contents: 18+ content, loneliness, alcohol mention, smoking mention, typical Wild West violence & values (light torture, murder, stealing), pining if you squint
word count: 2.6k
an: the urge to write real recognizes real as the summary was strong. just a heads up that these two are NOT GOOD PEOPLE. they aren’t honorable or heroic and some of this will be pretty fucked up. with that being said, here is the first chapter! honestly i’m so excited to share this with y’all, let me know what ya think!
series masterlist | writing masterlist
Being a nomad of sorts has its perks, or at least that’s how you’ve always framed it. You’re slippery as a snake, sliding in and out of rich folks' lives just when they start to thinking you’ll be sticking around. It gets you a hoard of benefits; weapons and supplies for the never-ending road, bonds to sell, and stacks of money to hold you over as you sneak into the quiet of the night. You do your best to leave on decent terms— especially if you can imagine returning to some of these places— but some just can’t understand the way you live. You’ve learned to live with their disappointment.
Your life has been days and days of being misunderstood, what’s another?
It’s not the easiest way to live by any means and at times when the night is too cold or the afternoons too hot you wish that you could settle down like others do. But you are wiser than that. If you were to settle down somewhere, that loneliness that only rears its head every blue moon would become a daily occurrence. Yes, this life can be lonely, but at least there is some semblance of connection you find in learning someone so well that you wiggle into their heart. Charm takes intimacy, and you’re only equipped to handle that on a one-way street. The bridge to your heart crumbled and collapsed with the loss of your family, what feels like eons ago. From that moment on, this wandering shell of a person is who you became.
You’re settled just on the outskirts of a quiet, quaint town named Strawberry. There’s a little rundown shack near a stretch of wood that’s perfect for your party of one. Your first stop after securing the shack and leaving a few things behind is getting a hot meal at the saloon. There’s only so much foraged produce and rice cakes a person can live on before the belly craves more.
It’ll also give you a chance to scope things out— more specifically the people that seem to be in need of lightening their pockets from the tricks up your sleeve. This saloon is tinier than the ones you have been to before, but the mouthwatering scent of garlic and various herbs is mixed with cigarette smoke and the rowdy sound of nightly celebrations and poker chips. There’s a variety of folks here, women and men of all kinds, helpful in making sure you don’t stick out as you survey the place.
From what you’ve seen so far of the town it’s aptly named, the folks are sweet and welcoming. The guilt that used to sit in your heart about conning people like this has faded. You’re surviving, do what you can and must. It’s nothing personal, just the way life goes. But you do go out of your way to go for assholes, and the rich of the rich. Sometimes you even give back. There’s some semblance of honor you live by, even if it’s not much.
It's just a week later that things change— life changes, your path unknowingly transforming in just a matter of seconds. Because the moment you meet him, you know he’s the one.
Not like in those cheesy, bullshit stories girls at every saloon fawn over. Not like the love your mother and father used to spew, the love that was so genuine but as you grew felt more and more unattainable. But like you’ve always wanted— like you’ve convinced yourself you can handle.
He can be your partner, he can make this life a little bit easier.
A partner would make this game easier for you. As a woman in the West, the target on your back was bigger than the noon sun. No level of mastery can make being a woman less dangerous. But, with a man on your side? That could open doors you hadn’t dared try to rattle.
And him? Well when he’d asked you to dance, you were sure he was the one. Mostly because he hadn’t truly asked, partially because of the bright mischievousness in his dark brown eyes. How could his eyes show you the future with a color so deep? Contradictory pulled you in. He could do the impossible and that was exactly what you needed.
He walks in and right up to you, tipping his hat before removing it and placing it on the bar. His head is a mop of messy black hair, his mouth full and soft despite what you can imagine is a rough lifestyle. His hands speak to it, calloused and dry and strong. With broad shoulders and an expansive chest, he’s attractive, it’s impossible to deny it. But that’s as far as you’ll let yourself go, you must think about his ability, about his skills and practicality.
