Mayfair

18 / she/her / writer / artist Check out my art blog @paintermayfair!

[strangemayfair]

RDR2 MASTER LIST

KEY: Fluff - 🩷 Angst - 🖤

Characters - Arthur Morgan, Kieran Duffy, Reverend Swanson

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - REQUEST RULES

Arthur Morgan

Oh, Poor Boy 🖤

Bill Williamson

Playing Cupid 🩷

Lenny Summers

The Blind & The Blind 🩷

Kieran Duffy The Good Ending 🩷

If Wishes Were Horses 🩷 🖤

Dream of a Dog 🖤

Of This Earth 🖤

The Dress 🩷

Unnamed 🩷 🖤

Reverend Swanson

Hell Sent 🖤

[strangemayfair]

Dream of a Dog: Kieran Duffy x Gn!Reader

Word Count: 10k (longest one yet!)

Plot: You come down with a serious illness. Unsure if you are going to die or not, your dreams feature things and people that make horrid predictions. Tags & triggers: death, sickness, dying, angst

Authors note: Zooweemama, this is my favourite thing I've ever written!! @mrlasagne this one is for you, buddy. Sorry it took so long. Not properly checked for mistakes.

You tried to blink your hazy eyes back into focus as you lifted your tired head from the pillow. It was your third or fourth day of being horribly sick. You felt groggy and confused as your feet hit the makeshift wood floor of your tent. You turned your head and looked outside the slightly ajar flaps of your tent and from the little sliver you could see through the flaps, the camp appeared stagnant. There was no chatter of happy voices, no footsteps near your tent, and the usual liveliness that breathed through the camp was gone. You felt strangely alone in a place normally so warm and welcoming.

You looked down at yourself and noticed you were still in your day clothes, or at least, what you thought were your clothes. Perhaps you didn't have the strength yesterday to take them off, you could hardly remember anything. Your sickness had taken over much of your body and your brain, leaving you a confused mess of what you once were.

It took an unusual amount of strength to stand up from your cot, but as your balance shifted from sitting to standing, you felt weightless. Being ill usually made you very sluggish, very basic movements required so much more energy than you had, that even walking a couple feet exhausted you. Today was different. Maybe you were starting to recover, you thought as you stepped out of the canvas tent. 

The sky was gray, though it was not cold and there was no wind. A soft fog slithered and curled on the ground, snaking its way past your feet and all through the camp. You looked around the camp, your eyes searching for any of its inhabitants. There was nobody, even though it appeared untouched from before you went to sleep. As you searched through it eventually at its wooded entrance, you noticed all of the horses were gone as well. You wondered if there was some sort of mission taking place today that you were too sick to attend, but if there was, where were the women? The camp felt creepy without the regular kind faces that made the wagons and the tents feel like a proper home. It did not help that the sky began to rumble with thunder.

You turned back around and walked towards Pearson's wagon. Cain the dog was sniffing around the back, presumably looking for a scrap of food. His fur was strange, it was not the usual blueish gray colour, but a white, almost reflective coat. Seeing him pleased you, knowing that you weren’t completely alone, even if your only company was an animal.

“Cain, boy, where did everyone go, huh?” you said, dropping to your knees and reaching out a hand to pet the dog. 

Cain turned around, then stood up on his hind legs. He towered above you when he stood like a person. 

“I do not know,” he responded in a human voice. It sounded familiar to you, though you had never heard him talk before. It did not strike you as unusual.

“Have they left me behind?” you asked, staring up at his face, which became more human-like the longer you stared at it. A little orange fish swam past your foot in the fog, you understood it to be a bad omen.

“I really don’t think they would do that. Pearson mentioned losing something which was apparently rather important, they must have all gone to look for it.”

“Did he say what it was, perhaps I can help?” you offered.

“No. You need to be careful. He’s coming to get you,” Cain said with a seriousness that frightened you. He now appeared to be more of a weirdly proportioned man than a dog. 

“Who’s going to get me? Pearson?” You asked, feeling a great sense of terror wash over you and tickle your skin, causing goosebumps. 

“No,” said Cain, pointing to something behind you, “him.” 

You turned around and saw a massive willow tree you had never seen before, sitting in the middle of camp. Its trunk was higher than you could see, practically scraping the heavens, yet its leaves and branches hung down like it hadn’t the strength to do anything but stand limply. Its presence was intimidating, and had you not been looking carefully you would not have noticed him. A man was standing behind the tree and poking his head out from around it. You did not recognize him, as all you could see was a top hat nearly obscuring a pair of beady eyes that pierced your mind, even from afar.

“I can only do so much to help you, (y/n)," said Caine, "I think it would be best if you woke up. Wake up,”

Suddenly, his voice took on a different sound and it was Kieran’s voice that left the dog's lips, “wake up, sweetheart, you’re having a bad dream,” he said, and reality shifted and swayed into a blurred mess.

You felt a hand gently shake your shoulder back and forth, your eyes blinked open to what you now knew was real life. It took you a minute to get your bearings, as you were in an unfamiliar place, but you soon recalled where and who you were. You were in Dutch’s bed in Shady Belle, with Kieran.

“Darling, I think you were having a nightmare,” whispered Kieran. He moved his hand from your shoulder to your face and gently caressed you in the dark. 

“Oh, hm... yeah, I think I was,” you were surprised at how hoarse your voice was, it was worse than yesterday. Kieran kissed your forehead and tried to snuggle in close to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. The bed creaked and moaned under his shifting weight.

“Kieran, get away from me,” You coughed out as you felt him pull you closer, “I don’t want you to get what I’ve got, it's horrible. 

Kieran let out a soft huff of disappointment then rolled over to the other side of the bed, facing away from you.

“Oh don’t be like that,” you whispered, feeling his aura of sadness from him across the bed, “you’re lucky I didn’t make you sleep on the floor.” 

Kieran was silent for a moment, long enough that you almost began to fall asleep before his voice in the dark brought you from your meditation, “I love you,” he said.

“I-” another coughing fit broke up your words, “love you too, dear.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to ask Arthur to go into town and find a doctor, you need to be looked at,” he said quietly, rolling over again to look at you, although it was pitch black in the room. 

“No Kieran, please, it would be a waste. I’ve got a cold, there’s nothing any doctor could do. Besides, I can’t afford to pay him and neither can you,” you reasoned. It was getting hard for you to talk, each word required energy and breath you didn’t have. 

“I have a little money,” said Kieran, “Dutch has money for emergencies, and I can ask to borrow enough to make up for what I don’t have.”

“Well this isn’t an emergency,” you choked out. 

Kieran sat up from the bed and fumbled around looking for a match to light a candle. After a minute he lit the wick and held the candle stick up to look at you. The yellow light of the candle revealed your gaunt looking face. Your eyes looked heavy, accompanied with washed out cheeks and a red nose. While the light of a single candle was by no means flattering, you weren’t a good sight in the first place.

“Darlin’ you look like hell,” said Kieran. You could see on his face a look of concern you had never seen before. However, it did not persuade you to relent. 

“Then you oughta stop trying to cuddle with me,” you groaned, laying your head back down on the pillow and turning away from the light, “I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, by god I feel like shit.”

Kieran set the candle back on the table, but didn’t snuff the light out.

“I just- I just think it's better safe than sorry,” he said quietly.

“I can’t hear you, I’m asleep,” you mumbled, hoping he would give up.

Four days prior you had begun feeling a little off, though not in the usual ways one would before they get sick. Before you or anyone else noticed something was wrong, you simply thought you woke up one day on the wrong side of the cot. You started the day off with a chip on your shoulder and you weren’t sure why. When you went through your usual morning routine, every step of the way you found something that annoyed you. 

At first it was innocent things, Uncle offered you a cup of coffee and you were upset because you didn’t like coffee. How could someone who’d known you for so long forget a thing like that? Then you found you had no clean socks left because Karen had skipped out on doing laundry the day before. Little things began to build on you until you felt like you were going to explode. All day it seemed to culminate until it reached an apex at around mid afternoon when you realized Arthur took Sadie on a stagecoach robbery you and he had planned for that day together. 

What was worse, tensions in the camp were already high as Jack had been kidnapped a week prior. Everyone was at odds with each other, and nobody was willing to humour your grumpiness. All of your short remarks and irritated scolds you issued to people you felt were slighting you, were quickly returned.

“Kieran!” you shouted, marching angrily to the outskirts of Shady Belle where he was working, “I am so goddamn sick and tired of this bullshit!”

Kieran had been sitting on a rock, quietly brushing off your saddle which had been covered in dust from weeks of riding and neglect towards cleanliness. When you came storming towards him he jolted upwards with a bit of surprise, not sure if the anger was directed at him or something else. When you reached him you ripped the saddle out of his hands and threw it with all your might at a nearby tree. The saddle was heavy, and that day your muscles were weak from the (at that time unknown) fermenting fever. The saddle didn’t quite make it as far as the tree, but instead tumbled a couple feet, and ruined the cleaning job Kieran had been working on. It did not do much to calm you down, but only hurt your shoulders in the process.

“Everybody in this camp thinks I'm nothing!” you shouted, tears starting to well in your eyes, though you tried to suppress them, “They don’t care about me at all!”

“That ain’t true darlin’” said Kieran, both sympathetic and nervous, for he had never seen you in such a state, “now you tell what happened to make you think a thing like that?” 

You began to recite the line of irritating events of the morning. Your arms wildly failing and your voice rising, at first you found yourself even more worked up than before. You were so angry you felt like hitting something. Although, as you continued to file through each little thing that annoyed you, you realized how silly it was that such small things would get you so violently angry. Still, Kieran listened to your story with sympathetic eyes, and the further you went along you began to feel like a fool. By the end of your tale you felt less angry with everyone and more upset at yourself for being so hot tempered. 

“Oh sweet pea, you’re just havin’ a bad day. Everyone has one of those now and again.” Kieran pulled you into a tight hug. In his embrace your mood radically shifted from anger and hatred, to a sorry and sappy mess. You began to cry. You remembered the saddle and felt extremely remorseful for your actions.

“Oh dear, don't be sad, there ain’t nothin' to be sad about,” he cooed, brushing the hair away from your face. 

“I ruined your work…” you stuttered out between tears. “No big deal at all darlin’, you sit down in the grass next to me and I’ll fix it in hardly a moment,” Kieran again brushed your hair away, but this time a strange look came across his face as his hand passed over your forehead. “Are you feeling alright, dear? I mean I know you’re… upset, but do you feel… okay?”

“Why?” you sniffled, confused as to what he was thinking. 

“You feel a little warm,” Kieran patted your cheeks and neck. 

“Oh, uh, no I feel okay. Maybe I just got myself a little too worked up,” you smiled at Kieran, though he did not smile back. “And you don’t gotta clean my saddle again, I’m the one who got it all dirty in the first place.”

“No, no, you just sit yourself down,” insisted Kieran, “just focus on relaxing,” he said, still worriedly feeling the temperature of your face.

Kieran helped you down onto the ground before picking up your saddle and sitting back down on the rock. He found his brush, which had also been tossed in the chaos, and got back to work. Sitting and watching him work was always something you always greatly enjoyed. Watching your handsome boyfriend work happily away could make any ill feelings go away, however, today it did not seem to have the desired effect. 

