one of relief.

"here," charles says and offers a knife when you're both seated in the grass that you both made it to safely and without issue.

you shake your head and pull your own from your belt, grabbing one of the arrows instead. a comfortable silence envelops you as you both get to work sliding your blades against the bloody tips.

then, as you lay your finished arrow in front of you and goes to grab another, charles sighs and lays back in the grass. you watch him curiously, your brain not being able to come up with anything other than how peaceful he looks like this.

you go back to working to keep your hands occupied as he speaks, "dutch's and micah's plan - what do you think?"

you snort and work your jaw a bit before responding. "the boat job? arthur says he has a bad feeling, and he's right more often than he's wrong. i don't know, lotta money if it goes right, i guess."

you don't know much about the plan itself other than the fact that micah seems to think himself a genius for procuring it, and that arthur and hosea don't trust him or his reasoning.

dutch is onto that money like a shark though, and the way things usually go, he'll refuse to hear reason and do it anyway. will only get out alive and richer because arthur and the others will be there too, killing folk so they can get away.

"lots of death if it goes wrong," charles adds and you hum, tossing the knife and laying down next to him, looking at the stars above.

"you don't fancy it either, then?" you say.

charles is silent for a second, which tells you that no, no he does not.

"i think arthur's right about this micah feller," he says finally. "he only needs dutch on his side, though, to hell with the rest of us."

"yeah." you grind your teeth just thinking about it. everything you hear him say to the women and charles and lenny and tilly - you seriously doubt anyone but dutch and micah himself wants him here.

"but," you sit up, scooting closer without really meaning to. "we'll be okay, i know it."

charles blinks up at you, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he raises himself to his elbows. normally you would have moved away by now, excpet something is telling you to stay. you lick your lips, eyes flicking to his before they go back to his eyes.

"yeah?" he murmurs. "how do you know that, mister?"

the distance between you shrink inch by agonizing inch, and your eyes grow wide as you feel his breath on your face. for a moment, only your combined breathing can be heard in the forest, as if the world stopped when you weren't looking.

mind running a mile a minute, you gape in shock that this is really happening, neglecting to respond long enough for charles to begin pulling away.

"hey..." you quickly grab him and hold him steady beneath you, hoping your voice won't be shaking as much as your hands are. "because we'll be in it together."

charles smiles, wide and genuine. you don't have time to appreciate it before he's pulling you in - grabbing your face and setting his hand on your side - and kissing you.

it's like a dream, the way your lips move against one another as if that's all they were ever meant to do. you can't believe this is happening - finally happening.

when you finally pull back to breathe, you laugh breathlessly and kiss the corner of his mouth as he grins and wraps you in his arms. "you fool," he say into his neck, "i can't believe it took micah's foolishness to get us to finally do this."

and then finally you get to hear charles smith laugh, and you think you found the heaven people insist lies in the sky, right here on the ground, beneath you and around you and beside you - just as it should be <3

<3

thank you for reading! feel free to send me more writing requests 💗

[allzelemonz]

For You: Micah Bell X Male Reader X Kieran Duffy

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘sir’, ‘mister’, ‘feller’, ‘boy’, ‘man’. Physical Sex: None Mentioned Rating: T/Violence, References to Sex Warnings: Micah Bell is his own warning, Micah is an asshole, Kieran is repressed and shy, Kieran is injured, Micah actually likes his horse, Micah is injured, Baylock is injured, they’re all fine it’s okay, crime, death Summary: Kieran watches you from a distance, but things get bad when Micah notices and even worse when a job goes bad.

Every morning, despite not having slept, Micah wanders out from his tent and finds a place to sharpen his knife. Every morning you join him and he gets distracted with running his hands anywhere you’ll let him. Every morning Arthur tells you both to go somewhere private or to cut it out all together. Every morning, despite having a hundred other things to do, Kieran watches this all play out.

He moreso watches you. He tries to ignore Micah. After this routine you disappear to earn money or bring back food and Kieran won’t see you until it’s dark and Micah is pulling you along to your tent. Sometimes he’ll hear noises if he lingers around, noises he would give anything to be the cause of. Then the day resets and Kieran goes to tend to the horses with the sun rises. He waits and waits, finding a small amount of happiness when Micah starts sharpening his knife because he knows it means you’ll be awake soon.

A few others wake up in the meantime. Bill wanders to Pearson for coffee, Jack runs around after his parents brush him off in favor of a few extra moments of sleep. All the while, Kieran brushes The Count who is only behaving now that Dutch is awake as well. As Kieran moves on to the next horse, he sees you walking to Micah. Your hair has half-heartedly been smoothed out from a night that sounded quite long from what Kieran could hear. Your sleeping clothes show more of your arms, less of a sleeve to help fight the heat, and your muscles flex as you bend your arm to pull Micah in for a kiss. Kieran looks away for a few seconds and stares at the flank of the horse he’s brushing. Then he looks back. Micah has his hand in your hair and you have your fingers hooked into his gun belt, both pulling the other closer. Kieran’s heart picks up just a little when Micah’s other hand slightly lifts your shirt and the young man sees skin of yours that he’s never seen before.

This is when Arthur usually comes along. Sometimes it’s John, but today there’s no one stopping the two of you. Instead it’s him, it’s Kieran that distracts Micah because he’s been caught staring. Micah says something to you and you cup his cheek and kiss him again before walking off to Pearson’s. Micah, however, has his sights fixed on Kieran. In the few seconds it takes for Micah to cross the camp, Kieran can only imagine what the cruelest member of the Van Der Linde gang will do to him. He’s seen what he does to people he’s supposed to trust, he’s seen what the nicer members of the gang do to him. Would he skin him? String him up? Drown him in the river? Hogtie him and drag him along on a horse ride?

Surely Micah isn’t as bad as an O’Driscoll, all of whom Kieran has seen do those things when far less provoked.

When Micah reaches the edge of camp he stops and leans against a tree, his arms above his head to hold him up. Kieran tries to focus on the horse in front of him, brushing off the dirt. It takes a few seconds for him to realize it’s Baylock he’s brushing, Micah’s horse. Micah’s horse that is just like his owner. A rock and a hard place.

“I’ve had just about enough of you, O’Driscoll.” Micah muses, leaning his head back against the tree.

Kieran has frozen in place, the brush resting solidly against Baylock’s flank. He hasn’t been here long, but he’s seen how well this horse listens to his owner. Like they can read each other’s minds.

“I-Is there something I can do for ya, mister?” Kieran asks, resuming his brushing.

Kieran doesn’t have time to react before Micah has come around and essentially pinned him between him and Baylock. Kieran drops the brush and raises his hands, his back resting against a horse that may very well kick him if Micah’s in a bad enough mood.

“You can quit your staring.” Micah clears his throat. “Plenty a’ fellas to stare at around here.” He makes a gesture towards the camp and leans closer to Kieran. “Keep your eyes off a’ mine.”

Kieran nods and quickly has his neck allows. “Yes, yes, sir. I will. I didn’t mean nothing by it, mister. It won’t happen again.”

Micah chuckles as Kieran recoils against Baylock. “Oh, it will. And when it does, I’ll make sure you find your way off that cliff, cowpoke.”

Kieran’s eyes follow Micah’s gesture to the cliff a few yards away. The overlook is a long fall. If he’s lucky, he might live for a few seconds with a mangled body. Micah is stronger than him, he knows that. He might be able to put up a fight, but the man is just plain scary and Kieran would rather appease him than deal with the fallout.

“Got it.” Kieran’s breath is shaky as he speaks and the intense gaze from Micah makes it impossible to look anywhere but at the threatening cliff.

Micah takes some pleasure in the shaky voice Kieran speaks with, a smile spreads over his face. “Just keep to yourself, O’Driscoll.”

Kieran falls back as Micah falsely steps towards him, faking an attack. As if knowing what his owner wants, Baylock shakes his head and steps on Kieran as he walks away to graze by Brown Jack. Kieran clutches his stomach where Baylock stepped on him, a bad bruise clearly forming under his shirt. Micah chuckles in a dark way that makes Kieran half-wish it was Colm staring down at him. Then the gunslinger walks away, humming a light tune, as if nothing had happened. He sits with you by the campfire, taking a bowl of stew and settling in while Kieran is left clutching his bruise and hoping nothing is broken.

Dutch, in all his wisdom, has a plan. He always has a plan, but none as questionable as this. A valuable stagecoach, passing south of Valentine on the way to Saint Denis. A job that can easily be done with two men. However, Dutch is a teacher. You and Micah are supposed to teach the youngest of the gang, Lenny, and the newest of the gang, Kieran, how to rob a stagecoach properly. Teaching the inexperienced turns this job from easy to complicated. Of course, it’s you that must break the news. If Dutch wants to use Micah, he pairs him with you for obvious reasons, but it’s you that always gets the details of his plan and has to relay them. This annoys Micah. The job will annoy him more.

“Dutch is making us do what?”

“You heard me, Micah!” You shout, grabbing your hat from its usual place. “Dutch’s order. That’s the only reasoning you need.”

“But the O’Driscoll and the-”

“They could use the experience, that’s what Dutch said and that’s the end of it.”

Micah stops you, grabbing your arm. “Why not Arthur?” He clears his throat. “John, Bill, anyone!”

“He said we’re going, so we’re going.” You pull your arm from his grip. “Those kids need all the experience they can get.”

Micah follows you out of the tent and to the cluster of horses on the edge of camp. Kieran stands next to Branwen, patting him with a smile on his face. Lenny is looking over his gun and perks up when you get close, only to lose some enthusiasm when he sees Micah behind you.

“Let’s get this over with.” Micah says, pulling himself up onto Baylock.