You can tell he’s airish, smoother than the finest leather money could buy. He’s you, but better. You’re good at what you do, and you take pride in it, but there’s something about him that just says he’s better. His competence hangs in the air and the way he holds himself.
His voice is soft, but firm, full of confidence, “Dance with me, girl.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “Depends on what sort of dancin’ you’re looking for, boy.”
His expression stays stiff besides his eyes that somehow glow even brighter at your quip. “The kind where you put one foot in front of the other. Sway a little.”
“That’s not something I’m lookin’ for.”
His mouth twitches ever so slightly, “Don’t I know it.”
“Then why’d you ask?” You question, brows knitting together.
“How else was I gonna catch your attention? Been here the entire week and you haven’t even given me a glance.”
“Seems you’ve caught me at a disadvantage then…”
“Folks call me Djarin. You can call me Din.”
You wince, shaking your head at him like he’s just committed some sin. In the world that you live in, he practically has.
“That your real name?”
“You think I’m lyin’?”
“I’m sure you have some idea what I think about you. But what makes me so special, Din?” You challenge, tilting your head at him.
He shrugs– as nonchalant as ever as he says, “Takes one to know one.”
Try as you might, you can’t hold back the laugh that rises in your throat, “You’re callin’ yourself special?”
He doesn’t bat an eyelash at your mockery— not only has he seen plenty in his day but he can see you down to your core, knowing you don’t mean it. Knowing you see him just the same. “Don’t you think so?”
You can’t argue with that. Instead of saying anything, you throw back the rest of your drink, nodding your head towards the bartender as if to ask Din if he wants a drink of his own.
You and Din don’t dance, and it’s he who ends up buying you a drink. Din clearly isn’t much of a talker but the space that settles between you feels surprisingly…comfortable. The two of you sip and watch the happenings of the saloon, no doubt searching for any possible targets to sink your claws into. There are a few that catch your eye, though there’s one man in particular, clearly drunk and full of himself by the way he won’t leave some of the women alone even after they say no. That coupled with the way he flashes his belt buckle one too many times makes him perfect. You know solid gold when you see it, and just like that he’s on your list.
When he finishes his drink he leans in, voice so quiet you have to lean in too to hear him. His voice is deep, smooth like honey in your ear, “Tomorrow mornin’, meet me on the outskirts of town. The west side near that little quarry. You know it?”
“Yeah, I know it. What’s there?” You ask curiously.
“You’ll see. Just before dawn,” Is all he says before placing a few bills on the bar and leaving.
Soon after you take your own leave, saddling up on your horse and heading back to your shack. Before you slip into slumber, you realize that he never asked you for your name. You’d lie to him even if he asks, a rule of the trade— one he’d broken for you, though you won’t let yourself look too much into that. But until then, you suppose you’ll both be satisfied with mystery.
Sleep is easy and peaceful, filled with dreams of two horses walking down a long winding path to a hidden lake amidst a lush garden. They drink and lounge there for what feels like a sweet eternity.
A summer morning can be many things but this one is damp and muggy– the heat oppressive. The sound of cicadas and early morning birds fill the air despite the sun’s slumber. When you wake you wash in the nearby river before dressing in a lightweight button-down and jeans, ditching the jacket that kept you warm at night. You head to the spot Din had told you about.
You would be lying if you weren’t wary— some random man telling you to meet in a location he’s chosen the night after meeting him is a risky game. But you’re fully armed, even your hunting rifle slung along your shoulders instead of stowed on your horse. Dutiful Augustine. She never disappoints.
The first thing that you notice when Din comes into view is that he’s not alone. There’s a man restrained on the ground and by the way he’s laid, you know he’s unconscious.
Is this what he called you here for?
Din takes one last drag of his cigarette as you approach, flicking it and snuffing the rest of its ember out with his boot.