You still felt foolish for having been cross in the morning, and childish for how explosively you had reacted. Although you had not have truly offended anyone, and Kieran was not angry with you for hurling the saddle, you felt an anger directed at you from an unknown source. From who or what you weren't quite sure, but you felt an overwhelming need to be comforted and told everything was alright. You longed for forgiveness, even if you didn’t know from what. 

As soon as Kieran finished polishing your saddle and set it carefully down carefully where it wouldn’t get dirty again, you jumped up from the ground and threw yourself into his lap. Tears fell again as you wrapped your arms around his neck and buried yourself in his embrace. Surprised, Kieran hugged you back as tightly as he could. 

You were never the sort to cry, even at sad moments or when you were in pain. Kieran had seen you half cry once before in the past, even then it was more so a misty eyed look he saw while you told him of the loss of your parents, before you turned away and recomposed yourself. Today was a complete change in your personality. He had seen you angry before, but never angry enough to start wrecking things, and now you were more morose than he had ever seen you over seemingly nothing at all. Kieran started to worry. 

He tried his best to rock you back and forth, making the odd shushing noise or whispering words of reassurance, but nothing seemed to have an impact on you. Finally he pushed you gently away so he could look in your eyes. 

“Darling, I don’t think you’re well,” he said, wiping some tears away with his thumb, “something ain’t right with you…” 

“Just *sniffle* tell me *cough* that you *sniffle* love me…” you cried. 

“I love you (y/n), I love you more than anything, but I think you need to lie down and take a nap.”

You nodded your head, feeling embarrassed for being so clingy, but at the same time still wanting nothing more than Kieran to keep comforting you. “Will you please lay down with me, just for a little while? Please,” you asked him, “I don’t want to be left alone.” 

“Of course sweetheart, c’mon.”

Standing up, you and Kieran walked hand in hand to your tent. As you took off your outer clothes and stripped down to your underwear, you felt how hot your skin was against the cooler afternoon breeze. You understood why Kieran asked if you were ill, your skin was practically burning. 

Kieran laid down on the cot first, then you laid down half on top of him, your head resting on his chest. Within minutes, the sound of his heartbeat and the rhythm of his breathing lulled you into a deep and dreamless sleep. Kieran laid with you awake for a while, his hands either massaging your hair, rubbing your back, or plainly holding you tightly against his chest. 

Old worries returned to Kieran’s mind as he laid there with you. Kieran had seen people die from all sorts of things, some natural, some man induced. His own mother and father had died from Cholera, and many of the people he cared about after that were taken by something vicious sooner or later as well. The memory of losing them was horrible, and each time it surfaced in his mind it took all his might to forget the helplessness the horrible disease made him feel as he watched it take away the people he loved most. Now, here he was holding you as you started to burn up. It scared Kieran too deeply to think about what pain he would feel losing you. Kieran had to remind himself that this, if anything, was only a cold, not Cholera. He had no reason to worry, or so he told himself. 

After two hours of laying there, doing nothing but holding you and trying desperately to suppress his distressing thoughts, the dinner bell rang. Kieran looked at you laying peacefully on his chest and thought he’d better let you sleep instead of waking you up. He himself was hungry, and still had the odd chore to do in camp, so he gently slid you off his chest and carefully placed you down onto the cot. Before he left he kissed you on the cheek, then exited the tent and walked towards Pearson’s steaming pot of stew a crowd had gathered around.

Kieran poured himself a bowl then found an empty table and sat down. A couple minutes later, Karen sat down next to him. 

“Where’s (y/n), Kieran?” asked Karen, shoveling a spoonful of carrot into her mouth. 

“Havin’ a sleep, I think they’re comin’ down with somethin’,” responded Kieran, pushing around the contents of his bowl of stew with his fork, “they’ll be better tomorrow.”

It was that night that the troubles began. Shortly after dinner ended you emerged from the tent in a daze. Viciously rubbing your eyes and mumbling something under your breath, you stumbled around camp, almost tripping over yourself. Kieran, who was brushing off some horses on the other side of camp, knew something was off when he heard a shout and a loud thump. 

~

You were standing at the corner of camp, looking at a fish swimming around in the clean water barrel. It was only a little thing, perhaps it was a small sunfish, you thought, Kieran would surely know. You wondered if the fish served as a method of water purification, or if he was decorative. You were rudely pulled away from meditation of the purpose of the fish by Pearson, who was beaconing you over to his work station. 

When you arrived in front of him, you noticed Pearson’s face was covered in a dark red goop which covered one side of his face to the other, and from the tip of his nose to the bottom of his chin. 

“I must apologize to you, (y/n), I must apologize. I have made a horrid mistake,” said Pearson, smacking his lips and licking the sides of his mouth, trying to eat the goop off his face. 

“I don’t understand what you are talking about,” you responded dryly, more interested in figuring out what was on his face than what he had to apologize about.

“Well you see,” he continued, “I was baking a pie, a blackberry pie to be specific,” you understood now what was on his face was blackberry filling, “and you see I had my car keys in my hand and you know how difficult it is to bake a pie while holding onto your keys,” you didn’t know what car keys were, but you didn’t want to seem like an idiot by asking, “and so I simply put the car keys into the pie and baked it like that. Well then I realized I needed my keys and they were in the pie!” cried Pearson with a fair bit of anguish about the situation. 

“Why were you baking a pie?” you asked. 

“Well, you see Dutch’s mother is paying us a visit and I thought it would be nice if we had a dessert for her… oh and I believe Abraham Lincoln is coming as well.”

“I suppose that is an event worthy of a pie,” you feigned interest about the situation, but your attention was soon taken by Cain who came riding in on a massive cicada. You looked into its eyes and they reflected a face that was not yours, but rather a girl you had played with when you were a child. 

“Oh and your friend as well,” said Pearson, motioning to Cain, “he’ll be coming too,”

“Good evening, dear child!” called Cain as he jumped off the back of his cicada mount, “how are you feeling?”

You paused for a moment, trying to take stock of your body, but you couldn’t feel a thing.

“I do not know,” you responded, shrugging your shoulders. Internally, you were rather surprised at your numbness. 

“Well, it's alright, I already know the answer,” replied Cain. You noticed then he was dressed in a very fine brown suit with a green cravat. You found his taste in clothing impressive for a dog. His tail wagged when he saw Pearson standing there with his face covered in blackberry filling.

“Then how am I?” you asked, hoping if you didn’t know, he would tell you. 

Cain ignored the question, “I have good news for you, I arranged a meeting with him.”

“With who?”

"Blackberry pie!" exclaimed Cain, walking up to Pearson and lapping the side of his face with his dog tongue, "too bad poor Abe doesn't like blackberries."

~

Before you could ask again who Cain had arranged a meeting with, you woke up from your lovely slumber on the dirty ground with Sean on top of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, you dumb idiot!” he shouted, standing up and dragging you by the arm a foot to the right. You turned and saw you were only a couple inches away from the raging campfire.

“What the hell are you doing tackling me like that!” you angrily shouted back at him, “I was asleep! I was in my cot! Wait-” you paused, confusedly looking around as Kieran dashed over to you from the perimeter of camp, “I was in bed- how did I get here?”

“You almost walked straight into the campfire,” said Sean, grabbing one arm and Kieran the other, pulling you up off the ground, “what in god's name did you think was going on?”

“I don’t- I really don’t know,” you said, “I was asleep…” as you got onto your feet, you almost fell over again. You felt light headed and weak, your eyes were hazy and it was hard to stand. Kieran noticed you were dazed and quickly took hold of your arm, allowing you to lean on him. 

“I think you need to go back to sleep,” said Sean, motioning for Kieran to walk you back to your tent. 

You did not protest as Kieran led you back to bed, but it was hard for your feet to keep up as you leaned heavily into his side. You tried to figure out exactly what was wrong with you, where it hurt and what was uncomfortable. Your throat was fine, and you didn’t have a headache, and although you had a fever, you didn’t really have chills nor did you feel uncomfortably hot. Your muscles hurt, but not unbearably so. 

You were too absorbed in thought to realize Kieran had sat you back down on the bed. You snapped back to reality as he kneeled in front of you and held your hands in his. His eyes betrayed a look of fear you had never seen in him before. It even frightened you. 

You went back to sleep with Kieran watching over you. That night you tried a couple times in your sleep to get back up, each time Kieran redirected you to lay back down. You tossed and turned restlessly, plagued with strange dreams. Your fever worsened and Mrs. Grimshaw was summoned to look at you. You were awakened so she could take your temperature, she looked in your mouth and looked around your limbs for any unusual spots or marks. Mrs. Grimshaw was at a loss and ordered you back to sleep. 

The next day you slowly got worse. Your throat grew sore and your chest was congested. With that and the exhaustion, all you wanted to do was sleep. Eventually Dutch had you moved to his room, where there was a warmer and drier and his real bed was much more comfortable for you. Despite the efforts that were made for your comfort and well-being, your health declined, until you were confined to Dutch’s bed completely, not by any order, but your own difficulty in moving.

Five days had passed since then and Kieran’s demands for a doctor were becoming louder. As much as he tried to conceal it from you, he was petrified. Kieran rarely left your side, although you were not awake for most of it, every time you opened your eyes Kieran was sitting next to you. Sometimes you’d find him holding your hand, one time he was wiping your face with a cloth, and a couple times you caught him with his arm around your waist and you pushed him away, fearing you would infect him. 

“Sweetheart,” Kieran’s voice startled you awake from another strange dream with talking dogs, “Darlin’, there’s good news!” 

“What is it, my love?” you said, trying to sit up, but finding no strength at all to lift yourself. You settled with staying reclined. 

“Jack is back! Arthur, Dutch and John went and rescued him! There’s gonna be a party and everything!” Kieran said excitedly, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling down happily at you. 

“That's great, that's really very wonderful,” you smiled up at him with the widest smile you could muster, but you even struggled to move your face, “I missed his dear little face around camp.” Your voice was soft and barely above a whisper, as you tried to speak over the sound of the gang singing to Javier’s guitar playing. 

Kieran, knowing what the answer would be, but still hoping for a miracle, asked; “Would’ya like me to help you up so you can join the party?”

Your breath hitched and you closed your eyes, looking for a way to tell him you weren’t well enough. Kieran knew what you were thinking, and gently took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles. He placed your hand over his heart and held it there. If he had let it go you wouldn’t have had the strength to keep it there yourself.

“Maybe Jack can come visit me, as long as he stays away from me,” you suggested. 

Kieran tried to respond, but his lips opened and then quickly shut into a deep frown. He lifted your hand to his lips to kiss it again, but this time to keep himself from crying.

“Don’t be sad,” you reassured him, “a couple more days and everything will be fine. I’m going to be okay,” you said with a confidence you wished you had, “there’s really nothing to worry about at all. This is just a bad cold. Perhaps it was Pearson's stew that was bad and I’m paying the price for his shoddy cooking.”

Kieran laughed stiffly, trying to calm himself for you, “Then we’d all have it,” he said. 

“Yeah, you're right,” you wheezed and then coughed. You buried your mouth into your arm, trying not to cough on Kieran. The momentum from your lungs compressing and expanding allowed you to roll away from him. 

When you were finished, and your breath returned to its shaky normal, Kieran gently rubbed your back. 

“Before Arthur got Jack he went and talked to the doctor’s assistant in Saint Denis,” said Kieran. 