You follow his lead, getting on your horse as well. Before you broke the news to Micah, you got Kieran and Lenny together and told them everything they needed to know. Dutch wants this to be a learning job, you’re not one to disappoint the boss.

“So how much are we expecting from this?” Lenny asks over the loud gallop of the horses.

“A hundred, maybe two.” You answer. “They’re ‘rich bastards’ is all Dutch said.”

“And why couldn’t we do this ourselves?” Micah asks, annoyed as ever.

“They gotta learn somehow, Micah.” You say, eyes now scanning for the ridge Dutch told you about.

“Hey, I know how to rob a stage!” Lenny says. “I bet Kieran does too.”

“I’m sure you can, boys.” You slow down, the others follow suit. “But this is about doing things right.”

Micah chuckles. “Now I see why Dutch wanted us.”

You point up to the ridge above the road, a perfect spot for sharpshooting. “Lenny, you’re up there. Make sure you only take shots you have to. We don’t need the law on us right now. You signal us when you see it coming”

“Got it.” Lenny nods, riding off to the ridge.

“Micah, you’re leading. You know what that means.” You say and Micah nods with a satisfied grin on his face. “Kieran, we’re covering him. Rifles out and we stick to the sides of the road.”

Kieran nods. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, at least I know I’ll be covered from one side.” Micah chuckles as he rides off to his position.

Kieran’s dejected look makes you sigh. “Come on, kid.”

You lead Kieran to his position and make sure he has his rifle ready. Lenny’s right, he must have done this before. He did run with the O’Driscolls, they probably brought him along a few times. He seems more confident here, where Micah can’t see him. Most people don’t actually let Micah get to them, but Kieran seems really shaken by him. As long as it doesn’t screw up the job, the gang, then it’s his problem to deal with. You take your place on the other side of the road, rifle in hand and eyes fixed on Micah in his position. Something, everything, about Micah in action is one of the best sights in the world. Seeing him beforehand makes you a bit impatient. In a few minutes he’ll be doing what he does best and a few minutes after that you’ll be back at camp, pulling him to your tent and staring at that arrogant face that always makes you feel things you probably shouldn’t.

A faint light in the distance, up on the ridge, tells you that the target is coming. Also, that Lenny is doing the most basic part of his job. The others look like they’ve seen it, guns at the ready. The stagecoach rattles down the path, passing in between you and Kieran before Micah makes himself known. The driver pulls a gun, but Micah’s much faster. You move closer, making sure you have eyes on Micah to cover him as he leaves Baylock and approaches the door. Just as Micah gets the passengers out, you catch the signal light in the corner of your eye. From around the bend in the road you can see the faint outline of riders in the dark.

“We got company!” You shout.

Lenny’s shots ring through the air and you all follow them with your own. Micah scrambles for the take, shooting a lockbox open and shoving everything into his pockets. There are more riders than you’ve ever seen on a job like this. Lenny’s taken down four, you shot at least five, Kieran’s got a couple, but they’re still coming.

“I got it!” Micah shouts. “Let’s get outta here, boys!”

You pull at the reins of your horse, turning them around. With one last look up at the ridge, seeing Lenny getting back on his horse, you urge your horse forward. Everything comes to a stop when Micah falls off of Baylock a few feet ahead of you. You stop in place. Micah isn’t moving, Baylock is running off. Shit. You jump off your horse and give them a signal to run, they’ll probably follow Baylock and get to camp or find you once the noise is died down. Baylock has never left Micah like that before, he’s spooked more than ever.

“Kieran!” You shout as you start shooting again.

He crosses the road and stops behind you, shooting as well. Lenny’s probably far away by now, circling back to camp.

“Check on Micah.” You order.

“You’re gonna get yourself shot, mister.” Kieran says as he jumps down and takes another shot.

“Just get Micah!”

Kieran crouches and tries to rouse Micah. “He’s knocked out, I-I can’t get him up.”

“Shit!” You fire again, hitting the lead rider in the head.

There are four left. Four riders. You can handle four riders.

As if Hell has decided to come early, more riders come around the bend. The law, stupid little blue coats and all. Four riders turn into twenty. Twenty riders you can’t handle. You look back at Micah, out cold on the ground, and Kieran, still trying to wake him up.

“Take Micah and go.” You order.

“What?” Kieran asks. “Mister, I can’t leave ya here-”

“Kieran, go.” You yell. “I’ll find the horses and get back to camp. Tell Dutch what happened if I’m not back by morning.”

“I-I, I can’t-”

“Kieran!” You groan. “If you wanna make anyone in this gang trust you, do what I tell you. Go!”

He looks scared out of his mind. Anyone would be in a situation like this. But Kieran pulls himself together and helps you get Micah on the back of his horse. They’re gone in the time it takes the law to get to the stagecoach and you’ve disappeared into the trees by the time they reach the spot in the grass that’s covered in blood.

Your heart pounds as you run through the trees. Your rifle is pressed close to your chest and every step starts to burn once you see them. Baylock is on the ground and your horse is circling him, bouncing around nervously. You run to them and calm your horse, pulling them away from Baylock. When you get close to the always moody horse you can see the bullet wound. He’s been hit in the leg, his eyes are wide, he’s more scared than you’ve ever seen him. Carefully, you touch his back and slide your hand down to the injured leg. Baylock doesn’t respond aside from the occasional twitch of his tail. In the dark you have to feel around for the wound, it’s a clean shot. There’s no bullet, just a hole through the poor thing’s leg.

You mutter to yourself, reassuring your confidence as you catch your breath. You can’t leave him here, camp isn’t far, the lawmen aren’t either. You grab Baylock’s reins and urge him up. When he walks with you, he limps badly. You sling your rifle over your shoulder and grab your horses reins with your other hand, leading them both through the next set of trees towards camp. You’re gonna get away. The Van Der Linde gang is going to call this a success if it kills you.

Baylock is a strong horse. Anything that deals with Micah on a regular basis has to be strong. An immense compliment to both the horse and yourself. You need it as you trudge through the trees and duck deeper into the woods as lawmen patrol the roads. The familiar set of trees is a welcome sight and the call from Javier asking who’s there is even better. Your answer prompts some exclamation in Spanish before he yells for Dutch. It’s only been a few hours, the sun is just starting to rise, but everyone rushes out to meet you in various stages of sleepiness.

“You had us worried, boy!” Arthur says with a smile on his face as he takes your horse’s reins from you.

“What the hell happened out there?” Dutch asks, making his way through the crowd.

“First, Baylock’s injured.” You say, patting the horse’s back. “Where’s Strauss?”

“Here, here.” Strauss says, pushing his way past Abigail and John. “The O’Driscoll boy told me to prepare for the worst.”

The Austrian hands you horse medicine and lets you feed it to Baylock before he takes the reins to look over the wound. Once Baylock is safe you feel the exhaustion hit you. It was a long walk back and everyone has endless questions. Away from the crowd, lingering by your tent, is Kieran. He holds his hand together, messing with them nervously.

“Let’s all let the man rest!” Dutch finally declares over the chatter. “I’m sure we’ll get great retellings once everyone’s rested.”

Lenny lingers behind with a guilty look. “Mister, I woulda come back if I knew things got that bad.”

You wave him off. “We told you to get outta there, kid. You did good.”

He smiles. “You okay, sir?”

“Fine, Lenny. You should get some rest.”

As Lenny walks away there is only the clatter of things being knocked aside to warn you. Micah wraps his arms around you before you can even see him. He smells like blood and whiskey, but he’s never hugged you so tight and you can only return the much needed gesture. Then he pulls away from you and fixes his stare deep into your eyes.

“Never do that again, cowboy.” He grips your shoulders so hard it hurts a little. “Don’t you ever split us up like that.”

“I didn’t have a lot of options, Micah.” You say.

His hands fall down to rest on your gun belt, pulling you closer to him. “You coula left the O’Driscoll.”

Over Micah’s shoulder you can see him. Kieran is frozen by your tent, holding Micah’s bloody clothes and some empty medicine and whiskey bottles. Micah will never acknowledge that Kieran helped save his life, but you give a smile and you will never forget. You don’t know what you’d do without Micah. If he had been shot on that job, if he died from whatever injury he suffered from falling off of Baylock, you don’t know what you’d do. You’ll thank Kieran at some point, once Micah isn’t there to mess it up. Kieran didn’t do it for Micah or for Dutch or the gang. He saved Micah for you. Even if the man terrifies him, even if he is what stands in his way, Kieran will save him a hundred more times to see you happy.

[6rookie-writer0110]

male reader x jessica pearson from suits smut

Yeah i can write it

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

Male!Werewolf (Rhys) x Human! Reader (Modern AU) 3

PART 1  -  PART 2

Male monster x human reader

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing Part 3

“There is no way I’m doing that.”

“Ah come now, sugar.” Rhys had been sat on your bed when he had told you the announcement: the prospect of meeting his parents and other brothers had been spoken about since after you had gotten together, but you didn’t think the motion would be so… extravagant.

“You didn’t tell me it was going to be this extra, Rhys.” You sighed, heavily, pinching at your nose as you searched through your wardrobe for anything that could make you look presentable. A cocktail party, something you didn’t think Rhys would ever introduce you to.

“It’s just for one night, babe. And then, when it’s all over, we can go back to yours and have as much pizza and movies you want.” He grinned toothily, his brown eyes winking your way. “How does that sound?”

“You’re terrible, you know that?” You exclaimed over your shoulder playfully. “I don’t even think I have anything appropriate.”

“You can dress down for me if you want.”

“Rhys, this isn’t helping.” You quavered, “I’m meeting your parents! I need to make a good impression.”

“Look, they’ll love you for who you are, no matter what you look like.” Rhys smiled, standing up and coming to hug you from behind, wrapping his muscular arms protectively around your waist.