“You showed,” His expression is tame as before but you can hear the warmth in his voice. It makes your tummy tingle.
“Did you doubt me?” You ask playfully, dismounting your horse.
“Not one bit.”
You bite away your smile, pointing at the man who’s lying on the ground, “Who’s this?”
“A present.” He says simply. At your raised brow, Din removes the cover from the man’s head. “You were eyeing him last night weren’t you?”
The smile that spreads across your face is brighter than the rising sun and Din’s heart flutters.
“I was. How’d you know?”
“We’re the same, ain’t we?”
There’s him reading your mind again. You’re playing it safe, not wanting to get your hopes up or let your guard down so you shrug, training your eyes on the man who’s knocked out and typed up in front of you.
“Wake him.”
Din takes his canteen from his horse and douses the man in water until he sputters awake.
The man takes in his surroundings quickly, panic in his eyes, “L-Look, I don’t want no trouble. Anything you two want you can have.”
You stoop down in front of the man, smoothing the wet hair in his face back, “Well, aren’t you a gentleman today. Last night, now that’s a different story.”
You see the moment the man recognizes you from the saloon. He shakes his head, glancing up at Din as if he’ll be some savior.
“No, no, look at her,” Din says firmly.
The grin on your face widens at his deferrence and your eyes meet his briefly before you look at the man again. “What’s your name?”
“Kurt.”
“Kurt?” Din repeats, disgusted. It almost makes you want to giggle, but you focus on the task at hand.
“Where do you live, Kurt?”
“In Strawberry,” The man says begrudgingly.
Your brows raise at the man’s sass given his current predicament,“Well, I imagined that since you were in the saloon last night.”
“You don’t live here and you were there.”
You reach out, gripping his chin with a firm grip that makes him struggle with the restraints, “Did I say you should speak on me and where I live?
“N-no.”
“Good, then we’re on the same page. Now— where do you live Kurt?”
“Listen, my brother lives there you can’t just—“
Before Kurt can finish his sentence you slap him across the face, hard enough that when he looks at you once more there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. You reach to your hip, hand resting on the hilt of the knife you have sheathed there and Kurt’s eyes go wide.
“You’re mouthy,” You say, displeasure obvious in your voice.
“T-three houses down from the saloon. To the left if you’re facing it.”
You look up at Din, raising a brow at him.
He shakes his head, kicking the man in the back, “Wasn’t the way you were walking last night.”
Through a cry of pain, Kurt tries to rationalize with the two of you, “I was drunk, why d’ya think it was so easy for you to get me?”
“Shit-talking my partner and a liar? You’ve got plenty of nerve for a man at my mercy.”
Din shifts on his feet, his heart fluttering in his chest again at the sound of you calling him his partner. The two of you haven’t discussed a lick of anything. He was right about you— he knew he would be. His eyes are glued to your face, drinking in every sadistic expression that graces your features, every harsh word that comes from your mouth. He’s enamored.
“No, I swear, that’s the house.”
“Kurt. It’s early. Do you see?” You grip his jaw, turning his head towards the light that peaks over the horizon. “The sun is just rising. It is early— I hate getting up early, don’t I, Djarin?”
“She does.”
“And now, you’re making this early mornin’ worse by lying to us. You think that’s wise?”
“I’m not lyin’!”
“I don’t like it when people force my hand, Kurt. I value making my own decisions but look at you, you’ve done it.” You slip the knife from the sheath, pressing it to the column of his throat. “Tell me which house, and we’ll make this fast.”
Kurt’s seen your faces, there’s no way that you could let him live, even if part of you wanted to. This’ll be the test. You know that Din won’t fail, you knew that moment you laid your eyes on him. But, if there’s nothing your daddy taught you, it’s to be thorough. Din is a man after all, and all men fall short at one time or another.
“Wait a minute now— wait just one minute—“
“Shhhh, everything’s just fine, yeah? The house, Kurt, focus,” Your voice is kind, sweet and smooth despite the force you use to press the knife against his skin.