You groaned into the pillow, you hadn’t the strength to roll yourself back over, so you made like you were comfortable laying nearly face down.

“I suppose he’s coming, then?” you asked. 

“Apparently the assistant said that because we’re outside of Saint Denis, and you’re not strong enough to travel to the city, we need to get the travelin’ doctor to come out. The traveling doctor was away, but the assistant said to come back in the next couple days to check if he was back,” Kieran explained the situation with an almost mournful tone. 

“Go and party,” you said, trying to find some way to cheer him up. 

“No, I can’t leave you,” he said kindly but firmly. 

“Yes you can,” you said, your words muffled by the pillow, “you’ve been sitting by me faithfully, go and… and have fun my dear.”

“There’s no fun to be had without you,” he said, massaging your back with his hand, “I’m not going anywhere, there's no point in tellin’ me otherwise.”

“Well then there… there you go…” you coughed again into the pillow. It was getting harder and harder to keep your eyes open, “I think I’m going to rest my… rest my eyes for a moment Kier…” 

~

Each step you took echoed through the long and winding staircase. You stopped to catch your breath for a while. In your moment of rest, you gave yourself the opportunity to get a better look at your surroundings. You seemed to be walking up a long cylindrical tower, the walls and stairs of which were both painted the same white textured colour. There were no windows, but there was light. The staircase wound up and up the wall, and in the middle there was a hole where you could see all the way down to the bottom, if there was even a bottom as it seemed to go so deep that you could not see an end. However, when you looked up, you could see a source of light that seemed to spin in a circle, like one that would be in a lighthouse.

You had caught your breath and were ready to continue your ascent, when you heard footsteps coming down the staircase, getting closer and closer. Starting off at a brisk pace, you went up the stairs as quickly as you could, hoping to meet the cause of the footsteps as soon as possible. After a minute of walking, you found the creator of the noise was no one other than Sean Maguire. 

“Hehehe,” laughed Sean, in his usual jolly tone, “you’re in trouble!”

“I am?” you said, confused as to what he was referring to. 

“Oh yeah, yer about to get it from the boss up d’ere!”

“Get what?” You asked with anticipation, suddenly feeling frantic.

“Oh, he’ll tell ya!” Sean laughed, then started to walk past you. 

“Where are you going? You can’t leave me!” you said, grabbing onto Sean’s shirt sleeve and almost knocking him over, “You have to come with me?”

“I already had me word with the man, it's your turn now,” said Sean, brushing you off and heading back down the stairs. 

“But where are you going?” you called after him, but not daring to chase after him. 

“Where da fook does it look like I’m headin’? Down!” Sean answered, not bothering to look at you, just walking steadily down the stairs.

With frightful nerves you accepted your fate for talking to ‘the boss’ alone. Despite Sean’s jovial remarks, you didn’t know what was going to meet you at wherever your destination was, presumably the top of this tower. You took slow and apprehensive steps up the staircase, each one echoing in tandem with Sean’s until eventually his faded into the distance and all you could hear were yours alone. After what felt like a very long time you reached the top. 

You were in a lighthouse. In the very middle of the top room, suspended from the ceiling and visible from the staircase, there dangled a chandelier of a couple oil lanterns. With a rig made out of a couple incredibly reflective sheets of metal and a seemingly motorized lazy susan, the chandelier spun, effectively causing a rotating light. 

You looked all around the room. You had never been in a lighthouse before and you found it fascinating. Your eyes followed the circle the light made. The room had no furniture in it, no mechanics. There was a large opening that spanned across the entire circular apartment, serving as a window, but void of glass. 

The last thing you noticed was a man, standing hunched over a rifle with his back to you, looking into the scope. He was rather short, a bit stocky, and he wasn’t particularly well dressed, he seemed to be wearing some sort of hunting attire. From behind you could see a bald spot start to form at the very back of his head, where there should be ample hair sprouting. By then you had forgotten all about your initial apprehension.

The man fired a shot, then slowly took his gun off the ledge. 

“So,” he said, turning around, “you’re the one who’s been causing all this trouble for him.” 

“I haven’t caused any trouble,” You argued, “I’ve been sick in bed.”

“Hm,” said the man, walking past you and setting up his rifle on the other edge of the opening, “well, that seems to have been enough to do it.” 

You gathered by now that asking questions about yourself seemed to do very little, so you tried something else, “who are you shooting?” 

“One riding into Blackwater at the moment. They know better than to try to cross the river, yet they do it anyway, it’s my job to take them out.” 

“Why not just let them?”

“Because, it's against the natural order of things,” said the man sternly.

“Why?” 

“Ugh, kid” the man annoyedly turned his head away from his gun and towards you, “you know when you’re walking up the stairs, and you keep trying to skip steps? One, two, four, nine, and then you fall on your ass and hurt yourself because you’ve skipped too many steps at a time?” 

“I suppose so.”

“Well, I am the ‘hurt yourself’ that happens when you try to skip these specific steps.”

“I don’t think I understand, sir.” You said, coming up behind him and trying to see what he was aiming at. All you could see was fog and the occasional passing over of the light trying to penetrate it, “Do you always hit them? I don’t know how you can see through the thick fog…”

“My aim is perfect. ‘Sept once,” he said, with an almost spiteful tone. He took another shot, then dragged his gun to another side of the room and set it up again.

“What happened?” you were genuinely surprised by his answer. 

“You happened, you got in the way. That's why I had to shoot that poor devil today instead of a couple weeks ago,” said the man, pointing to the staircase.

“Sean?” you asked. 

The man nodded his head slowly, then took another shot. Then he turned around and leaned against the rim of the lighthouse opening. 

“And I’d shoot you too for it, if I was allowed to,” then he moved on again, and set up his gun again. 

“I’m glad you’re not allowed to, then. I’d be done for if you were out to get me.” 

The man laughed, “You ain’t going to get off as easy as you think.” Then he fired another shot, except this time it was much louder, and accompanied by a piercing scream. 

~

Somehow it wasn’t the gunfire from the O’Driscoll’s that woke you up, but it was the scream that Karen let out. It was a cross between a cry of anguish and that of unadulterated hatred. 

Your eyes flickered open, confused as to what was going on. There were gunshots, many of them all around, and although you didn’t exactly have your wits about you, you could gather that camp was being attacked. You tried to get up and reach for your gun, but your limbs were sluggish and feeble. You felt as if your hold body was made of concrete. 

“Either lay back down on the bed or flop on the floor, either way you’re not fightin’ (y/n),” said Arthur, who you soon realized was in the room, shooting from one of the windows.

“I can… I can help,” you huffed out, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. 

Before you could demand a gun, Arthur was already out on the balcony shooting whoever it was that was invading. You had gotten yourself up on all fours when Kieran came in the room. 

“Jesus Christ! Sweetheart, stay down!” he shouted, throwing himself over top of you, “You can’t afford a bullet on top of your list of maladies.”

You hadn't the strength or the will to fight Kieran off, so you laid down flat on the floor. You were struggling to catch your breath just from falling on the ground, you wondered how well you’d stand up in a fight. 

“Who’s attacking us? Pinkertons?” you asked. 

“O’Driscolls. ‘Parently they’ve been sniffin’ round camp the past couple days,” said Kieran.

After what felt like a very long exchange of gunfire and of laying on the hard floor, the gunshots ended. Arthur came back inside. 

“Help me get ‘em back up on the bed,” said Kieran, lifting your arm to help you stand up.”

“I can get up perfectly fine myself,” you protested, awkwardly half crawling back into the bed, “in fact I fancy I should get up and help with the clean up, there must be a lot of dead bodies out there… hopefully none of ours.”

“No,” said Arthur firmly, “you know damn well you’re stayin’ right in that bed. Kieran, you come and help.” 

Kieran kissed you on the forehead, “As soon as I’m done I’ll russel you up somethin’ to eat, you haven’t had a thing all day.” 

“Just you wait,” you called out as you watched Kieran leave the room with Arthur, “I’ll surprise you all yet, in fact, I feel nearly better.”

Reality was, you could hardly keep your head up from the pillow as soon as you laid back down.

“I hope you're hungry,” said Kieran, walking in with a bowl of stew, you had almost drifted away to another dream when he came in, “I’ve got stew for you, baby.”

“Oh joy,” you whispered, “my favourite meal.”

Kieran sat down on the edge of the bed with the bowl in his lap. He scraped around the with a spoon, fishing through the brown muck for its contents. “Would you like a carrot, a potato, or a piece of meat?”

“I think, *cough*, just a little bit of the gravy would suit me.”

“(y/n), you need more than just gravy, how are you supposed to fight this having only eaten gravy for a week straight?” said Kieran, holding a carrot on the end of the spoon and trying to move it closer to your mouth. 

“Kieran, I’m not hungry.” 

Please, (y/n), please, it’ll make me feel better if you have just one bite of something solid.”

“One carrot,” you relented, the worry in Kieran’s voice surprised you.

Kieran happily shoveled a mushy slice of a carrot into your mouth. It was horribly bland and over cooked, it tasted more of beef the beef it had been marinating with than the  vegetable it was supposed to be.

“There’s somethin’ I gotta tell ya, hun,” said Kieran with a sorry look in his eyes. 

“What is it?”

“The O’Driscolls killed Sean. They got him in the ambush.” Kieran said, his voice was low and mournful.

            “Oh Christ,” you exclaimed in surprise, “poor kid. He didn’t suffer did he?”

“No,” said Kieran, “they got him right in the head. Horrible scene.” 

“How’s Karen?” You asked, your head lolling to the side to avoid another spoonful of carrot Kieran was trying to sneak in, “poor girl must be absolutely devastated.”

“She was real angry at first, rightfully so, mind you. She even took a swing at me, said it was my fault because I’m an O’Driscoll and that I probably led them here… then she just kinda went quiet and hid herself away.” 

“Sean didn’t deserve that,” you said quietly, it was really quite a shame, you rather liked him, “it’s strange… I had a dream just before the O’Driscolls attacked, and I saw him.” 

“Sean?” Kieran asked.

“Yeah, I was walking up a staircase and he was coming down the other way. He was happy and laughing.” 

“He always was,” said Kieran, and pushed a spoonful of beef towards you which you accepted, “even though I don’t think he liked me very much, I will miss him.” 

“Me too, love, me too.” You said, taking a bite of beef.

~

"I wasn't able to see him" said Cain, pouring you a cup of tea, "but I am hopeful that I should speak with him tomorrow."

You looked around and realized you were sitting in the middle of a street blackwater. You and Cain were sitting on garden chairs, with a matching table between the two of you, right in the middle of the road. However, nobody seemed to be driving anywhere as there were no horses or carriages to be seen. There were people milling about, but there was something off about them, their hands were dangle down by their sides and they all seemed to walk with a strange staggering limp. One got close as he passed by and you saw his skin was green.

"Are these people aright?" you asked, ignoring the cup of tea Cain had set down in front of you.

"No, child, they're dead," he said pouring his own cup.

"Oh, thats not nice," you said, picking up your cup and taking a sip, but not taking your eyes off of the men and women who were allegedly 'dead', "who killed them?"

"Oh, you know, diseases," said Cain flippantly, "I plan on using this as an example."

"An example for what?" You asked. You looked down in your glass and looked at the tea. It smelt like earl grey but when you drank it, it had no taste nor feeling in your mouth.

"When I see him again, I will bring this up and ask why this is an exception, yet why he's so hell bent on taking you down."