“You mean it?”

“Of course, sugar. I don’t want you getting overwhelmed by this.” He kissed your cheek tenderly, the warmth coming through his chest radiating through your back. “I appreciate you coming with me though.”

You leant further back into his chest, “You mean it?”

“These events always bored me, and my old man always asked when I would bring back a girl for him and mom to meet, but I never did nor ever want to show up. This is something I want to do now, not just for my dad’s sake.”

You smiled at that, grateful to be able to do this for him. “Then, I hope they like me.”

“They will,” he nuzzled into your cheek, “just like how I do.”

-

“So you’re parents’ names are?”

“Atticus and Eleanor.”

“And you have four brothers - Nicholas, Theo, Marshall and Jackson.”

“Correction: Nick, Marshall then Theo and Jackson.” Smiled Rhys, as he turned the steering wheel to the left, coming off the main road and down towards the secluded and private narrow road. You were staring out the window, shifting your dress to cover your legs as best as you could as you watched the tall trees pass. “You didn’t tell me you owned a private house.”

“It was my grandfather’s, he gave it to all his children to come to for celebrations and whatnot. It’s just used more often by my pops than his other siblings. The Hawthorn manor, something that has been in our family for two centuries.”

“I didn’t know that.” You pondered. His family is big but I didn’t know they were rich. The manor was a piece of grandeur in his family’s name, and it certainly was something of glory: its high walls and stone marble were glossed in onyx, with high foliage that grew over the bricklayers with its bright red double doors on display. “It’s beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, sugar.” Rhys was dressed to the max in a borrowed dark blue suit and black tie, his hair swept back and gelled back as his hand came to wander and squeeze your thigh. “If we weren’t going to this, well—I don’t think we’d even make it out the house.”

“Just keep an eye on the road, silly.” You playfully said, averting your gaze in which Rhys noticed, his deep chuckle always seemed to calm your nerves. “You’re gonna do amazing, babe. I know it. Just remember, deep breaths.”

You did as told, breathing through the nose and out through your mouth, in and out, until you could say you were slightly calmer. “Oh shit, we’re here.”

The driveway wasn’t really a driveway, but more like a small acre in a field: large enough to hold four grand cars as large as the BMW Rhys drove: all marbled and glossed black and leather-bound seats, you didn’t know what you were walking into.

You stepped out and walked over, arms linked to the door as Rhys gave the knocks to the red entrance, the sound itself seemed to reverberate through the outside of the manor than inside, but it was still all too impressive.

The doors opened suddenly and outpoured the two people Rhys held some tolerance for. His parents were similar in height and dressed accordingly to the occasion: reds and blacks of silk dresses and ties, their dark hair sprinkled with occasional greys throughout, their olive skin still youthful to make them look to be in their early 40s than late 50s.

“Rhys, you look well,” His mother was dressed beautifully in reds with a long-sleeved maxi dress and her lips being the same crimson shade, her hair pulled back into a neat bun. Her eyes landed on you with the unexpectant warmth that radiated like the sun, “you must be the special someone?” Her tone was welcoming, caring.

“That would be me, yes.” You sheepishly announced, before Eleanor took the initiative and embraced you tightly in a welcoming hug. “Welcome, my dear. It is so nice to have a new face around here.”

“You’re the one who’s got our boy’s head doing cartwheels?” Rhys’ father, Atticus was presenting himself with a beaming broad smile, his large hand coming to shake yours tightly and all too enthusiastically. “My future daughter-in-law will be the needed asset to this family.”

“If you would, dad, I don’t think we want to spend the evening in the cold,” Rhys informed with a roll of his honey-brown eyes. Eleanor took you by the arm as she took your coat to hang up. 

“Finally, another girl to keep me company surrounded by these men.” She chuckled to herself, her eyes full of mirth. “You will like Rhys’ brothers, they take after my humour, not that old dog’s.”

“Hey, I’m still here.” Atticus jested with a wink, his crow’s feet creased. “Come, we can begin now that everyone’s here.”

You took a glance back to Rhys, portraying an ‘I’m sorry we were so late because I couldn’t curl my hair properly’ to which he looked back with an, ‘It’s okay, it’s still beautiful nonetheless.’

“Our guests have arrived, boys!” Eleanor announced, the reception room was extravagant with Corinthians that would put their Greeks to shame. There, from their spots turned the four men awaiting the final guests, all ranging in different heights and forms. 

“Boys, come say nice to Rhys’ girlfriend. Be kind.” Eleanor warned, flashing a sympathetic smile as she hurried to collect more glasses for the two of you.

His brothers were all tall compared to Rhys, maybe the second to youngest, Jackson was an inch taller than Rhys, but Nicholas was and foremost the tallest, followed by just two inches, Theo, then Marshall.

“I didn’t know you were bringing a girl round?” Jackson announced first, grinning from ear to ear as he looked at Rhys’ body language and facial expressions, “A pretty one too.”

“Look, you can go find one for yourself to bring here,” Rhys kept his tone oddly calm for this intrusion, gripping at your hand securely, “we’re a thing.”

“So, you marked her?” Marshall looked you up and down with a single glance, his nostrils flaring momentarily. “I see no mark.”

“Nor do I smell her claim.” Jackson sniggered.

“You’re making her uncomfortable, Jack.” Theo came to push aside Jackson, smiling warmly to you in return. “Forgive us, we must look like animals tonight.”

“Hardly ever.” Retorted Rhys with a click of his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” you interrupted, feeling slightly aware that what they were talking about was making you uncomfortable, “what do you mean by claiming.”

“A wolf claims their mate when they find the one,” Nicholas joined in the conversation, leaning over to smile almost considerately. “It’s what wolves do when they care for their partner.”

“I see.” You could feel the tension build with the silent back and forth glares that Rhys was sent to his older brother, the sudden realisation and disappointment in knowing that you hadn’t been marked by Rhys yet… or would you ever be?

“I’m gonna get another drink. This is killing me.” Marshall slipped past, walking straight to the bar as Eleanor came back with two drinks of champagne in her hands. “Our finest, though it does go a bit to Jack’s head.”

“Funny.” Pouted Jackson, “I’m sober enough to see this night through.”

“Like last time was any better.” Nicholas seemed distracted elsewhere, his eyes always drifting in the room. “Summer of last year was an awful one.” Theo sighed dramatically, “For me.”

“We had a great time!”

“You set dad’s car on fire. And I had to clean up your sick.” Theo addressed as Jackson shrugged. “Okay—but we still had fun.”

“Come, Theo, you gotta help me with bringing up more bottles.” Eleanor grinned as she beckoned the kinder of the Pearson brothers away, leaving now just the four of you to idle chatter.

The champagne couldn’t go down your throat any faster.

You didn’t know whether the tension building between Rhys and Nicholas was already ready to burst, but when you had looked to the oldest Pearson brother, you had been surprised to see his hardened gaze on you already. He regarded you with a curt nod, before saying your name clearly.    

“Nicholas.” You acknowledged him coolly. “You already met Nick?” Jackson addressed, eyeing the two of you up with suspicion. You regarded Nicholas with a small glance to find him already staring back at you. “Not on the best of terms, but yes.”

“I wasn’t in my best of moods, but I can say myself, I was acting like a dick,” Nick confessed earnestly. “No hard feelings?”

“None at all.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want to get awkward with you, since seeing you with Rhys makes him happy.”

“I didn’t think the day would come,” Jackson grinned, “he’s like a lovestruck puppy.”

“I’m still fucking here, Jack.” Gnarled lowly Rhys, his voice resorted to sounded two tones deeper than usual, almost imperceptible. “I’m sure your little girlfriend doesn’t want to hear you swear so much, Rhys,” Nick added, smirking thinly.

Rhys snorted through his nose as he gave you a final regretful look before storming off, saying under his breath of needing some more to drink. “My apologies for him, he’s always... struggled with expressing proper emotions.” Nicholas simply added whilst Jackson continued sniggering at the affair.

“Maybe to you, but not me.” You finally added, your brow furrowed, now angry to see how bad it could get being both the youngest and forgotten one of the family. “Yeah, he isn’t perfect, but who is? I like him just how he is, and I know that he cares for me.” You addressed to the both of them: Jackson’s laughter and jeering quietened, whilst Nicholas continued to stare at you as if you were the main hideous attraction to a circus.

“Now, I don’t know about you, but I want to enjoy my evening.” You pressed the champagne glass into your bottom lip, whilst finally, Nick was first to have a broad smile appear on his face as if your words had inspired him the most, his laugh a gentle and deep timbre. “You know, I didn’t think at first I’d like you, but you surely changed my mind.”

“How so?”

“You’re like him a lot, but that warmth and empathy you have is what maybe none of us showed much to Rhys.” He placed his large hand upon your shoulder, the warm startling hot in his palm. “I hope he sees himself how good you are to him.”

You couldn’t respond at first, but Nicholas’ words were merely earnest, as he collected his younger brother and dragged him off by the shoulder. “Come, Jack, let’s go find the others. Have a good evening.” He left with nothing else to say, leaving you more than confused and surprised by his change in his words. “What in the fuck?”

-

You had found him on the second floor on the balcony that you didn’t think would be accessible to them all, but here he was, staring out idly at the view that outstretched for acres.

“Hey, I knew I could find you here.” You smiled as you came to cradle you from his back, his back tensing from your touch as you leant into him, silently thinking to yourself as you took in his lack of words or movement. “Are you okay, Rhys?”

“I’m sorry about them, sugar.” He confessed, his voice hoarse and low, “I wanted to impress you and show them how good we were together, but all they did was mock and leer, mock you as much as my love for you.”

You removed yourself when you heard that certain word, the one word that made your stomach flutter and head spin. “You… you love me?”