Kurt’s shoulders drop in defeat as he murmurs, “It’s the one across from the general store.”
“See, s’all I wanted,” You take the knife away from his throat before looking up at Din who gives you a slow, understanding nod.
“Now all y’all need to do is untie me, I swear to God I won’t tell a soul. And I don’t swear on God, I don’t take the Lord's name in vain.”
“I believe you, Kurt. I really do.” You pat the man on the cheek before standing. “Din.”
As you back away, Din steps forward, sliding his gun out of his holster. Kurt begs and pleads, he pulls on his restraints and even tries to crawl away despite the way his legs are tied together. Din doesn’t let him get far, not wanting to give him any hope or waste anymore time on the man. Neither of your horses flinch or make a sound when the gun goes off. Neither do either of you.
He bends to take the shining belt buckle from the man’s hips, holding it out to you as he asks, “How ‘bout we go check out his homestead?”
You nod, take the buckle from his hand and slide it into the sack on your horse, “Lead the way forward.”
an: not truly back, just wrote this to cope and have fun. writing has felt so pressurized lately and this felt good. this is my first Pitt fic and I’ve only seen 6 episodes so…be nice!
Robby’s eyes are glazed over as he looks down at his watch, glowing in the low light. Someone must’ve turned the lights off. For privacy, for respect. He’s not sure. Not sure why, not sure it matters.
Time of death— 14:07.
His heartbeat sounds violent in his ears, like a cruel joke in the presence of death. Could he possibly deserve it?
“Robby. Robby?” Collins gently knocks Robby’s shoulder with her own, trying not to look concerned.
Robby blinks, the corner of his mouth turning up as if he was caught doing something he shouldn’t. “Hmm?”
“Dana’s waiting for you outside.”
“Got it. You all come find me if you need to,” he says to the lot before stepping out, his eyes meeting Dana as he closes the door behind him.
As usual, Dana wastes no time. “Kiara’s here to talk to you about the 17 year old.”
He turns on his heels, heading towards room 14. “Right, thanks.”
Dana falls in step beside him, quiet for several moments before she asks, “You okay?”
Robby wrinkles his nose, nodding. “I’m okay.”
“It’s okay if you’re not.”
“I know. But I’m fine. Hour left, I’ll be fine.”
“Just one,” she murmurs encouragingly.
–
The hour felt like 10. They’d lost someone else, saved many others. Sometimes it was hard to feel in the face of loss that he’d done anything right.
The answer to that question can be saved for another day, a reckoning with god.
Robby tries to zone out and tune in all at once on his commute home, wanting to be moved by the yellow tulips planted in a school garden, by the laughter of a man and woman who walk hand and hand together down a street. Wanting to forget that his back is aching and that he watched more than one person take their last breath today. Because maybe if he can do those things, the thoughts will go away. Maybe.
When he steps into your shared apartment he knows you’re home immediately. Your things are haphazardly strewn about, keys barely missing the catching tray, shoes in the foyer, your jacket barely hanging on the kitchen counter.
He frowns, head tilting in wait for your footsteps but the apartment stays silent.
“Honey?” Robby calls out.
“Hmm?” you groan.
He’s heard that groan before and knows it very well— you aren’t feeling well. His shoes are off and bags on the floor in an instant, then his eyes are on you.
Curtains drawn tight, not a lick of light being let in besides small streams through the bedroom door. You’re curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed, wrapped in one of his t-shirts, migraine cap on.
Though he knows, he asks anyway. “What do we got here?”
“Our usual suspect,” you whisper. “Shut the door please.”
“Of course,” he agrees easily, shutting the door before he joins you on the bed.
An aura migraine. You get them often even with routine treatment and prevention. Robby’s snapping back into gear before he can think about it.
“What have you taken? Did you do all the steps we established?”