"You'll use these weird people in Blackwater as an example? Example for what? I don't think I understand..."

"No, silly thing," laughed Cain, "this isn't Blackwater. Far from it. This... I supposed is an ill maintained dream, look, that one is headless." Cain pointed to a set of clothes walking around without a body in it, "if that thing can go around looking like that, I don't see why you can't be a little... *ahem*, off the cuff yourself."

"If I die, will I look like that?" you asked, trying to imagine what it would feel like to walk around with the same dead eyed, aimless expression they possessed. Your face grimaced in disgust, and partially in fear from them. There was something deeply unnerving about them. In the distance one of them growled lowly.

"No, you'll just be in the ground. I hope you don't die, I shall rally him hard to let you live."

"Rally who?" you asked.

"You shouldn't ask questions you don't want to know the answer to. If you don't like them, you're not going to like him either. He is their shepherd."

~

“Sweetheart, please wake up, the doctor is coming,” said Kieran, “Someone help me lift her up.”

Mrs. Grimshaw and Kieran adjusted you so you were sitting upright. It was the first time in a couple days that you had been sitting upright, and the change in blood pressure gave you a massive headache. You hadn’t the energy to complain, it was a chore even to express with your face that you were in pain, so you accepted it and waited for the doctor to come. 

The man who came in was tall, he had sunken eyes and a ghoulish sort of face. He had very little colour in his cheeks, almost giving the impression that his blood was grey, rather than red. His walking dead like appearance was only set off by his thick black hair that seemed to sprout from his head like a bush.

“Are you the patient?” he asked with a gentle voice, sitting down on the bed next to you. In spite of his cold appearance, he spoke with a warm and comforting tone, “what seems to be the problem?”

“I don’t know, Doc,” you tried to smile, but could do nothing more than twitch the ends of your mouth, “I’ve had a fever… and I can hardly eat…” it was painful to talk, after each couple of words you had to stop and catch your breath. 

“If I may,” said Mrs. Grimshaw, cutting in, “it's been going on for a week and a half now, one day they were fine, the next they were bedbound. They haven’t been able to eat, they can only drink a little, sore throat, fever, chills, every symptom there is, they’ve got.”

“Alright,” said the doctor pulling out his stethoscope from his case, “you know the routine, breathe in…” he placed the stethoscope on your chest, “Breathe out… alright, repeat,” 

You did the same thing a couple of times as he moved the device around your chest. When he was finished he looked in your mouth, your ears and took your temperature. You almost fell asleep again during the check up.

“Well, this is most unusual,” he said, after he finished up his examination, “I have never seen this combination of illnesses at once.”

“How long until I get better?” you asked, remembering what was going on and that falling asleep again was not wise.

“I don’t know,” said the doctor, putting his hands on his knees and groaning as he stood up, “I think you ought to keep doing what you’re doing and see what happens. Have you been getting lots of rest?”

“Thats all I’ve been doin’, doc.”

“Well, keep up the good work then. Tell me, are you in any pain?” 

“I get the odd headache,” you coughed, “but other than that, no.”

“Do you want opioids?” asked the doctor. 

“No, I don’t think that's necessary, doc, but thank you.”

The doctor looked around the room until his eyes fell on Kieran, who was sheepishly standing in the corner.

“Are you the partner?” he asked. 

“Yes,” replied Kieran, “I am.”

“Why don’t you walk me out?” The doctor picked up his bag and left the room.

When they got down the stairs, the doctor turned to Kieran with a stern but sympathetic look on his face. “It's not good.”

“Just tell me they aren’t going to die,” begged Kieran.

“I honestly have no idea. It's not a cold, that's for sure. Could be a brain infection, could be some kind of disease. Maybe food poisoning. There's water in their lungs, an extreme temperature, yellowing eyes, but there's no pain… there's no way for me to tell what exactly it is and I can’t treat something I don’t understand.”

“But will they die from it, doctor, I mean that's really I want to know,” asked Kieran. 

“Probably,” said the doctor, putting his hand on Kieran’s shoulder, "don't tell them unless you think they can handle it. If not, just make them as happy and as comfortable as possible. Heal both your souls while you can.”

~

You were in a row boat, and Cain was working the oars. The sky was a dark blue, with blackened clouds that covered the stars and only occasionally revealed the moon. The lake was a deep and royal purple, and the water sloshed around unnaturally, like it had a consistency closer to syrup. A lonely loon cried in the distance and a little fish swam past the side of the boat, breaking the surface of the water with a translucent fin. 

“Not good, not good at all,” said Cain, shaking his head while still rowing the boat. He seemed to be struggling with the oars as he was huffing and puffing as he pulled the oars back with all of his might. Cain was still wearing his brown suit, but this time with a red cravat. 

“What's the matter, Cain?” you asked. 

“He’s such a pigheaded, obstinate beast. Inflexible!” Cain exclaimed, “Damn him, I say. Although it doesn’t matter a haypenny what I say, especially against a beast like him.”

“Him who?” you asked, hoping this would be the same ‘him’ as from a couple dreams before. 

“He’s always been like this! Always so… so set. Set in his ways, that man. He has a way he likes to do things and by jove, that's how he will do them. Had you not've saved that boyfriend of yours, I think he might have listened to me, although it wasn't your fault he wasn't in the spot. Man wouldn't leave your side to take a piss and now you're both paying the price for it."

“Him who?” you asked, this time feeling more urgency in your question. 

“I told him, I said, why do you care so much? It's only one person. One person, different from the rest, sure, but really what difference does it make that youre… well… y’know.”

“HIM WHO?” you shouted.

“Wrong.” said Cain. 

“Wrong?” you repeated confusedly. 

“You, you're wrong. You’re not supposed to be there.”

Cain’s answer enraged you, and you grabbed him by his soldiers and shook him, “I swear to god, dog, if you don't tell me who you're referring to I’m going to punch you square in your wet nose!” You made a fist like you were going to hit him, but Cain didn’t flinch. He set the oars down and turned around to look behind him. 

Looking in the same direction he turned to, you learned he had been rowing you towards a dock, and further past the dock on the land there was a cabin. The yellow lights of the cabin were almost blinding, though it was still a long ways away. Your eyes stung as they were overwhelmed by the light. You blinked rapidly and tried to cover your eyes from the bright cabin, but Cain pushed your hand away from your face with a rough paw.

“Look. He is there.” said Cain, turning around and pointing to the dock. 

Standing on the dock was a man. Despite the darkness of the night, and the blinding cabin behind him, you could see him perfectly. His eyes were beady, he wore a long stovepipe hat that sat low on his head. He was finely dressed in a black and grey suit and had an english style moustache that stuck up slightly at the ends. His face was hard and stern. You recognized him as the man who was staring at you from behind the tree.

Immediately upon assessing him, you were panic-stricken by some instinctual knowledge. You didn’t know how or why you knew it, but this man was dangerous. He was going to kill you. 

“Turn the boat around!” you screamed, half standing up, looking for some way to escape the man on the dock without jumping into the thick water.

“Calm down!” shushed Cain, trying to pat your shoulder to reassure you, “just relax, child, relax!”

His words fell deaf on your ears and you began to panic more. You frantically searched for a way to leave the boat, or something to defend yourself with, but all your actions seemed to do was rock the boat to almost a tipping point. 

Cain wrestled you to the floor of the boat, somehow without fingers or the same level of agility he was stronger and more capable than you. Finally, he had you pinned to the bottom, and all you could see was Cain and the black sky above him. 

“Shh! Shh!” hissed Cain. 

“Who is that man?” You cried, succumbing to the strength of the dog. 

Cain opened his mouth to speak, but the noise that came from it was neither that of an animal or a human, but instead a high pitch noise that made your whole body shriek with pain. 

~

You jolted awake, your chest heaving and lungs gasping for air as if you had been holding your breath for a long time. The memory of the noise that Cain made still rang in your ears, as if it were still sounding from somewhere nearby. Your skin crawled and you shivered, though the room was distressingly hot. Sweat beaded down your forehead, you had no strength to wipe it away. You anxiously searched the room, looking for the only person who could calm you down. For the first time you had fallen ill, you were truly afraid. 

This time, Kieran was not with you, and instead your eyes were met with the familiar face of Reverend Swanson, who was sitting next to your bed in a rocking chair, reading his bible. He noticed your stirring and his eyes flickered over to you on the bed. The look in his eyes was that of pity.

Although you could not see yourself, you knew you were a ghost of what you once had been. You had been sick for two weeks now, and you could feel yourself wasting away. While you had tried to eat and stay hydrated, you couldn’t eat much as your stomach felt to be the size of a pea. Despite the fact that you constantly slept, you were always totally exhausted. Having hardly been able to eat, bathe, or even brush your own hair, you wondered how wretched you had become.

“(y/n),” said Reverend, closing his book and leaning closer to you, “is there something I can do for you? I know I am not exactly a priest, nor am I really someone worth confessing to, but I can help you if you’d like.”

“I ain’t dying,” you responded, your voice barely more than a hoarse whisper, “I ain’t dying! Where is Kieran?” 

“Mrs. Grimshaw sent him away a little while ago. Poor thing hasn’t slept more than an hour at a time for the past fortnight, let alone had any time to wash himself or eat a full meal.”

You thrust your head away so that Reverend wouldn’t see the tears coming to your eyes. Your chest started heaving again and your breathing became loud and laboured. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to cry. It hurt be alive. You felt lonely and frightened without Kieran. You knew he deserved time away from you, time to think about something other than you, but you needed him. He was the only thing keeping you attached to life, attached to your own withering body. It was cruel and selfish to cry about his absence, you knew full well he had spent every waking (and even sleeping) moment with you, it was wrong to cry that he had left.

Reverend Swanson silently stood up from his chair and exited the room. For what reason he went, you weren’t sure. While at first you appreciated being alone, it was soon taken over by the crippling fear that death may creep in while you were alone. Perhaps being watched was the only thing that kept you tied to the earth. Perhaps when nobody was around to see it, death would take form and reap you. 

You were afraid. All your life you had lived intertwined with death. Killing was your job, it fed you, it clothed you, it kept you on the run. It bonded you with the people you now called family for better or for worse. You saw it almost every day of your life, you had inflicted it on others and had almost had it bite you. Yet here you were, one foot in your bed and the other in the grave and you were beyond frightened. You didn’t want to die, not when you loved life so dearly. 

Kieran ran through the door, practically throwing himself down on the bed next to you. Up until now, you had been extremely adamant about Kieran keeping his space from you, never allowing him to hold you or kiss you. Through your whole sickness, Kieran had for the most part, respected that wish. Now, throwing caution to the wind, he pulled you into his chest and wrapped you in his arms. His embrace was so warm, the feeling of his body heat on your cold, cold limbs was like touching fire. You reveled in the touch you so dearly missed. You couldn’t move as he pulled you on top of him, though you wanted to grab him back as tightly as you could. Tears stained his shirt as he rocked you back and forth. 

“Don’t cry, love, don’t cry, I’m here now,” Kieran whispered into your hair. 

“No,” you whimpered, “I- *sniff* I don’t wanna die.”

“Who said you were going to die? You’re not gonna die, don’t say that.”

“I am,” you cried weakly, “I know… please… please, I don't want to leave you.”