“I know it’s shit, and I didn’t want to confess like this either.” He laughed dryly to himself, his eyes downcast. “I wanted to make it official too, you becoming… my mate.”

Mate. The word was innocent enough but it brought you to do somersaults in your mind, and your grip around his waist loosened enough to make Rhys assume you were reacting negatively to him. “You’re scared of me, aren’t you?”

“No, I just—I didn’t think you wanted to do this, not now.” You soothed, relaxing when his head rested against your forehead, his eyes closing in relative peace. “I didn’t want to pressure you into anything, not until you were comfortable with me.”

“Rhys,” you calmed him, “I’m with you until the very end. I… I love you.”

His eyes had opened when you confessed the three words to him, his honey-brown eyes so wide in realisation, yearning only for you. “I love you too, sugar. So much.”

He captured you lips rougher than you had expected, his fingers threading through your tresses, pulling you closer to him, the heat of his body and familiar scent of him was all you wanted and you needed.

“Shall we get out of here, babe?” He had asked with a full beam on his face when he had pulled away from you, the low growl reverberating through his chest like a soft motor.

“You want to ditch your family?” You had laughed, pulling him closer to you as he kissed from your jawline to your neck. “I mean, they won’t be looking for us now, and we can finally get that pizza and chill night in.”

You kisses him again, more passionately and rougher than the first time, pulling back to look him in the eyes as you felt the calmness lull you to competition. “I can’t say no to that then.”

-

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[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: arthur morgan x male reader

req: no | wc: 2.1k

summary: After Arthur unfortunately loses Boadicea, he’s got to have a mode of transport. With the wagons full, he has to share a horse with someone. That someone happens to be you.

warnings: suggestive, reader blushes and it’s a visible color.

a/n: inspired by Cpt. Monroe and Eagle Flies' hand placement when they ride on the same horse as Arthur. turned out longer than i thought (mainly cause i didn't know where this was going)

Warmth. All you can think about is warmth.

You wanted warmth.

You were in need of it, after riding with the gang for hours at a time in this cold, desolate mountainscape. Why did nature even grow up here? Perhaps to survive in a place it could actually thrive in, just like you once upon a time. You missed it, the wide expanse of desert and rolling tumbleweed, sand beneath your feet and the warm oh… the warm sun. You’d hated it, then, only to be in desperate need of it now.

The sun, ah, she’s only there when you don’t need her.

That was you a few hours ago. Warmth was still plaguing your thoughts, though for a different reason now. At the present moment, it seemed as if you were in abundance of warmth. It was too much, felt like too much, but it was just enough.

Arthur Morgan.

Fucking hell, Arthur Morgan.

His, damn, big hands, big and warm, hooked between the length of your waist and your hip, held you lightly, as if the mere existence of a firmer touch could set you on fire. For the record, even the ghost of firmness, even the tips of one or two of his fingers at a time or the center of his palm gripping harder at your body was enough. God knows what’d happen if he had access to bare skin unlayered by your useless coats.

Arthur Morgan.

His chest hovered right behind you. The large expanse of his broad chest made you aware of his presence, if you weren’t aware of it on your own. You were painfully aware of it.

Silently, you thanked the mountains and cold for covering the fact you were blushing. Though if anyone put a hand to your forehead, they’d think you were sick. You wouldn’t put it past Miss Grimshaw to be concerned even with the cold or her tough love behavior.

There was not much you could distract yourself with, aside from the occasional yipping of a fox or mangled shadow coming into view (it was a weird tree); and you desperately needed something. Least you’d have a settlement to distract yourself with, if you even came across one. You’d been sent out as scouts for a reason. Then again, it’s already been a couple hours or so; you already lost track of time.

Arthur, on the other hand, didn’t seem to think of it much. If he were truly comfortable with you, though, he wouldn’t mind putting his chest to your back. So he was thinking about it, at least a little bit. Although, you thought he was comfortable enough with you. It certainly seemed like it sometimes. What even were you? The two of you?

One moment, you’re under the wide expanse of the night sky, huddled together for a bit of warmth and something more; the next, you’re half-way ‘cross camp from each other, not a thought in your heads about the other. Least, mostly. The spare glances from his seat at the poker table and yours at Pearson's wagon said otherwise.

His grip on your waist comes a little harder now, when his eyes catch another weird shadow. You’re vaguely aware of him peeking from behind your shoulder until you’re fully aware because of his cold breath against your ear. You can see the end of it from your peripheral.

“What do you reckon that is?”

“Hm?” So distracted, you barely registered his words.

“That.” He didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, um, ‘nother tree?”

It was indeed another tree. Arthur sighed, slumping back down from his alerted position. God, he was tired of scouting. He wouldn’t have taken the duty if he had no qualms with sitting around in the misery and hopelessness of his fellow gang members, or if he had Boadicea for that matter.

Oh, Boadicea… he missed her.

“How’ve you been?” He distracts himself from thoughts of mourning by talking to you, which is exactly what you’ve been avoiding.

“G-Good.”

“Just ‘good’?”

To a certain degree, for varying reasons, “Yeah… just said so.”

Arthur can feel how tense you are under his fingers, and he sees the stiffness of your shoulders. That and the state of the gang after the Blackwater job. You’re not ‘good’, he can tell. “You sure yer good? Or, uh, anythin’ wrong?”

“Nothin’s wrong, Arthur.”

You don’t loosen up in the slightest, so he’s keen on knowing whether you’re really alright. ‘Sides, he knows you. “I've been riding with you for long. I know something’s off.”

“Couple hours?”

“Couple years, more like.” Right.

Arthur moves to continue speaking, to coerce your troubles out of your shut lips, before he is interrupted by a sharp yell. It's inhuman, he learns a second later, when a buck runs across the scape right in front of you. Your horse cries out too and jumps on his hind legs.

"Woah! Steady, steady!"

He has to cling onto your waist to keep himself from falling off as you calm your stead down. The moment ends within a minute, but Arthur clings on all the same.

It's after this that he notices a lot of things, your sharp inhale as the horse stands back on four legs, and the remaining stiffness from your alert pose. Even after, you can't find yourself calming down.

He loosens his grip eventually, and then he notices something else, too.

You sigh in relief once Arthur's grip loosens. Not that you weren't quite fond of it –made you feel rather secure, actually– you were just not in need of the scalding heat that it brought.

"Oh." Arthur breathes out audibly as he comes to a realization.

"Oh, wha-" You stop mid sentence as he grips at your waist hard again. You hate yourself for it, but you will admit that you let out an embarrassingly high squeal.

The squeal would've been higher had Arthur pressed his chest to your back at the same time, although it didn’t seem like you’d have to wait any longer for that, ‘cause he pulled that same gesture only a few seconds after.

"Nothin,” He chuckles, “just, thought that Buck's shout was a man's."

Right, nothing; of course it wasn't 'nothing'. Arthur Morgan had you fooled in one lovely way, but he did not have you fooled this way.

“Say, (y/n), I don’t see so much as a shiver in you.”

“Really?”

His grip tightens around your waist. Surely he’s caught on by now… but if he hadn’t, you weren’t going to reveal it to him any time soon. These thoughts about him, Arthur Morgan and his piercing actions that left you stunned, they weren’t new; yet, he hadn’t discovered their effects on you thus far, and you wanted to keep it that way.

For what? Fear of shame, embarrassment.

Though, it seems you couldn’t avoid that anymore.

��Not a peep of it.”

“I got a… tolerance, to the cold, ‘suppose.”

“Uh-huh,” He affirms at first, nodding his head. The tip of his hat bumps against the back of yours and pushes it forward. The brim of it covers the top of your field of view, urging you to look down just that little bit more. “supposedly, anyway.”

Just what was he planning?

Your eyes find his hands and you swear you can see them tighten. You can certainly feel it, too.

Arthur goes silent, so you do too, thanking whatever God decided to shut him up. His audacious actions hadn’t stopped, but at least you didn’t have his sharp tongue and deep voice to accompany them.

You thought that to be a miracle, his lips zipped shut, but where the absence they left was, his hands took over.

“What’re you doin’, Morgan?” You know what he’s doing, clear as day.

His fingers rub circles along your waist, slow and steady and pressing hard, but not too hard. They hold purpose, supposedly, but purpose you know nothing of.

You’re so focused on his fingers that you don’t notice where he keeps his lips. “Eyes on the road.”

The whisper comes right at your ear, along with the subtle touch of his lip against the shell of your ear. A shiver goes down your spine… so much for that tolerance earlier.

You follow his command, anyway, or at least what you can see of the road through the storm and his distracting actions.

Fucking hell, Arthur Morgan, the things you do to a man.

Focus on the road.

“Yer awfully warm there.”

You can’t focus on the road, not when Arthur’s right there. The cold tip of his nose presses against your warm cheek, and he leans his chin ‘gainst your shoulder. Rather bold of him, you think; then again, he’s done bolder things on occasions where you need less warmth and more breeze.

“...ain’t awful in this d-damned hellscape.”

He chuckles, “Y’got that right.”

You bask in the silence that ensues, and even more, you bask in the warmth of him. The scalding heat, like that of your beloved west’s summer sun, that is Arthur’s touch soon becomes comfortable, nice and cozy, like a campfire.

Oh, sitting by campfires was so warm. But Arthur… he, was warmer.

His cold breath hits you right on the cheek like the kiss of a breeze, which in this snowy circumstance is not what you’re looking for, yet it doesn’t drain the heat from your cheeks. And his hands, phew, they work their way down to your hips, finding a steady grip around them. His pinkies work away on the meat of your…

Eyes… eyes on the road.

“Shit! Woah, woah, steady!”

Suddenly, Arthur is thrown off your horse. You’re barely on it, if it weren’t for your deathly (you hadn’t noticed) grip on the reins.