You walk him through each course of action you’ve taken, opening your mouth to let him know how much medication you’ve taken when he cuts you off.
“And your pain? How’s it scaled?”
You sigh, finally opening one eye to peek at him. There are shimmers all around him, ones that would make him look magical if they weren’t making your head feel like it would explode at any minute.
“Robby,” your tone is gentle but chastising.
How many times have the two of you had this conversation? How many times have you had to remind him that your home is not The Pitt, even when there’s something wrong? That he’s safe here, that the decisions are small. Weightless. Shared.
He ducks his head, squeezing your hand. “I know.”
“I’m not one of your patients,” you remind him softly.
“I know, I’m sorry.”
It takes some strength but you raise your other him, cupping his cheek. “You can trust me to take care of myself.”
He sighs. He can trust you. He does trust you. “Sweetheart, I know, I just—“
“You’ve taught me so well. You know that I listen to you.”
You finally feel some of the tenseness in his body melt away as he rests his head more firmly into the palm of your hand.
His smiles down at you apologetically, eyes crinkled in the corners. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can get you?”
“More water. And the largest dose of cuddles.”
“Coming up. No more pain meds?”
“I’m maxed out.”
Robby frowns, trying to do the math. But that would mean…
“How long have you—“
“I didn’t even make it to my first planning period,” you admit softly, and when his frown deepens you keep talking. “You were working. We have a plan for when I’m struggling. I’m okay, Michael.”
He takes a deep breath without recognizing it. “You’re okay.”
You smile, wincing a bit. “Just the sight of you is helping with the pain.”
It’s true. You’re sure it’s a combination of the meds, the ice on your temples and yes, of course, the man that you love.
Robby brings your hand up to his mouth, kissing it gently. “Don’t move, I’ll be right back.”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”
On his return, Robby helps you sit up, guiding the glass of water to your mouth. And when you’ve had your fill, you ask him again to lay down with you, scooting over as you curl up. He shrugs out of his scrubs, pulling on a fresh set of pjs before sliding in beside you and gathering you in his arms.
You and Robby have argued about it before but this— the two of you wrapped around each other, nearly fused together— is what real medicine is.
—
Robby wakes before he means to. His consciousness loads like a wave, a slow return that never fully let him go.
The room is still dark— darker even now that the sun has gone down, curtains in their same place. For a moment, he doesn’t move, he simply listens.
Your breathing is the first thing he finds. It’s steady and even, just like you. A soft exhale against his chest where you’ve tucked yourself in closer sometime during your shared slumber. One of your hands is fisted loosely in the fabric of his shirt, like you needed something to anchor yourself and chose him without thinking.
He tries to get himself stay there, he longs to stay there in the rhythm of your breath. But before he knows it his mind is starting, instincts taking over.
How long has it been since your last dose? Did you drink enough water? Is your temperature—
Robby takes a long, deep breath through his nose. He won’t go there.
His eyes close again, hoping that the squeezing motion will send his racing thoughts packing.
He knows this pattern. It builds quickly, how easily it pulls him back into something clinical, something controlled. Something that feels safer than just being here…beside you.
His hand shifts where it rests against your back, flattening there instead of moving. He doesn’t try to find a pulse, doesn’t try to check your temperature. Instead he notices how soft you feel, how good you smell beside him.
You stir slightly at the movement, your brow tightening for a brief second before it smooths again.
“Robby?” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.
“I’m here,” he answers immediately, softer than he expects.
You hum at that, something content and small, and press closer without opening your eyes.
The instinct is back, sharper this time. Louder.
He should ask how you’re feeling. Check for the pain? To make sure it hasn’t gotten worse, that’s okay right?
Robby swallows, his gaze dropping to where your face is half-hidden against him. There’s no strain there now and no tightness around your eyes. Just the lingering traces of exhaustion, the kind that comes after pain finally loosens its grip.
“Need anything?”