“(y/n), stop it,” Kieran begged, tears starting to come to him as well, “you’re not goin’ anywhere. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Just relax.”

“How can I relax?” you choked out, it was getting harder and harder to talk with each passing word, “I can’t move…”

“If you die, sweetheart, I can’t-,” Kieran's words caught in his throat, the thought was too horrifying for him to even think, let alone vocalize, “you can’t die. I won't- I can’t live without you.”

You tried to say something in response, perhaps an urge for him to live, for both of you to live, but your throat was hurting too badly. The draining effect that crying and talking at the same time had on you was too great, your eyes felt the hard pull of gravity and now it no longer began to feel like you were going to fall asleep, but rather faint. 

“Darlin’,” continued Kieran, “just close your eyes. I promise I won’t move an inch. I promise you, you ain’t dying on my watch. I love you too much” Kieran choked for a second, “I love you too much to let you die on me now.”

Kieran couldn’t handle your crying, it only made him want to break down more. Despite wanting to spend what time he had left with you while you were in a conscious state, he seeing you weak and afraid was more than he could stomach. He knew that if you were asleep then you wouldn’t be scared. The doctor’s dreaded words rang in his ears. He didn’t want to think for a second that maybe he could be right, that you were not long for this world. 

He hushed you and gently rocked you as best he could, “go to sleep, sweetheart, go to sleep. I won't go anywhere, I won't leave you this time.”

Kieran continued to talk to you until his words grew distant and your consciousness slipped away. You slept again, but this time there were no dreams. It was a black and deep sleep, broken up only by whispers and slivers of slight awareness. No dogs kept you company through your dreams. 

After an amount of time you could not measure you regained a fuller sort of consciousness. You were aware of your body, and acutely aware that there was someone with you, but you could not move at all. It was like your body was made of stone and your soul was trapped inside the marble statue. You would have been afraid, had you not heard his voice speaking to you. It was a disembodied voice that came from all around, from every direction, if direction was still a concept. 

“When you get better we’ll leave…”

“A nice house, in West Elizabeth, in the lavender fields…”

“Safe there…”

“A boy and a girl and a cat and a dog..”

“Real marriage… church…”

“Anything you want… just tell me…”

“You just gotta get better… that’s all…”

“There ain’t… without you… I’ll die.”

You were pulled again into an all encompassing darkness.

Through the black came a white light. It was not bright, and did not illuminate anything, though it served to be an anchor in what was essentially an abyss of nothing. You did not know where you were, nor could you feel your own body, if you even still had one. You felt as if you were nothing more than a soul floating in some sort of realm of waiting. Then, he appeared. 

“I’m sorry it took so long,” said the man. He was no longer quite so frightening, as he now appeared as something different than a man or a beast but now a spirit, one neither malignant nor benign. “You see, I am not a man of action, I merely watch over things, like an accountant, in many ways.

“I spent a long time watching you, and I found you extraordinarily fascinating, you were unlike anything that has ever happened before… you were so out of place. I couldn’t predict your moves, I couldn’t hear your thoughts. For a while, I let it- by it I mean you, happen. I watched you with great interest for a long time. But then… but then child, you got in the way… and that, I’m afraid was not supposed to happen. At first I tried to look for where you came from, but I couldn’t find anything at all, even in places where people can evade me. So, I brought the plague down on you. I’m sorry it was slow and painful, not that you deserved an easy death, you certainly weren't innocent in your life, but I had no other way of doing it. 

“I know what you want to say. He will be joining you soon. He was supposed to go a week ago, but you stood in the way. Don’t be scared, all will be well again.”

[strangemayfair]

Unfinished Javier x Fem!reader

So I got this request like a month ago, and I got pretty far into it, but I was NOT able to finish it idk why. I've tried to go back and continue because I've got eight pages on a doc, but I keep getting writers block with it, so I'm just going to post it unfinished. You can kinda get a view into my writing process with this, all the words in red were places I would usually go back to and complete, but obv I did not do that here. Because the ending is missing it would have ended with Javier doing something really cool on the way to the bar to make up for all the bullshit things that happened to him. its like 4.5k words

“Buenos noches, my friend,” said Javier as he placed a hot, steaming bowl of stew down on the table in front of you, “you looked hungry, so I got you dinner.” 

While you tried to be polite, the contents of the bowl in front of you made you grimace. While you were generally grateful to not have to do any cooking, Pearson’s lack of diversity in his menu made for very monotonous mealtimes. You had grown well sick of his bad gravy and mushy carrots and tonight was no different.”

“What is it, Señorita, have you gotten too good for our peasant food?” asked Javier, clearly noticing your disinterest in his gift, “I think that gray chunk Pearson finely prepared floating around in there is something you caught.” 

“Oh no,” you responded sarcastically, “dinner is my favourite part of every day, I love meat water and sad peas. Makes life worth livin’!”

“Y’know, I was in Rhodes the other day and I stopped in the saloon there for a meal, I had the best steak I have ever eaten. It came with a blue cheese sauce, I had never had it before. It really was blue. The tables had nice white tablecloths and the waiter was in a tux.”

“Wow Javier, that sounds really fancy,” you mused, wondering when the last time you had a proper meal was. 

“You should go in and try it sometime, hell, maybe I’ll go with you,” suggested Javier with a smile. 

You giggled at the idea, “I don’t know, sounds a little too rich for my blood. I doubt I could afford such a thing.”

Javier gently tapped your shoulder, “If I get a good score, I’ll treat you sometime. For now, enjoy your prison slop.” he smiled his charming smile again, then walked away.

“Javier is a nice fellow, isn't he?” you absentmindedly remarked to Charles when Javier had gotten far enough away not to hear. Charles had been sitting with you at the table, watching the interaction go down.

Charles looked at you, then over to Javier, then back at you, “you know he’s hitting on you, right?” asked Charles, in his usual uninterested tone.

You were surprised to hear his words, “I don’t understand what makes you say that,” you said, trying to figure how Charles came to that conclusion.

“He’s just asked you out to dinner. He’s always talking to you, doing all these nice things for you with a smile on his face… either he’s taken to serventry or he’s trying to win your favour.”

“Can’t a man just be nice?” 

“Rarely are men ever ‘just nice’.”

You considered what Charles was saying. Javier had been hanging around you a lot over the past couple weeks, and had been unusually helpful. However, in your mind that didn’t expressly mean anything. That being said, you couldn’t recall the last time you had been hit on outside of a saloon, you weren’t entirely sure what flirting looked like. Then again, if he was, was that such a bad thing…

“Are we still hunting on wednesday?” asked Charles, breaking your inner questioning.

“Oh- yeah, absolutely.” you responded, still half in your own head trying to figure out Javier. You opened your mouth as if you had something else to say, but then found yourself glancing back in Javier’s direction. When you didn’t see him, your eyes began to search the camp for him.

“Do you… like him?” Charles said in a lower tone, leaning in slightly.

You shook your head, as it took you a moment to understand what Charles was talking about. “No. I mean- well, I don’t know,” then you got defensive, “you’re jumping to conclusions and frankly, and I’m not going to consider it because I think you’re wrong. Javier is just being nice, that's all.”

“Fine,” said Charles, “just be careful.”

The next day you found yourself bent over a wash basin vigorously scrubbing clothes. Your hands were sore and dry, a stark contrast from the restless humidity in the air around you. The hidden cicadas screamed their deafening noise as you wiped the sweat off your forehead with your wet arm, a poor attempt at cooling yourself off. You hoped that a distraction would come along soon to keep you from the endless boredom of chores.

“¡Hola guapa!” called out a familiar voice, you looked up to see Javier bouncily walking towards you to fulfil your wish, “I was wondering if you wanted to go out hunting with me tomorrow?” Javier decided to get straight to the point, less he gets nervous and chicken out before asking you.

Although you did not know what his greeting meant, it still brought a smile to your face. “Hunting? Oh, sure, but I was already going to go hunting with Charles tomorrow-”

“Charles,” Javier interrupted with a grin, “You’re always going out hunting with him, you should come out with me instead. See what a real hunter can do~”

Maybe Charles was right, you thought. “Well, what I was going to say is that you should come with us. Charles is about the best tracker I’ve ever met and I know you’re a pretty good shot, so we should make a good team.”

Though slightly disappointed, Javier relented, “Alright,” he said, “that sounds like a good idea. Charles doesn’t mind me coming along?” “Oh no, he won’t mind at all,” you smiled, “in fact, I’ll go tell him now.”

“No no,” said Javier, gently placing a hand on your shoulder, causing a feeling of tingly warmth to emanate across your body, “I’ll go ask him, you carry on with your chores.”

You tried to focus back on your work, but you couldn’t help but watch Javier walk away, looking around for Charles. You could still feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, secretly wishing it was still there. 

Javier was pleased with himself, having finally secured something of a date with you, though there would be another person attending. For a while now, Javier had found himself unusually drawn to you. Normally when he felt a certain captivation for a lady, he knew exactly what to do and was successful in his actions. Javier felt that he could charm any lady he came up against, simply by figuring out what they liked and becoming it. He could be a devilish flirt, or a mysterious wallflower, easily conforming to the needs of the situation. Add something about confidence.

Yet here you were, a woman, much like the rest, yet very different. While Javier could approach you with a charming smile or smoulder in your direction from across camp, it neither seemed to reel you in nor repulse you. Javier would go out of his way to help you, in both large and menial ways, and while you were always thankful and appreciative, you never invited him into your company for anything closer than a professional friendship. 

No matter what he tried, and with any level of confidence, could he figure out what it was not done

Javier found Charles sitting on the edge of camp alone fastening a bowstring to a fine looking bow. He held it out in front of him, seemingly admiring the craftsmanship of the piece. Charles pulled the sting back, the tension curving the limbs back until he and the bow were stretched out as far as possible. Then gently he lowered his arm and set the weapon down in his lap. 

“Hello friend,” said Javier, as he walked up to where Charles was sitting, kneeling down on the ground beside him.

“Javier,” responded Charles flatly, not turning away from his work to look at him.

“How are you doing?” asked Javier, trying to be friendly with a man he hardly knew. 

“Fine, and yourself?” Charles' imperturbable attitude did not make it any easier for him. 

“I’m alright. Say, can I ask you about something?” Charles did not respond, so Javier took it as a sign to continue, “You and (y/n)... I don't mean to pry or anything but are you two… y’know…” Javier made a vague motion with his hand, hoping Charles would get the point.

However, Charles was not amused. He didn’t like being questioned, especially given it was about a personal thing like this, although given Javier’s motives, which Charles was now certain about, it was a fair question. Charles finally glanced at him with a stern face, scrutinizing the poorly hidden nervousness in Javier’s eyes. Javier wondered if he was about to get beaten up.

“(y/n) is my friend,” Charles finally responded, ending the tense silence he let grow between them, “nothing more.”

 Javier let out an audible exhale as his face broke into a smile, “Ah okay, then that leads me to my next question. (y/n) said I could come hunting with you guys tomorrow, you good with that?”

Charles didn’t respond immediately, but stared off into the distance as if contemplating a serious answer. 

“If (y/n) invited you, then it's alright.” said Charles, fixing his focus back on the bow, now pulling out a rag to clean its already spotless wood.

“Alright! I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” beamed Javier, standing up and leaving Charles alone with his weapon. 