You’d run into a goddamn tree.

You turn, quickly after settling your horse down, to Arthur. The cowboy’s on his ass, on the ground, sunken in a good fifteen centimeters into the pure white. His entire backside –calfs, thighs, hair and all�� is covered in a nice layer of snow.

Horror spreads through your face. This was all your fault-

Then, he laughs. He laughs it off, and you follow suit. He distracted you, you remember that now. If anything, it was his fault. And god, if the sight of him messy like this wasn’t hilarious. His mouth is wide, wide open, and even in this bastard of a storm, he’s laughing loud.

Until he’s not.

Suddenly, he’s coughing, and your concern is back. “Arthur? Arthur, y’alright?”

Clearly, he’s not. “I-khoff” He clears his throat, “I, er, think I swallowed some,” (a lot) “snowflakes.”

And you’re laughing again. It’s only after a lung-full of air that you realize you should get moving. “Get up, cowboy! ‘Fore you freeze your ass off.”

“Not helping me, darlin’?” Yet, he stands up on his own.

“Sure.”

So you go behind him, resist all your urge to touch his ass for longer than you need, and wipe him down. Arthur wipes himself down, too, best he can, but for the most part it’s your labor. Still, you don’t fail to notice the shiver in him, regardless of your swift work.

He turns to you, bashful, when you’ve got most of it off. “Seem to have frozen my ass off anyway.” He clears his throat, and despite that fondling he’d done earlier, rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Can I take the reins?”

“Um,” You think about it for a mere second. She was your horse, but this was Arthur Morgan. Even if you’d done the same fondlin’, he’d have handled it better than you. Eyes on the road. “sure.”

Arthur settles on your horse, with you behind him. You’re sure why he’s asked for this, a hug or more than that to warm him down, just as he’d once done to you. He needed that warmth, more than you, after all.

After falling into snow, he was extremely cold, not that it wasn’t obvious. You could notice his shivering, with your arms wrapped tight around him; and from the close proximity, it wracked your body almost like it did his. Your hands were cold, too, from wiping him off, so you kept them intertwined to be warmed up and used later. Your chin found refuge on his shoulder, and Arthur could feel you just like you did earlier.

Yet, even with this cold, he felt warm. You’re sure it’s the butterflies of love or the knowing that you were holding the man you oh so adored; but it was also that Arthur was a warm man, big grizzly bear as he was.

You press a kiss to his temple. Arthur seems to lean into it.

“When this is all over, I’m takin’ ya out on a date.”

“Planning on courtin’ me, Arthur?”

“I thought I was already.”

[shittybundaskenyer]

✹ ▬   𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

rating: Explicit

pairing: Javier Escuella x M!Reader

summary: you go on a hunting trip with javier that ends with fishing, a good meal and a fight.

warnings: swearing, a bit of angst, some sweet tension, some more yearning, a little gory details with the fish, some rough kissing and smut in the end for a treat

word count: 2867

a/n: another fic i wanted to get out earlier but couldn’t. this is my first time writing javier and a male reader so bear with me. also this is a bit different from my usual i think? anyway thank you so much for your request and kind words anon, you’re so sweet! 💕

MASTERLIST    |    ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN

The water is lukewarm near the shore, lapping gently at the sandy soil as the wind picks up a little, warping the muddy green surface of the lake into ruffles and waves. You can see the bushes of pondweed and algae twist and twirl under the water, dancing around small fishes and tadpoles. A hungry bird watches over them, from the tree above your head where it sang love-lullabies just a moment ago. He's gone quiet, hopeful for his early dinner. 

You miss the song already. 

A loud splash distracts you, erasing the soft melody from your mind. It’s a fish, you realize, hooked on Javier’s line, desperately flopping around in the water to tear itself free. There’s no mercy for it where two hungry stomachs growl in sync. The last time you’ve eaten a normal meal was yesterday morning. 

Javier takes his time though, fishing peacefully like the day’s all his, like there’s no law breathin’ down your necks, like there’s no god above the peacefully swaying Lemoyne meadows. 

But there’s one. Fate. 

He grips the rod firmly, reels in the fish with practiced movements. It’s a fairly big one, a bass probably. Gonna make one hell of a meal with all the wild onions and thyme you gathered. 

It’s still strange—how you two can work together. There’s a lot of silence, a few long, meaningful looks and no words are needed when you sit down in the end of a day and spend some time nursing a whiskey bottle. He often sings, hums gentle tunes of songs you cannot understand. Love ballads, war songs, some sea shanties Pearson taught him. His voice is nice, soft even. Lacks the edge your own possesses. No one says your name like he does. 

Christ, you’re lost again. You watch how he picks the hook out of the mouth of the bass and walks to a small tree stump that’s covered in thin flecks of blood and silky fish scales. You’ve seen this countless times, the way he knocks the life out of it with a log, one really strong hit to the head, and the fish’s eyes go dead. You can’t look away from his hands. Slender fingers, crossed by many scars. Knife cuts, gun-callouses. Fine, dark hairs and neatly trimmed nails. There’s blood under them, probably the fish’s. Or one of the lawmen. Or yours. 

A dull ache flares up in your throat, under the small scar you got years ago. The phantom pain of a touch, those same fingers pressing on your own skin. You shake your head and stand up rom the grass, patting down your jeans and popping open the top buttons of your shirt. This is the longest day of the year, the day of the sun when it never wants to slip under the horizon. It burns your skin, makes sweat roll down between your shoulder-blades. Purgatory, for your sins. Just as hot as the gunpowder exploding when firing a bullet. 

You sit down near the fire, trying to breathe some life into it. There’s a small grill you salvaged from a broken down wagon somewhere near Emerald Station, and an old coffee percolator Javier found in the shack nearby. After what happened in the last years this feels like heaven. A warped, sick kind of heaven, a corner of hell masquerading as the home of angels. 

The firewood is still wet from the morning rain so it pops and coughs smoke into your face, cracks loudly as the fire finally catches. 

Javier turns towards you and smiles at the sound, that rare, soft smile of his. It makes something inside your chest throb. This quiet companionship, friendship even, is still something you can never get used to. People were not meant for you. Like you’ve been at the scene when the Tower of Babel got cursed, and with it, you as well. You were always greedy for love. For attention, yet you never deserved it. 

You never will. 

But this, this is something. Enough. 

When the fire is up and roaring, you flop down into the grass again and watch how Javier cuts the fish's belly open, how he guts it with practiced movements. A blade wielded by him turns into a dancer. There's that deep yearning inside you again, that aching realization that you would die the prettiest death if he would decide on flipping that knife into your chest instead. You, helpless, pressed into the softening earth with his strength holding you down, burying you amongst fish scales and fresh grass and the rich soil. 

You remember the day you two met all too well. The cut on your neck. The blood in your throat, oozing from the corner of your mouth. The tip of his knife between your ribs, ready to press down—

It’s the material of many dreams of yours after all. 

"You okay, my friend?" he looks up at you, stopping in his work for a moment until your gaze meets his. You nod and he gives you the barest smile, returning to prepare the fish. 

You've both come a long way since then. 

“When do you think this is gonna end?” you find yourself asking. It’s a selfish question. You don’t exactly know what are you really asking. 

“What?” 

This hunting trip. This reality of being wanted dead or alive in multiple states. This life. This companionship.

“The law, chasin’ us,” you finally sigh. You’ve been greedy before, but you know better now. You have to enjoy this until it lasts. 

“That’s never,” he smiles again, a with an almost sad look in his eyes. The fish’s almost done. He puts it near the others on a wobbly old tin plate. 

You prepare the fish from now on, seasoning it with the fresh greens you picked nearby while Javier packs up his fishing equipment and flops down next to you in a log to clean his knife with the rag he uses to rub gun-oil onto his revolver. 

The heat is almost unbearable next to the fire but the smell makes you stay when the fishes start to cook on the old grill. Javier watches with hungry eyes, fidgeting with a cigarette in his mouth in the meanwhile until he offers the half-burnt thing to you. You try no to think about how the butt of the cigarette faintly tastes of mint and chewing tobacco.

This is the best dinner you’ve had since months. The stale taste of Pearson’s stew is erased from your tongue as soon as you take a bite from the cooked bass. Javier has bread, too, a can of dried tomato and some leftover whiskey from last week. This could be a hotel dinner somewhere in Saint Denis. But it’s not. You’re sitting in the real wilderness, not brick and steel, under old trees and a symphony of birdsong with the familiar smell of algae and fish, the quiet lapping of the lake. 

You think about the others, the camp. The work that still needs doin’. The law set on a wild goose-chase. When you’re both finished with the food, you can’t help asking, 

“Do you think Dutch’s got somethin’ wrong goin’ on with his head?”

Javier’s eyes go narrow for a second. 

“‘Course not,” he slowly shakes his head and puts the plates away. They need washing a bit later. He looks up at you and walks closer. “What, you wanna leave?”

You shake your head and wipe your hand on your jeans. 

“No. I was just thinkin’ about what happened with Arthur a few weeks back. He never went searchin’ for him.”

Javier sees through you like glass. He know where this conversation is going and he doesn’t like it. 

“He was probably busy,” he shrugs, kicking dirt onto the fire to make it die down faster. There’s no need for it in the warm nights of July. Your hand curls into a fist. 

“But with what, Javier? I can’t wrap my head around why he wouldn’t care for his own son,” you know you’re going too far. But what happened scares you. Arthur is Dutch’s right hand man, and he didn’t care when he went missing. You just know he didn’t. 

“You thinkin’ on betraying him now, don’t ya?” Javier’s hand goes for the bade at his hip, his palm drapes around the wooden hilt. 

“I just—I think he’s not in his right mind. What if it was you who got captured?”