You jump a little, smiling as you crack one eye open to look at him. “A really big breakfast in the morning. I’m talking pancakes. Toast. Every carb we can find.”
“You’re hungry.”
“More hungry for this right now,” you assure him as you rest even more firmly against him.
He grins, dropping a kiss ever so gently on your forehead. He wants to feed you now, to check your vitals and maybe give you one more dose now that the night wanes on.
Your fingers tighten in his shirt before he can say anything, and you sigh, clearly content.
That’s what stops him. Your ease, your comfort as you melt more firmly again, breath warm.
You’ve told him what you need. He’s not your doctor, he’s your partner. He can settle in that even if it’s just for tonight.
His thumb moves along your arm, slow and absentminded. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, to you, to himself.
You don’t respond, already drifting again, your breathing evening back out like it never changed.
Robby watches you for a moment longer. Then, carefully, he adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tucking it in where it had slipped down. He settles back into the pillow, his hand finding its place at your back again.
This, here is more than enough. And for tonight, maybe he believes that he is too.
planning to write a little more for him, so let me know if you wanna be tagged <3
There are sooo many brilliant fics in the Oscar world (some of you write them!) But sometimes, the older stories get lost in the shuffle, especially if that writer has written less for whatever life reason.
So! I am going to rec some mutuals that all OI fans should know!
(please lmk if you would like to be removed)
This will be tricky because I will inevitably leave someone out, but I don't mean to. Also, I am not the authority/gatekeeper of this info. I simply want to share the ✧ ancient wisdoms ✧ I have personally attained.
Some of these people post a lot and some don't. Some of them have thousands of followers and have been around for a long time.
Of course you all know @reallyrallyauthor and @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction - they write and post frequently, and have been around a while. Can't say enough about these sweetie pops.
@missdictatorme is around too so make sure you check her out, especially if you want the best banter, strong/sassy reader characters, humor, wit and scalding hot stories. And of course Dolli herself is hilarious
For beautiful prose and lots of yummy Poe and Santiago content, go see @campingwiththecharmings
For some incredible anguished beauty and all manner of amazing stories for OI, go see @moonknightly, who was definitely married to Marc before I was. Just read her new Santiago story and it got me good.
If you ship Rey + Poe from Star Wars, go see @virtie333. She also has a Moon Knight story (still on my list) and a Triple Frontier story (freaking amazing), probably others. There's one where Rey and Poe survive a snow storm that I'm still in awe of.
@whatthefishh - there aren't enough Rydal Keener fics in this world, but you can find them here, among others
@brandyllyn has a wide variety of stories, but lots of Poe and Santiago as well, including a story in my top 5 of all time, Alabanza.
@eyelessfaces - treasure trove of fics
@felix24601 - writes for a variety of fandoms, but has a lot of Triple Frontier stuff and some Moon Knight stuff. Amazing world builder and has some dark stories if that's your thing. Changed blogs, so message him if you need links/help
@howellatme -I consider howell the authority on Richard Muñoz, but that's not all she writes
@faretheeoscar - yes, the OI news sharing artist is also a writer!
@backp0rchpoet - everything is hottttt and i love their sick banners
I know there are more writers, I'm sorry if I missed a great one! Not all of the ones I've read have honored me with mutalism. And this is a moots list. Also, some of you may write, but I might not be aware if I couldn't find your masterlist, and believe me, I did a deep dive on a lot of people!
Please feel free to add to this list. I want to be following all the OI writers! And please lmk if you want to be removed.
Hi! I can’t seem to access any of your fics through the links on your master list for hotch, any way this is only a problem on my end?? Thanks!! Excited to read a new writer!!
all of these should be under aaron hotchner x reader and/or arson writes tags! ill put them in the tags for easy access. hope you enjoy! 🫶🏾
Heated Rivalry week day 3: favourite kiss/hug ♡
↳ # imagine looking like this while looking at your situationship who is sweetly kissing you goodbye and still thinking you're casual