Javier hadn’t a clue what to make of Charles. He believed Charles was telling the truth, he couldn’t think of a good reason to lie about such a thing. more

The next day you and Charles were standing by your horses, you watched as Charles tacked up Taima. Carefully he tightened the straps of her saddle and fixed her reign, conscious of her comfort. 

“You have that bow I gave you?” Charles asked. 

“Yep, I put it on my horse this morning. It's really nice, makes me a little nervous to start using it.” 

“If you’re serious about getting good at archery, starting with a bad bow sure isn’t going to help.”

“You’re right. I do hope one day I get as good as you, it really is a superior weapon when hunting, guns are much too loud.”

Footsteps announce Javier's presence before his voice, “Beunos dias, mi amigos, I’m all ready to go wherever you are.”

“Are you ready?” Charles asked you. 

“I’m set,” you replied.

“Then let's go,” said Charles as he quickly made a few final adjustments before hoisting himself up onto the back of the strong horse. You and Javier found your own horses and did the same, quickly riding out with Charles leading the way. 

“It’s a brilliant day for it,” said Javier happily over the rough beating of the horses' hooves against the dry ground.

“Lovely,” you agreed, “right, here's our plan. Charles says there's good game around the border of New Hanover and Roanoke Ridge, around Emerald Ranch. Ideally we want to catch a couple deer, maybe some rabbits if they’re around too. What guns have you brought?”

“I’ve got a varmint and a bolt action.” Said Javier. 

“Even with a perfect shot, your bolt action will probably massacre whatever you shoot,” said Charles, "you're best to just stick with the Varmint.”

“You’re the master,” complimented Javier, hoping to put everyone in a good mood.

“Arthur mentioned you're something of a fisherman,” you called out to Javier, trying to keep up the conversation as you allowed Charles to focus on leading the party.

“Yes, actually, I tend to gravitate towards fishing more than hunting. A bit more of a relaxing sport,” he responded. 

You giggled, thinking about a past memory of falling into a lake when trying to fish, “I don’t know about that,” you responded, “fish can be tricky bastards too when they sense someone's out to get them. My luck has been pretty bad with a rod.”

“Well you’ve certainly made up for it with the game you and Charles have brought back to camp. Pearson can hardly keep up with each time you two are dragging back another couple of bucks, he's not even finished salting the last.”

 Charles raised his hand, indicating for the hunting party to come to a halt. You followed Charles’ intense gaze onto the ground, where a jumble of tracks converged in the road and then separated in all different directions. The tracks were mixed, some looked like horses, others like rabbit prints, indicating that over the past couple days this place had been a lively thoroughfare. Hoping to impress your friends, you tried out the tracking skills you had picked up from Charles and hoped you were looking at the right trail. 

“Deer,” you said, “a herd of ‘em.”

“Looks like they go west, towards the heartlands,” said Javier, pointing at the center of the trails, then guiding the group's eyes to a singled off group of similar tracks.

“No,” disagreed Charles, “those look like sheep tracks, they’re too square. Plus, they’re followed by horse hooves, a shepherd would have come through here recently. Look over there,” pointed Charles to a different set of tracks headed north west, “thats deer over there. Let's go this way,” Charles spurred his horse back into action before anyone could protest. 

“You seem very sure of your skills as a tracker,” commented Javier, “where did you learn a thing like that?”

“The first thing I remember learning is how to read the earth, my mother showed me how to live off of it completely by reading its signs. When I got older and was on my own, I had to hunt for all my food. After I got good enough, I stopped waiting for the animals to come along, I started going after them.”

As you listened to Charles' story, you looked out along the rolling hills and green trees of the valley. Occasionally you looked down, trying to follow with your eyes the track Charles was leading you down. The jack rabbit trails were what was most prominent to you, then you remembered you had seen a rabbit den nearby while on a ride last week. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” you said, as the posse slowed their trot to almost a halt, “but I believe over that hill there is a rabbit den. I was picking some herbs a while back and I remember seeing over that hill.”

“Alright,” responded Charles, “let's see if any of them are home.”

Charles, Javier and yourself got off your horses, making sure to bring your weapons with you. You retrieved the gorgeous bow Charles had given you off of your horse's saddle and placed it around your shoulders. You watched as Javier grabbed one of his rifles and threw it over his shoulder. Charles was already half way up the hill. 

Javier noticed you watching him and gave you a smile as he walked towards you. 

“Ay, guapa, why don’t we play a little game between ourselves, hm?” whispered Javier, slinging an arm around your shoulder. 

“What sort of game?” you asked, your heart racing a little from your proximity to him. 

“I bet my pelts will be better than yours,” he said with an adverb, “I bet I’ll be able to shoot two rabbits without messing up their furs one bit.”

“Alright, and if I shoot as good as you?” You asked, then pushed Javier lightly to the side, as he was about to trip on a very large hole in the ground. 

MOREEEEEE

Crouching as low as they could in the tall grass, the group of three hunters sat quietly with weapons at the ready to shoot. Javier fixed his posture, kept his rifle sat steadily on his shoulder and regulated his breathing. He was perfectly concentrated on the clearing, readily waiting for any movement he could zero in on. 

Three rabbits came hopping out of the grass, curiously sniffing the ground. One stopped to eat the foliage, the other two jumping over one another and playfully biting at their ears. Unbeknownst to them, their destinies were watching with baited breath meters away from them. 

“On the count of three,” whispered Charles, “One… two…” BAM

Javier closed his eyes. For a second he tried to pretend that what had happened was only an intrusive thought, or overthinking taken too seriously. But when he turned to look at you and Charles, who were both staring at him with confused and annoyed faces, did he come to accept what was. He had taken the bolt action rifle from his horse and not the varmint. He looked back at the rabbit he had shot, now it was a pile of fur and blood. The other two rabbits had run off.

“I hit it,” mused Javier, trying to lighten the situation.

“Look at what you’ve done!” scorned Charles, “and why didn’t you wait until I said three.”

“I-”

“You’ve probably scared everything away for miles!”

“Well hold on,” you interrupted, “I think I see something moving over there.”

Charles’ head quickly jerked back to what you were looking at. There was still a slight rustling in the bushes, opposite to the direction of the wind, and you thought you saw a flash of brown fur. 

“Javier go back to your horse,” whispered Charles, “somethin’ still here, get your varmint.”

You and Charles watched with eager anticipation to see what would come out of the bushes. Silently Charles lifted his bow with one hand and pulled an arrow from his quiver with the other. You stayed still, knowing Charles had a better chance of hitting whatever the target was than you did. 

Javier turned around and moved as quietly as he could back to the horses, internally chastising himself for his mistake. As he got further away he straightened up from his crouch and moved at a brisk pace down the hill.

¡Estúpido, Estúpido! He thought to himself, what a move, Javier, she probably thinks you have half a brain!

At the hill your breath stopped as one of the rabbits hopped back into view, apprehensively sniffing its way out of the green and yellow hair-like grass. Its reason for return was only explained if it was deaf. It stopped for a moment of almost human mourning when it spotted its obliterated companion. Nose twitching it stayed locked in place long enough for Charles to draw back the string of his bow and take aim. Javier, not watching where he was going, suddenly felt one foot fall much lower than he anticipated it too. 

“AUGH FUCK” he shouted at the top of his lungs, followed by a loud groan. A startled Charles missed the rabbit by an inch. 

Javier had forgotten all about the hole you had stopped him from falling in earlier, now he had caught one leg in it.

Charles groaned and simply bowed his head, too disappointed about the rabbit to follow you, who was already half way down the hill. 

“Javier!” you called out, now seeing him laying on the ground and clutching his leg, “what happened?”

“I fell in the hole,” he moaned through his teeth. 

“What hole- oh, that hole.” you reached your hand out to help Javier off the ground, but he brushed you away and got up by himself. 

“There were some deer tracks heading north back on the road,” said Charles, coming back down the hill, “maybe we’ll have some better luck with them.”

The group mounted again and continued on their hunt. Not wanting an awkward silence to befall, you asked Charles a question about the best sort of arrows for hunting small animals. 

Though Javier nodded his head like he was paying attention and considering Charles’ answers, he was in his own head. He felt like an idiot, and thought both you and Charles probably thought he was one too. It was clear how much you respected Charles for his hunting skills and overall gracefulness as a person. Javier was certain he needed to do something to compensate for his clumsiness. 

“Let me give it a go with it,” said Javier, hoping this would be the way to redeem himself, “My Padre used to hunt with a bow when he ran out of bullets. Occasionally he’d give me the odd lesson.”

Charles shot you a reluctant glance, hoping that Javier actually knew what he was doing. You handed your bow over, along with a long arrow.

With undue confidence, Javier clicked the nock of his arrow into place on the string. He straightened himself, and took a deep breath, centering himself as the herd of deer continued to happily munch away on the grass. Sitting up on his bent knee he pulled the arrow back, feeling the tension of the string strain his arm and his shoulder. He had forgotten how heavy it could be. Before he could let go of the taught string the arrow drifted off its rest and pointed at an angle away from the bushes. 

Frustrated, and hoping nobody had seen, Javier quickly lowered his drawing arm, nudged the arrow back on its little post and pulled back the string. Again, as soon as he drew as far as his arm would allow him, the arrow drifted away towards the left. 

“What are you doing?” whisper-yelled Charles, “You said you knew how to shoot a bow!”

“Ay, give me a break, it's been a while,” countered Javier. 

Javier shook his head, jostled his shoulders and took another, shorter, breath. This time, using his hand that held the grip of the bow, he lifted his pointer finger up and pushed it against the arrow, keeping it braced against the wood of the grip. Still worrying that the arrow would misbehave, he wrapped his finger around it, hoping it would keep it straight. With great force he pulled back the string and let the arrow fly. 

The three of you watched as the arrow shot across the valley and hit one of the doe in the rear. Startled, it and its family scrambled to flee away. Charles quickly tried to shoot a second arrow to take down the injured doe, but he was too slow, and shot an arrow into their now empty spots in the valley. 

Javier’s shoulders dropped along with his head. He looked down at the bow in his hands, wondering if he would do anything right today. He could still almost feel the arrow slip through his hand, the wood almost splintering into his finger. Javier was certain he wouldn’t miss, yet here he was with another disappointment. 

“It’s alright, Javier,” you tried to comfort him, “at least you hit it.”

Javier wanted to respond to your sympathy, but his voice was derailed by a sudden extreme pain in his left hand. For a moment, it felt as though he had gotten a splinter from the arrow, as the pain was emanating from his pointer finger. When Javier looked down, he saw much more blood than was normal for a splinter, it was dripping down his wrist and onto his sleeve. It wasn’t until you made a noise of surprise, and possibly disgust when Javier saw a large piece of feather lodged in his finger. 

This time he did not make a noise, simply held out his shaking hand for you and Charles to see. His eyes were wide and watery. When he had curled his finger around the arrow before shooting it, he did not account for the feather, which did not hit the deer, but instead lodged itself in the hunter. 

“How on god’s green earth did you do that?” asked Charles as he grabbed Javier’s arm to examine the injury. 

“I don’t- I don’t know,” he said. 

“It's coming out the other end of your finger, I’m going to pull it clean through,” said Charles, trying to get a grip on the broken feather.

You were thankful that Charles was there, for you were too stunned to offer any real help to Javier. Javier gripped your arm with his other hand and you both watched Charles slowly remove the arrow. Not wanting to lose any more composure than he already had, Javier kept his head down, gritting his teeth and desperately trying to keep himself still and quiet. 