“I wasn’t,” he whispers, softy, in that voice he uses to hum ballads after the camp went to sleep. 

“That’s not what I’ve asked. You’re just afraid to think about what would’ve happened if he didn’t search for you. I know he wouldn’t.” This is why people hate to be around you. You ask too much, stir up shit when you know you shouldn’t. But you care for these people, for him, if they get hurt… You can’t let them. You have a knife, a gun and blood in your guts, you can fight. No one can run forever.

“Stop,” he hisses, and the blade is unsheathed. You almost anticipate the cold weight of it against your neck, in a really fucked-up way. 

“Loyalty blinded you. All of us. But this thing, since Blackwater, it ain’t right,” your voice is calm but your heart isn’t.

Javier lunges for you, and you tumble into the grass, with his weight atop you and his knife nestled in the hollow of your throat. The scar flares up there with a burning of a cut. Javier snarls.

“If I die, I’ll die. But I’m gonna be free.”

You force his hand away, kick him off of you, down into the dirt beside you. There’s a brief second while you’re both laying flat under the settling sun, until he rises up again and goes for your shoulder instead, cutting a hole into your shirt and nicking the skin under.

“Do you really?” you look up, into his eyes until the fight softens in them. He’s tired under the mask, so tired, for a second you almost think it looks like he’s dead. He’s been running since… what? So long before Blackwater, before you two met, before anything. He runs since whatever happened in Mexico. He got so used to it he can’t stop. 

“Stop it!”

You knock the blade out of his hand anyway. There’s a slap on your face that you can’t really feel, a punch to your shoulder. He slumps against you like a dead body, like a corpse freshly pulled off of a horse’s back. Fish scales glint in the yellow light between blades of grass around you, turquoise and silver and muddy brown. Colors of summer scars. 

“I jus’ don’t want you to die like a dog, Javi.”

You don’t move, you can’t. It takes a little time for him to breathe normally again. You can feel it against your chest, the scar on your neck. 

“Why?” his lips almost touch your shoulder. Somewhere in your body caterpillars transform into moths with palm-sized wings. 

“We have no one, just each other. Why die for a lost cause?”

You know he wants to say loyalty, but he doesn’t, in the end. He pulls back a little instead, gazing down at you like a lover. Like a killer. 

The moths are at your throat, digging into flesh, crawling out from that small scar when you ask, 

"Kiss me?" you try to whisper but it comes out as a weak question. 

His answer is a small smile, barely noticeable, and then his lips are on yours, chapped and warm and feeling like you've always imagined. Hunger crawls up inside you like a beast, so you open your mouth and let him in, almost choking on a groan when Javier kisses you harder. There's no air left between you, not a bare inch of distance and you think something breaks inside your chest when his eyelashes flutter against your cheek. 

There's teeth and there's tongue, and there's an insistent hand grasping your nape, nimble fingers cradling your head, sliding over your hair. You're a lost instrument and he plays you like the most finely tuned guitar, plucking your carefully built walls away until you're singing a string of sighs into his mouth. 

You shudder from it, pull away a little when the sighs want to turn into sobs. Christ. 

He watches you from under his dark lashes, eyes half-lidded and almost hazy. You've seen him being drunk before but this look is different. There's heat behind, a low fire burning in amber as you nudge his nose with yours and let him kiss you once more, softly this time. 

You’ve always mistook him for a romantic, but it’s more. Passion. Burning, untamed passion that scorches everything in it’s path, including you. It’s gonna be the end of him, you just know it. His passion in loyalty, music, killing—in loving in his own kid of way. 

The kisses turn into insistent hands gripping shirt-sleeves and tearing down buttons as Javier scrambles to his feet, reaches for you to follow. The shack you made your home for the night is just a few steps away, it’s walls eaten away by time and the weather and bugs, but it’s enough to take your weight as he pushes you against it next to the door inside, finally sheltered by some shade but still burning. 

You kiss him and he kisses you back and somewhere between it turns into a fight of fates, of opinions and worlds. He won’t let go of this, you won’t let go of yours. You’ll likely die with a bullet in your head, a noose around your neck, but together at least. Prey animals know they will die if a predator hunts. You know this won’t last forever, but right now, right now it feels like it might. 

Javier is not a romantic, but your idea of romance is warped anyway. You want this strange feeling of lightheadedness as he kisses your air away, this crawling feeling inside you as he smacks you against a wall once more, caging you in like a rare animal caught by scientists to study. A new species, a leech, a tick. Latching onto love, getting poisoned by the sickly sweet blood. 

You grab him by the neck and you turn, pressing him up against the only window until he yields. He grabs your shirt, pushes it off of your shoulder while you do the same with him, exposing dark skin and scars of the past. There’s no time to think. Love is an animalistic instinct and it drives your hands down his stomach, his navel, until his pants are open. 

Javier parts from you with a loud exhale and you fall to your knees.

You take him into your hand, your mouth, and soon after, into your throat. It's messy and tears bubble out the corners of your eyes when you take it a bit too far, but hell, you don't want to stop. Not when a loving hand slides over your left cheek and a thumb gently wipes away the wetness under your eye. Not when you feel calloused fingers buried in your hair, not when he whispers your name so reverently you feel like a god. 

There's drool on your chin and tears stinging the corners of your eyes but Christ, he's so beautiful like this, backlit by the scorching orange of the afternoon sun, his skin hot on your tongue and you don't want to stop. The shack's dirty window fogs around his back, even though the humid heat outside and sweat beads in the cradle of his hips, trying to hold himself back, trying to last for you. 

“Javi,” you whisper his name like a question, but then you take him back into your mouth, almost choking when he shudders against you. Your name sounds sweet when he tries to make you stop and it feels like now you are pressing a blade to his neck. 

He wrestles you off of him after that, pulls you up and pushes you onto the old mattress, covering your body with his until there’s no space left between. He wipes the drool off of your chin, licks into your mouth for another slow kiss. His hands slide over your chest, your belly where the callouses catch on star-shaped bullet wounds. You grind against each other, seeking friction, lost in the warmth and the touches and the slickness in Javier’s hand. 

You're both nothing, only bugs making love under the forgiving eyes of the sun, getting scorched on the dark rock you decided to tangle into each other. But Javier doesn't mind. He likes you even like this, bruised and broken and stepped on like a sad little cockroach. You're alive, and you have love to give. It's more than enough.

He touches a hand to your throat, traces a sticky finger over the small scar that's still there. You don't know if it's an apology or not, but his kiss after definitely is. 

Gutted bugs laying in the sun, the new thieves of the summer. If you die, you'll die free.

[miguel-owhora]

meow meow meow Thinking about fucking Pearson on the backside of a wagon. Having him bent over on the bedroll you placed down, pawing at his belly and rolls, rocking your hips into him at a slow n steady pace. His pussy would be so wet and sloppy, coating your cock and his thighs in a shimmery slick. meow meow meow

[keppa-nero]

What do you think would be bill's reaction if the reader asked him to dance?

I've had some other requests I'm still thinking on how to do but goddamn if I'm doing this one right ahead 🗿

[Getting these images from random

Google searches btw xd]

Bill Williamson x Male! Reader;

Fluff

ASKING HIM TO DANCE

TW: Homophobic slurs mentioned \ Pretty short

Bill Williamson.

Oh he was the gang's dumb, big, stubborn, lazy man that everyone knew from exactly that description.

And, Bill being Bill, he didn't like it, he hated being seen as someone 'weak', as he for some reason thinks everyone sees him as. But he still couldn't help but live up to those expectations.

It doesn't help that, absolutely every member of his gang, probably even Jack had heard about, knew he liked men. Despite all his claims about "Having done it with Abigail, like any other in the group", no one even believed he could look a woman any way other than with annoyance.

Tonight though, while he sat next to the campfire after having some of Pearson's god awful fish stew, Bill had a beer in hand and was already thinking about spending the rest of the night drinking himself to sleep, as any other night he isn't doing night watch.

Camp was quite calm since they were having one of those nights where they just enjoyed some drinks, talked, sang, and the ones that had anything close to a partner danced to the ambience. Of course Bill, instead, just tried to make himself invisible between the rest like he wasn't feeling miserable about himself, his mind still full of that failed train heist two weeks ago, overthinking it as his fault. It was just what was clouding his mind at the moment.

So of course he didn't hear or see you approaching.

When you almost timidly reached out your hand to him, your other hand behind your back in a respectful manner, and asked him to dance... Well he didn't take it all well.

He thought you were joking. I mean of course, who'd want to willingly even want to touch Bill Williamson? You were a fine man, an attractive one in his own eyes. You were manly, gentle, and all woman in their right eyesight would fall for you, at least in. His own. Eyes.

You must be just putting on a joke to humiliate him even more.

He swatted your hand away with a frown, standing up quickly as he tried to make himself look as big and intimidating as posible so you wouldn't see past his hurt pride, leaving the beer on the log he was sitting on and glaring at you, ignoring his urge to break eye contact and check if anyone around was seeing the situation.

"You must think I'm an idiot, huh? What's with you? You think you can make a fool out of me? Y'see I ain't a goddamn girl for you to ask me out like a fag-" He simply started spitting at you in a low growly voice, his hand on your chest to push you back, roughly.

It made you freak out a little, looking back at him with a slightly open mouth with no words to come out, glancing around as if to double check no one peered. You knew very well how he was, how he'd just have the punch reflect up at any moment.

"No- Hey Bill-..." You rushed your voice quietly to not attract attention, reaching out for his hand to try to make him listen, but he just backed it away with a confused yet almost offended narrowing of his eyes.

"I ain't gon-" He started to argue back, but you quieted him down again and grabbing his hand with both of yours, making him fall in complete silence.

"No I'm- I'm... Being honest, I want to dance with you, it ain't a joke or nothing, I just wanted to ask for... Your... Ehm- H-Honest answer, without anyone around" You cleared your throat mid-sentence after realizing how eager you must have sounded like, and just looked at his eyes with a silent hopeful gaze now. It's like the embarrassment had shifted to you now.

You both just stared at each other for some long seconds while Bill processed each of your words, analyzing every letter you said and trying to mentally guess if you were being genuine or not.

"Uh-... The hell? You crazy...?" He muttered with his gaze down, silence falling between the two. He back at you and raised his eyebrows slowly as he realized you meant it. "Oh, really?- Like?... Now?..."

His eyes darted to your hands on his, and had to clear his throat too after realizing how much like a little boy he had to look like.

He was the type to get all red and flustered over someone brushing his pinky.

He trailed off in a similar manner as you did earlier, eyes widening and then darting everywhere as he nodded frantically, grumbling in a low tone to make up for his stutter just now.

"Yeah of course, uh, just because you want... Uh..."

It made you smile widely seeing his reaction and affirmation, taking the initiative and forgetting your own racing heart, as you guided him a bit farther from the fire to listen to the others singing and have more space, also to avoid the most probable guys from insulting or laughing at you two.

"You just, you know, place your hand on my shoulder and I'll do the same" You spoke below your usual pitch, placing your hand on his shoulder and the other one on his waist.

Him though, was still completely freaking out mentally, looking at your eyes with his wide as plates, noticing how he was acting and, once more, tried to cover it up and did as you said, with a quick "Yeah sure" under his breath, putting his hand on your shoulder while the other awkardly rested on your forearm, looking down at his own limbs like they were alien.

You couldn't deny you two looked like teenagers with a crush on each other holding hands with the way you dumbly smiled and he stood quiet, not an uncomfortable or awkard quiet, but just a flattered and happy one.

His eyes were darting all around you when you two started dancing, trying to follow your feet movements to not step on each other, without realizing how hard he was pressing his lips to not say something stupid or blurt out non sense.

You though, were looking directly at his eyes like nothing else was around, pretty much sharing the same feeling as him as in, nervousness and happiness. Which only spiked up when he was secure enough to not be scared to mess up.

"This is- They'd call me a fag for this one" He grumbled again while his gaze got hopeless and lost in yours.

You instead chuckled, well, more like giggled, bringing him a bit closer while you two danced in a sweet slow.

"While they don't see us... I think we're fine" You said in a whisper.

The dance ended after whatever group of drunks stopped singing from a distance, and you two pulled away. Bill though, couldn't help the detail to take your hand and quickly kissing your knuckles softly, pulling them back like it'd bite him.

But he just went red after you decided to kiss his forehead after tipping up his hat, finding it endearing how he reacted to any small detail.

"What about we two go, uh, do this in Valentine or something next time... If you want to, I mean, less people know us there" He then suggested nervously after forcing eye-contact with you, his lips moving up into a smile as dumb and sweet as yours, just that his, being Bill's, didn't look as friendly. Yet in your eyes it did.

"Of course, yeah... I'll- I think I'm gonna go sleep already anyways... You uhm, have a good night eh" Your voice left your mouth awkwardly, tipping your own hat down as a gentleman wave off, like you usually did, just that this time you swear your hands were trembling slightly, just like Bill's did when you held it.

And like that, you walked off to your personal tent, after hearing his own silent 'See you later'.

It was incredible how it managed to break down a man as Bill's walls, making him a nervous mess and think about this moment for the rest of the night and the rest of the week, until you two met this privately again. At least it wasn't one-sided, it was weird seeing an attractive, gaze-driving man like you get all mushy too...

You'd like sharing a cigarette with him, honestly.

_______________________________________

There it is. YA HAVE IT, PLEASE TELL ME YOU LIKE IT, I TRIED NOT TO BE TOO MUSHY BUT IT CAME OUT KINDA LIKE IT 🦐

[sunflowerdaisybee]

Hey, you are an amazing writer!! Can I request a Karl irl x personality disorder male reader (this is kind of a personal one for me). So Karl does a stream where he does a boyfriend reveal stream and he teaches him how to play minecraft Throughout the stream reader is just sitting there with a straight face. Half way through the stream reader is playing and Karl goes to cuddle up to reader and tells reader that he loves him, and of course reader says I love you back. But chat assumes that reader is using karl and doesn't actually love karl since he just said it with a straight face, so their spamming in the chat that Karl needs to break up with reader. you can finish it

(also, pearsonality disorder is where a person has trouble expressing/showing emotion)

-venus

I love when I get requests that are like super specific and cater to smaller catering because there is not enough content for people with specific things that set them apart :] <3

Summary: Chat doesn’t get you like Karl does

Pairing: Karl X Reader

Pronouns: He/Him

[A/n]: Requests are open :] <3

People had a habit of mistaking you for an asshole, you were always so cold and straight-faced. You didn't do it intentionally, you simply had a personality disorder that caused issues with properly expressing your emotions. This never bothered Karl though, he knew you loved him and that you were just different about showing it. Your face may not say that you love him, but your actions and your words do and that's all he needs.

"Hey, I was wondering if you'd wanna do a stream together? The fans have been dying to meet you and I think it'll be fun!"

"Sure, when did you have in mind?"

"Are you free tonight, cause I don't have anything specific planned?" You nodded, asking Karl what you should wear.

"Just wear what you're wearing now, I want them to meet all of you!" You nodded before cuddling up to Karl. The two of you agreed to finish the movie before streaming.

The movie ended soon as there wasn’t much time left, leaving only the credits playing as you two sat up and stretched.

“You ready to stream?” Karl nodded, rushing off to start everything up while you turned the tv off. By the time you made it to Karl’s streaming room, he had everything all set up.

Karl was quick to start the stream, which he lovingly titled ‘Boyfriend Reveal’, before tugging you into view. The two of you got comfy in your seats, Karl talking to fans and setting up minecraft while you sat there.

There were a lot of random questions about your relationship, things like how you guys met and how long you’d been together. Overall the questions were pretty tame, mostly just fans being nosey.

“Ok, so you have no idea how to play Minecraft right?” Karl looked over at you, scooting over in his chair so that you can be closer to the keyboard and mouse.

“I have never played before, you’re gonna have to teach me everything.” Karl nodded, telling you what to click on to start up a new world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you and Karl were confident that you could play on your own you were handed full control of the computer. Karl leaned back into his chair before decorating close enough to rest his head on you.

“You’re doing good, see this wasn’t so hard.”

“It is hard, I just have a great teacher.” Your voice stayed monotone but Karl knew what you meant.

“Mm, I love you.” Karl snuggled closer to you.

“Love you too.” Your voice was flat and your expression blank but Karl knew you meant it with as much love as you could.

Chat didn’t seem to understand it the way Karl did. In fact, they were quick to jump to his defense about how cold you had been all stream and how just now you responded like it was nothing.

The flooding hate and donos with distasteful words did not settle well in you. You knew that Karl knew you loved him but you couldn’t help but beat yourself up over the fact that you couldn’t properly express that to him.

What really got to you was the bold dono who said that Karl should break up with you for someone who loves him more. Karl was sick of people hating his boyfriend but it was those words that really got him going.

He sat up straight in his chair, taking the mouse from you and changing the stream view to only the face cam so that people would keep their attention on him.

“I’m only going to say this once so listen up. Not only do I love (y/n) but I know for a fact he loves me too.” Karl looked to you for an ok to share with fans before continuing on.

“(Y/n) has a type of personality disorder that causes issues with expressing emotions. Just because he can’t express his love doesn’t mean he can’t feel it. He doesn’t let that stop him though as he shows his love and his emotions in different ways. If you have a problem with that then you need to leave.” Karl wore a serious expression, sitting in his chair with his arms crossed.

Recognizing his stress you leaned over, wrapping your arm around him and scooting him closer. Your hand rubbed up and down his arm as you placed a kiss to his head, calming him down as best you could in the moment.

Both of you watched as chat spammed apologies, any lingering hate comments being drowned out by the overwhelming support. That paired with your comforting quickly brought Karl back to his more happy self, prompting him to switch back to the view of Minecraft.

“Let’s keep playing, I wanna see what your house looks like when it’s done.” You just nodded and moved your arms back to where they were before, playing the game once more.

Karl once again laid his head on you, snuggling up and watching you play.

[captainmarkone]

back home. character(s): arthur morgan x reader / the gang. warning(s): none but some angsty feels... kinda? summary: after four months of "scouting" in the North, you return home. it hasn't been easy on your own, but being back with your family is all that you want. but all is strange with you bring someone back with you. category(ies): one-shot follow up. a/n: adding some spice into this. this a follow up to time apart, so if you haven't read that first, make sure you do! as always, if you see mistakes, you didn't. this will have another (3rd) part after this one. you guys have given me such love and inso for it. credits: divider // gif.

Arthur stood there under the makeshift tent near his wagon. Reading the letter over and over. Not quite understanding how or why you were hurt by such a thing. He loved you. In the years of running from the law together, he loved you.

Though you two never said it. It was a confession he wasn’t ready to make. Not after Mary. He shoved the letter into his satchel and made his way to horse. Mounting it, he saw Ms. Grimshaw making her way toward him from Pearsons station.

“Mr. Morgan!” she called out, raising her hand to stop him.

It was too late as Arthur took off, his horse doing as told. Reaching the Valentine train station, he has thought he made it on time. But the train motioned forward, lurching to life. He halted, his breathing hard and heavy as he watched it fly on its tracks.

The ache is heart started to creep it way over his body. He could feel the hole in his chest slowly start opening. Turning, he saw Tilly and Charles on the platform, walking toward the ramp at the front of the building.