When Charles was finished he threw the remnants of the bloodied feather on the ground. You remembered then that you had a spare roll of bandage in your satchel, you quickly pulled it out and took charge of Javier’s mangled finger. Carefully you tied the bandage tightly at the base of his finger, then gently wrapped the whole thing up with the thick white bandage. 

Javier sat still, silently watching your fingers as you clearly knew what you were doing. He didn’t say a word or make a noise, the pain had been drowned out by disappointment and a mild disgust. When you relinquished his hand, Javier continue your sentence hoe

“Why don’t we just pack things up for the day, hm?” you spoke in a gentle tone, trying to both uplift Javier and calm down Charles, “We’re not too far from Van Horn, why don’t we go and have a drink and dinner?”

“I’m leaving, do whatever you want,” scowled Charles as he swiftly mounted up and made his exit. You considered trying to talk him into staying, you knew it was best to let him go, his frustration was reasonable.

Still kneeling on the ground, you turned back to Javier, “lets go get something to eat, hm? It’ll take your mind off your finger.”

Javier nodded and stood up off the ground, brushing the dirt off his clothes. With his good hand, he vainly helped you up as well, trying to still seem like a gentleman. While he wanted to play his injury off as nothing, it was too humiliating for him. The nervous look that was written in your eyes and knotting your brows distracted him from acting normal, though you both tried desperately. 

“Forgive Charles,” you begged, “he can be upset a little easily.”

“Its, no its fine, I acted a little stupid,” said Javier, now trying the honesty route. 

You shook your head, “no, you’re fine, you're fine. Would you like to go to dinner? I think I’d really like a beer and something other than stew right now.”

Javier watched you as you mounted your horse. He found the fact that you still wanted to be around him after today a miracle. Javier followed suite and climbed atop Boaz, while a part of him wanted to be alone, he figured he couldn’t fuck things up any more than he already had. Javier also did not want to return back to camp for depressing stew after a bad day. 

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” said Javier almost mournfully, “it’ll be my treat.”

You didn’t argue with him, he needed a little win at some point today. As you kicked off and began a slow ride into Van Horn, your mind drifted back to the conversation you had had with Charles over dinner. You wondered if all this had been caused by Javier trying to flirt with you.

[strangemayfair]

Hii, i've got a little scenario involving Kieran × fem!reader. I mean if you're currently up to write something with him, if not, feel free to ignore this request. Anyhow i was thinking of something along the lines of kieran taking care of sick Reader. Maybe kieran panics a bit ( his parents died due to a sickness, so i feel like if his Partner got sick, then he'd be more than afraid of losing them/ her like his parents). Good scenario for some Angst i think, though i'll leave it up to you how angsty/ect. you want to make this. Anyway i hope you have a nice day/ night!!!

Yes absolutely I can do that!! Its funny I was actually sick about 2 weeks ago and I was thinking of that exact scenario while laid out in bed.

[strangemayfair]

Hey y’all I’ve made a second blog dedicated to my art! It’s @paintermayfair and I would be so grateful if you checked it out! ❤️❤️

And yes, there’s Rdr2 fic coming out very soon, fem reader x Javier with some good ol’ Charlie Smith as a supporting character!

Have a good night everyone!

[strangemayfair]

This gives chapter 2 vibes

[strangemayfair]

Since your fic with Rev Swanson was SO delicious and delectable, could you maybe do one where he has a (mutual) crush on a f!reader who's a bit more tomboyish,,,, Love ur stuff!!

Thank you thank you, it’s nice to meet another Rev Swanson enjoyer like myself

As for the fic, I can do that! I just got a fic request in yesterday which I will be starting now, and yours will be the next on the agenda.

[strangemayfair]

Haiii I absolutely ADORE your style of writing it's so well thought and clearly made with effort and care

And aside from that I wanted to ask if I could request a work where Javier has a HUGE crush on fem!reader who often goes hunting and sometimes goes hunting with Charles who she's friends with,which Javier gets jealous of because of how easily they seem to get along,but one day when Charles and her are going to go on one of their hunting trips to catch some elk and other such things,Javier awkwardly asks to go on the trip with them to which they accept and then when they go hunting Javier tries to show off multiple times but keeps royally messing up and making an ass of himself by getting poor pelts scaring and while not even knowing how to use an arrow he tries and fails horribly,maybe even him tripping and scaring off all the prey nearby?this as well as getting showed up by Charles and reader who have ease with things he lacks in,however while this goes on Javier keeps making poor clumsy attempts to flirt with the reader (which goes right over her head because of how poorly he flirts)

Srry if this is a lengthy ask but I've had this idea in my head for a while and wanted to see if you could write it, anyways have a good day!

Awwww your compliment is so sweet 🥲

This is a good request and I will get on it right away, I’ve already got it figured out!

[strangemayfair]

Playing Cupid: Bill Williamson x Gn!Reader

My Masterlist

Word Count: 6.2k

Plot: With the help of Dutch, Bill Williamson finds a way to admit his feelings to you.

Cw & Tw: drinking, fluff,

Note: This is a request from @kideros0 ! Its out finally, after a bit of a catastrophe with my computer. Thank you very much for the request, and I hope you like it. Happy to be back y'all, enjoy ❤️ (disclaimer it has not been properly edited, there may be minor errors)

Upon first meeting him, you would have agreed with most people that Bill Williamson was an uncomplicated man. To the average observer, he was simple. A man who was loyal to the hand that fed him, one who lived for pleasure and sought no greater things than a good meal and a beer could only have been described as plain. Bill went many years believing this synopsis of himself as well, at times even limiting himself to it. Yet, the more time you spent with him, and the varying situations and missions you found yourself involved in with him, the more you began to catch glimpses of something deeper, more complex pieces of his personality inside him. With it, you found yourself liking the secretly multifaceted man more and more.

At first, it was a simple passing fancy that Bill took to you. You were nice to him, had interesting stories, and in turn listened to his tales, both thrilling and otherwise. For those qualities, he liked you. In circumstances of mortal danger, you were quick, strong and trustworthy, Bill felt as if he could rely on you. In the darkness of the night, when the needed warmth was not only from that of a fire, but from the companionship of others, you were there, with eyes that silently reassured your lasting presence. In Bill’s opinion, you were a perfectly fine addition to the Van Der Linde Gang.

Throughout his career, from the military to marauding, the only constant in his life was change. Everybody he used to know in days gone by were dead or never to be seen again, things and places he once held near were lost behind drawn lines on a map too dangerous for him to ever cross back. In order to keep the pain of desiderata away, all he could do was promise himself to focus on what could never go away, that being simple pleasures, a hot bath, a glass of whiskey and the occasional lay. 

Naturally, Bill grew more and more accustomed to your presence and your offerings to the Van Der Linde gang. He found himself looking forward to the moments in which he could be alone with you, one of the few times in which he could speak his mind without fear of mockery. He knew he wasn’t very smart or well articulated, but having you listen to him made him feel as if that didn’t matter. The way you gave quiet gasps or apologetic words when he told you about times he got hurt, or leaned in as his story crescendoed, and always asked questions or made comments at the end made him feel heard. For the first time, he felt cared for. 

Progressively he began to seek you out more, to think about you when he was away, to dream of your presence when he was alone. Your face infiltrated the everyday thoughts of his mind, and slowly he began to see you everywhere. Bill noticed that he was thinking of you more and more often than an associate, a friend, should. It scared him to think that he cared about something uncontrollable, that he wanted for something that could not be bought or sold. He tried to keep you out of his mind, to focus on what he knew best, yet it proved easier said than done.

Bill was supposed to be keeping guard today, however, his mind was making it difficult. Normally, there were two times a day which Bill could shut off his mind and bask in the nothingness of an empty head. The first was when he was black out drunk, and the second when he was standing and staring into a green forest. Guard duty, though at times an excruciatingly monotonous task, allowed for Bill to feel like he was doing something, and to drift off into the abyss of his mind was a rebellion to the work he was supposed to be doing. All he wanted was to shut everything out and simply enjoy the moment.

However, today he kept finding himself getting pulled away from watching the trail and instead turning around to catch a glimpse of you. Not for any particular reason, he kept telling himself, but purely out of curiosity. He wanted to know what you were doing, if you were talking to anybody, if you were even looking in his direction. Each time he caught himself getting distracted, he internally chastised himself, not only for neglecting his job, but for allowing himself to indulge in his feelings. The less he saw you, the less he thought of you, or so he thought it would work that way. Yet, like it was being pulled by some unknowable force, his head kept turning to look for you.

While trying to discreetly stare at the back of your head as you sat at the campfire, Bill was suddenly aware of a presence beside him. It was Dutch, standing directly next to him and staring off into the same direction Bill had been staring in. 

“Uhm, Hello, Dutch,” greeted Bill wearily, confused as to what Dutch was looking at. 

“I don’t understand,” responded Dutch with his back turned.

“Understand what, sir?” asked Bill. 

“Well usually we don’t have a problem with you on guard duty, but today there seems

to be somethin’ so interestin’ goin’ on in camp that you keep lookin’ in the wrong direction,” said Dutch in a half jovial, half serious tone.

Bill felt an unusual nervousness, almost as if he had been caught doing something wrong. “Its nothin’, Dutch,” he said, making a point of showing he was now focused on the camp entrance, “I’m sorry, I’ll keep my eye on the path.” Dutch looked at Bill, then back into camp. His gaze fell upon you, who was the only person or thing of interest in the eyeline of Bill. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you was starin’ at (y/n) over there…” said Dutch, with a  wry smile.

“No!” responded Bill quickly, and with a little more passion in his voice than he would have liked. He felt his cheeks heat up and his gaze tilt involuntarily downwards, unable to look Dutch in the eyes.

Dutch laughed at the now blushing Bill Williamson. 

“Has there been somethin’ goin’ on right under my nose that I didn’t notice?” pried Dutch with a smile on his face.

“Ain’t nothin’ of the sort,” asserted Bill, “I was just lookin’.”

“And does (y/n) know you enjoy their sight?” chuckled Dutch. 

Bill shook his head. Although he trusted Dutch more than anyone in the world, he had never been more frightened of him than this moment. 

“Do you want me to go over there and tell them?” asked Dutch. 

“No!” shouted Bill again, then when he saw the surprise on Dutch’s face, tried to recompose himself, “I don’t think it's necessary, they certainly ain’t starin’ back at me.” He thought it better than to lie to Dutch and deny it outright, for Dutch knew him too well.

“You don’t necessarily know that,” responded Dutch, “I don’t think there's any harm in a man telling the one he admires his feelings, even if his chances are slim. It's very… honourable.”

“You think so?”

“Yes I do. Of course I’ll let you do that on your own volition. Carry on Mr. Williamson.” Dutch Van Der Linde walked away, letting his words settle in his mind.

Bill felt an uneasiness grow in his stomach as he watched Dutch walk away. Dutch knew now that Bill had feelings for you, he knew before even Bill could admit it to himself, let alone to anyone else. Bill pictured Dutch telling you, in his mind he could see Dutch walking up to you in his nice suit, with his well groomed hair and moustache. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could see the look on your face, you looked displeased, almost angered. Then, Bill pictured you turning to him and laughing. The thought sent a chill down his spine. 