They made eye contact with Arthur, Tilly shaking her head in disappointment as she walked toward the horses.

“You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan. But she’ll be back. Don’t you worry,” Tilly said, climbing onto her horse with the help of Charles.

As Charles climbed on to his horse, it trotted toward Arthur slowly, hand reaching out and resting on Arthurs’ his shoulder. “You should write to her, brother. Don’t be a fool anymore,” his friend said, trotting into Valentine with him.

“Let’s get a drink. Put the thoughts at ease,” Charles continued. Arthur was stunned into silence. Tilly had made her back toward camp, not wanting to hear Arthur’s ranting.

“I don’t know why she just couldn’t talk to me!” Arthur exclaimed, shaking his head and fixing his old weathered hat.

“Well… why didn’t you talk to her? Tell her that Mary needed your help? Why keep it a secret?” Charles questioned. It racked his brain as much as Arthur’s.

Arthur knew you liked Mary but it was to an extent. He also knew that you knew how deeply in love he was with Mary. Was. Not anymore, no longer. He was gonna marry her after all. Until Mary didn’t want no part in his way of life and Arthur wasn’t ready to change to a life of domestication.

“Hell,” he drawled, “I don’ know. She knew Mary didn’ want to live this life with me. Always on the run, always hidin’. I didn’ mean to keep it a secret. And, well, I’m just a plain fool.”

Riding into town, the men hitched their horses to the posts right outside the saloon. Wanting nothing more than to get drunk when walking inside.

Riding up to the post office, you hitched your horse to the post outside and sighed deeply as you could finally stretch your legs.

Walking in, you stepped toward the caged area and nodded at the mail clerk.

“Mail for Louise Kilgore,” you stated, and watched the male excuse himself to see what had come in. Looking around the area, you saw a few people standing and sitting about. One checking the bulletin board near the door, seeing the MOST WANTED poster. You’d have to grab that on the way out.

“Ms. Kilgore. You got a few. Have a nice day,” he said, placing three envelopes through the small opening of the window and slid it to you. You gave a soft “thank you” and walked out. Only to turn around and snatch the MOST WANTED poster. You’d catch them later.

Sifting through the envelopes, you saw one with Arthur’s hand writing. You stood in your tracks, feeling your breathing stop. It has been two months since you’ve seen the gang… seen Arthur. Your fingers moved over the words on the envelope. The other two were in Tilly and Abigail’s handwriting. You’d read those later.

Opening up the envelope, you slid the paper out and opened it. Already feeling the tears brim your eyes. You closed it up, not wanting to read it just yet. You placed it neatly in your satchel and hopped back on to the horse.

“Hyah!” you yelled, the horse full speed running toward home.

Arriving home, you hitched your horse to his post and walked into the cabin. Sheltered from the world. You had found it a week after getting here. It was abandoned and had been staying there for the time being.

Sitting on the chair in the kitchen, you’ll pulled the letters out but opened the one from Arthur back up. Breathing softly as you read the lines carefully.

Sweet Girl,

I ain’t good with my words. I don’t know how I am even supposed to word this. This letter. I suppose I should be angry or something, but I ain’t. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave. I understand the reason. Never did I want to make you feel like you weren’t important to me. I should have told you about Mary but I knew if I did, you would give me that look you always give when you weren’t happy. I even bet you’re doing it right now just at the mention of Mary.

You stopped reading, realizing you were. You cursed him under your breath. He knew you too damn well.

Tilly told me you will be back and I promise I’ll be here waiting for you to come home to me. You think I am a good man, but I am only that way because of you, sweet girl. Mary is my past, always will be. Charles said I shouldn’t hide my feelings, especially since I’m writing to you. So come home, sweet girl.

Yours,

Tacitus Kilgore.

Oh, Arthur. He knew just how to make you feel something. Something that shouldn't make you want to immediately forgive him. But things just... it didn't feel right to come back. Emotions, feelings all rose to the surface and you wiped your eyes.

Closing the letter up, you placed it on the table and sat there for a moment. After thinking for a long moment, you decided it was time to go home. You stood up, taking the MOST WANTED poster from your satchel and set out to find Jimmy Newman.

T W O MONTHS L A T E R.

Wanting nothing more than to be home, you saddled on your horse, galloping through the harsh winds. The sun blistering down your back as you pushed your horse harder. They were no longer in Valentine. Tilly had mentioned they were now somewhere called Clemons Point.

Slowly trotting through the thick brush of woods, you saw a familiar face by a tree. You grinned widely when you saw Sadie Adler.

“Who’s there?!” she yelled, eyes going wide as you neared her. Your smile wide as you hopped off your horse. Arms wrapping around the female, her doing the same.

“Mrs. Adler!” you exclaimed, keeping the embrace. She was just as happy to see you. And the get up you were wearing. Pants, just like her. You two laughed at the change, saying you had to become a bounty hunter just to survive. Either that or becoming a street worker.

“Arthur here?” You asked and she shook her head. “No, he’s out with Hosea and Dutch. Trying to con some rich family,” she continued, shaking her head.

“Well Mrs. Adler, I’m very happy to see you. I’m going to say hello to everyone else,” you said, hopping on to your horse. Looking back and then to Sadie, nodding at her. Trotting toward the campsite, you heard exclaims of excitement. You grinned as Tilly ran toward you. Hopping back off your horse, you embraced your closest friend.

“You’re back! I can’t believe you’re back!” she exclaimed, happiness filling her heart. Soon you hugged Abigail, then Pearson. Everyone asking how the North was. That was when you turned and motioned toward the male that had followed you.

“Who’s this?” John asked, hand already resting on his holster.

“This is Theodore. But he prefers the name Theo,” you introduced your friend. Your hand resting on his shoulder. You smiled at the male and back at your group of friends.

“Well then… must have been a good time up North,” John said, Abigail smacking his chest to shut him up. But he knew that Arthur would be pissed.

“It’ll be a story for the night,” you said, laughing. Looking back at your friend, you smacked his arm playfully.

“You can bunk with me. Mary-Beth met a young gentleman in Rhodes and had been with him ever since!” Tilly said, escorting you and Theo to the tent.

Tonight was going to be an interesting one. You could feel it. Especially with the way John was watching you from his tent across the way.

[littlestarofthewest]

Hello u beautiful writer! I wanna request some pure fluff with Arthur Morgan (male reader pleasee) for Valentine's day!! I'm genuinely bad at giving plot details and such but I really need some cuddly stuff with him *crying* Thank u for ur time!

Since I won't be able to post all requests in one day, I hope you don't mind an early Valentine. I tried to make it cuddly 😄 (and it turned out more gn reader)

Title: Ease The Storm | Pairing: Arthur x gn reader | Words: 679

You sit in a dark corner of the room, listening to your gang members hazing each other. Lenny's giving Bill more shit than he can handle and tempers flare, but Javier manages to quiet them down. They all keep making jokes, distracting you for a few minutes, but then the storm outside grows stronger, making your heart beat faster.

You hate storms with your whole heart. It's not like you're so afraid that you'd hide under the bed, but you have this constant feeling of unease that keeps you from falling asleep. After standing outside for hours to keep watch, you sure could use a little shuteye. With how the wind howls around the shaky cabin, that's not an option though.

The door flies open and Arthur comes inside with another rumble from the storm. He throws the door shut, leaning against it with a grunt.

"Any luck, Arthur?" Lenny asks.

Arthur takes off his gloves and shoves them in his pocket to hold his hands near the small oven in the corner. "Luck's got nothing to do with it. Charles found some deer, Pearson's working on them." 

"At least it won't be raw then," Javier says, teasing Pearson's cooking and you can't help a smile while the others laugh.

Giving the spot by the oven back to Javier, Arthur walks over to you. "You got any sleep?"

"A little," you lie, but judging by his raised brow, Arthur's not buying it. You shrug. "It's too cold for anything."

"True," Arthur grunts. "You mind?"

Arthur nods to the spot next to you and you scoot a little to the side. "Go ahead."

He sits down and you wonder if he misjudged the space or deliberately sat down this close to you. His arm and leg both brush against you, and you forget to breathe for a second. 

"I just hope we get off this mountain soon," Arthur says.

"Hm," is all you can say with the air you have left, and a shudder runs through your body.

Arthur turns to you, worry on his face. "You should stay by the oven, get yourself warm."

The others are still teasing each other and joking around. It's funny from a distance but you wouldn't want to get in the middle of it.

"I'm good," you say, hoping that Arthur will leave it alone.

He nods at first, but then opens up his coat, waving you closer. "Move over here, we've got to warm you up."

"It's fine," you say, but still move, unable not to do what Arthur says.

He pulls you closer, with your back to his chest, wrapping the coat around you as far as it goes before pulling the thin blanket around you that you used as a cover.

You feel the difference immediately. Arthur might complain about the cold but he's hot like a furnace. His warmth wanders from your back up to your face and down into your legs. You can feel your muscles relax and can't help but fall back against Arthur's chest.

His hot breath ghosts over your neck, and his beard tickles your skin when he leans forward to wrap one arm around you. The other comes to rest on your leg, and when another shiver shakes you, Arthur rubs circles onto your thigh with his flat hand.

"Better?" he asks, as if you're in a state to give a coherent answer.

"Much," you finally say and Arthur rests his head on your shoulder.

"You should still try to get some sleep."

You're unable to speak. Instead, you move around a little as if you want to melt into Arthur. You can hear a soft chuckle behind you, and Arthur's arms tighten around your chest. 

Enveloped in that warm embrace, you feel how tired you really are, and your eyelids grow heavier by the second.

"Thank you," you mumble and Arthur squeezes you a little.

"My pleasure," he says, his voice just as comforting as the rest of him.

Safe and warm, you drift off to sleep. In the morning, Arthur's still there.