That night, you had noticed Bill eating his stew all alone at one of the tables. You tried to recall the last time you had eaten with him, or spent any time with him at all, so you decided to sit down next to him and try to spark up some conversation. 

“Good evening, Bill, can I sit?” you asked nicely as you sat down in the chair opposite of him. 

“You already are,” he curtly pointed out when you set your bowl down. As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted how mean it sounded. He didn’t want to sit with you, but he also didn't not want to sit with you. And god help him if he thought he could turn you away.

“I.. uh.. haven’t seen you in a while, you gotten any particularly good scores lately?” you asked, trying to break the apparent ice between you two. 

Bill felt your eyes burning into him, something he usually enjoyed gone sour. He stared down into his bowl, shifting around the mushy carrots and bland potatoes with his spoon. “No, not really,” he responded, this time with a softer tone. 

“Oh,” you replied, trying to come up with something else. After a minute you remembered a joke you heard that made you think of him. You reached over the table and touched his arm, trying to get his attention. “When I was in town I was talking to this old man who…” 

Bill didn’t hear what you had to say. As soon as you touched his arm his mind was sent reeling. He saw a reality in which you didn’t reject him, where you felt the same way about him. It was so hopeful, so painfully sanguine that Bill wanted to tell you right in that moment, but he couldn't. He didn’t think he had any chance at all, and why risk a perfectly good thing over a chance?

Dutch started to pay a little more attention to Bill, especially when he was around you. Dutch noticed the longing stares of Bill across camp, how whenever you were near him, Bill became tense and nervous, or fled the scene entirely. At first, Dutch found it amusing, as if he were watching a play where the love interest was entirely oblivious to the inept protagonist. However, the humor didn’t last long.

Bill did not have the comfort of viewing the situation from a comfortable distance as a spectator, he was in it. Since his conversation with Dutch on guard duty, he had found his feelings harder and harder to suppress. Speaking his thoughts aloud, though he hadn’t said much at all, made them much more real than he could handle. Now his feelings were something greater than a daydream or a soft glow that warmed him inside whenever he looked at you, now there was hope. Dreadful hope that stood hand in hand with painful rejection, the latter he considered to be much more likely. He oscillated between having the determination to tell you and face whatever reaction you had, and disappearing from the Van Der Linde gang completely. 

Bill had never romanced anybody before. He had taken whores to bed, occasionally dancing with them beforehand, but charisma was never needed when money was involved. He had seen Javier sweet talk women, or overheard the girls talk about romances in novels, but never had he ever considered how he would do it himself. He thought about giving you a gift, but he didn’t have the money to buy anything nice, and he hadn’t a clue what he would buy you if he did. Bill tried to think of simpler things, like giving you some flowers or giving you a love note, but he didn’t know if you even liked flowers, and the idea of writing his heart out onto a page and handing it straight to you was too terrifying. 

As Bill’s feelings for you grew and became increasingly hard for him to ignore, he also found you harder to be around. When he was with you, all he could think about was how much he adored you, while still fearing the power you held over him. When you looked into his eyes, he worried you would read his mind and be disgusted at his thoughts, let alone how you would react if he said them aloud. There were times when he got close, the words ‘I want you’ formed on his tongue, begging to roll out, yet never could his lips speak them. On these occasions, all he could do was run away.

At night he dreamed of you, sweet and soft dreams where for the first time in a long time he was loved and cared for, that you felt as deeply about him as he did for you. It tortured him, but only encouraged him more to work up some nerve to tell you.

You had noticed a change in the behaviour of Mr. Williamson, though in your perspective it could be accounted for by many things. He was naturally a volatile man, especially if he was hungover, or alternatively, if he hadn’t had enough to drink recently. To you, his odd behaviour was neither alarming nor indicative, so you simply went about your day and hoped that he would soon come around and you could pal around with him again. You missed him. Even though he was technically still here, his unusual actions made him feel as though he were far away.

As time went by and Dutch became more frustrated with Bill’s struggle, the gears in his head began to turn about how Dutch could help Bill along without meddling in the whole thing too much. He believed that Bill was capable of courage, or even tenderness, under the right circumstances. Dutch needed to find a way to bring out these qualities in a natural way, with as little force as possible. He sat and thought about it for a while, knowing that Bill was rather limited in his social skills, and knowing that true romance could not be made artificially. So in the fashion of Dutch Van Der Linde, he concocted a plan.

“Son,” said Dutch, walking up to Bill and putting his hand on his shoulder in a very fatherly manner, “I think I’ve got a way to help you get what you want.”

“Gettin’ what I want?” Bill inquisitively parroted.

Dutch discreetly motioned his head towards you, who was standing a ways away at Pearson’s wagon

“That one,” he said, “I like to think of myself as a man of many talents, and it's been a long time since I’ve gotten to play cupid.”

“I don’t know Dutch… I think maybe I should give up, I don’t think they take any interest in me, or at least in the way I want them to.”

 “Dont be so cynical, Mr. Williamson,” reassured Dutch. 

“I just- please don’t go and tell them-”

“Now Bill, to simply walk up to them and spell the whole thing out would be completely tactless of me. It would remove all the excitement and the tension of a blossoming young romance.”

“So, what's your idea then?” asked Bill skeptically. While had great faith in Dutch, especially when it came to charming people, it was you he wasn’t sure about.

“I’ll give you the opportunity, of course it's up to you to make the move, so be brave,” before Bill could ask Dutch to elaborate further, Dutch called to you from across camp. “(y/n)! Come over here, I’ve got a little plan for you and Bill I think you’ll both be rather excited about.”

Oblivious, you trotted over to the pair sitting at the table. “Sure Dutch, what can we do?” you asked enthusiastically.

“I have set up a robbery tomorrow that will require a little more finessing than just pulling out my guns and shooting. You see,” continued Dutch, “I’ve befriended this strange little wealthy man of the paranoid and suspicious sort, who lives in Roanoke Ridge. I will spare you the details of how I met him, but in the short time I’ve known him, he's come to rather trust me. Anyways, my friend is taking a stagecoach filled with personal items of his of great value to Saint Denis to do some selling and trading, and he's hired a couple of guns to ride with him, as he’s petrified of being robbed in between his house and the city. However, he doesn’t even trust the men he's hired. So, he wants me to go with him to keep an eye on the men who are keeping an eye on his valuables.”

“Where do we come into this?” asked Bill, almost forgetting that this was also a plan to push you closer to him. 

“You two are going to jump out of the bushes and rob us on our way to Saint Denis,” said Dutch, “I can’t do it on my own, and if I bring other people my friend will get suspicious, which we do not want.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me, Dutch.” you said. 

“Well, here’s the catch,” said Dutch, “My friend- Mr. Tuttle, as mentioned before, is paranoid, and what's worse is he's flaky. We may get five minutes down the road and he’ll want to turn around and go home, which means I’ll have to try to talk Tuttle back into it. So, you may be sitting in the bushes waiting for us for a very long time.”

“If the score is big enough, it's worth sitting and waiting for.” you responded. 

“That’s the very attitude I knew you’d have, (y/n). Now, you and Bill have until three o’clock tomorrow to get yourselves sorted out for ammunition and guns. I expect you both to be in tip top shape by then.” Dutch smiled and started to walk away, but then turned around and said, “Oh and Bill, remember what I told you.”

Bill nodded as Dutch walked away and he was left alone with you. From your perspective, Bill seemed to be lost in thought, considering the score that had been presented. On the inside, however, he was entirely confused.

‘How is this supposed to help me get with (y/n)?’ he thought, ‘if we’re preoccupied by a robbery, how am I supposed to make a move? And what move would I even make on them?’

“This sounds… suspiciously easy,” you said, breaking Bill’s attention away from his internal thoughts of confusion. ‘

“Oh, yeah… uh- You… uh… you won’t mind sittin’ out in the forest with me for a while, will ya?” asked Bill nervously. He was staring intently down at his hands, which were picking the label off of his bottle of beer. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you. 

You shrugged your shoulders, “I don’t mind, I like your company Bill.” Internally, Bill’s heart did a little flip. Nobody had ever said that to him before.

Though you would not admit it to anyone, you were actually quite happy that Dutch had picked you and Bill for the ambush. While you and he had grown closer through the forceful bonding of life threatening situations, you equally appreciated his company as a friend, not just as a backup gun man. There was a hidden intelligence and insightfulness inside of him that usually only came out after a few drinks or during somber nights, when thoughts not spoken would only fester in the darkness. By the description of this job, it seemed you would get to experience both sides of him in one evening.

You liked Bill, he was a very tough man. Through a tough youth, a hard career in the military, and a long career as an outlaw, he was a well seasoned man. Yet there was something unique about him that struck you. Though he was certainly not without his faults, you admired him very greatly. Through his trials and tribulations, there was still a joy of life within him. He was fun to ride with, fun to drink with, and deep inside him, where he let few people in, there was someone who cared very deeply about his friends and family. Sometimes you wondered if he had ever let anyone past his guards, through the protections that kept him safe from the rough world that repeatedly tried to kill him. Secretly, sometimes, you wished it was you he would let in.

The next morning, you prepared yourself for the work of the day in your usual manner. You ate breakfast, got your guns, horse and ammunition in order, and kept thoughts of the inevitably of eternity away with busyness. While you weren't entirely sure of what to expect from the job, as even Dutch couldn’t be sure what was going to happen, you did what you could to ready yourself. When you were finished you looked for Dutch and Bill, who were huddled by the horses before departure.

“I don’t see how this is going to help me talk to (y/n),” whispered Bill. 

“This will sure help you,” said Dutch, pulling out a small bottle of whiskey and 

handing it to Bill, “keep it, I picked it up the other day.”

“What’s it for?” said Bill, quickly reading over the label. 

“To drink, what else? If you start to get cold and need a little warming up…” Dutch turned as you approached the two men, “ah, (y/n), you all set?”

“Yes sir,” you happily replied. 

“Good, mount up and we’ll be on our way.” He said, whistling for The Count. 

The group traveled quickly and went over again the details of the robbery. Everybody seemed on the same page as Dutch stopped at a fork in the road near Van Horn. To the left of the road there was a small hill, and a sizable rock sitting guardingly on top. 

“Right, (y/n) and Mr. Williamson, you’ll sit behind that rock there,” said Dutch, dismounting his horse and climbing up the hill, “this should be big enough to obscure you both. Stay out of sight at all times, if we come down the road and he sees you, he is definitely going to turn around. And make sure the horses are out of the way too, can’t have any indication that someone might be here.”

You and Bill happily obliged, pushing your horses off into the forest to be hidden, and climbing up the hill yourselves to get behind the rock. The only problem was the rock was only big enough for one person, the both of you behind it together forced you to sit shoulder to shoulder.

“You kids have fun now, y’hear?” he called out jokingly, “but not too much fun, we’ll be coming down the road at some point and you can’t be too distracted and miss us. Just be patient.” With that, Dutch rode north, leaving you alone with Mr. Williamson. 

You lowered yourself onto the ground, lounging uncomfortably against the hard rock that was now your chair. Bill did the same, squatting down with a groan, then sitting next to you, but being careful to touch you as little as possible. Now that the excitement of a new score had left your mind and the reality of waiting settled in its place, you took greater note of your surroundings. The day was dreary, the sky was a dull gray covered in fast moving clouds that tussled your hair and nipped at your skin passing by. The ground under you was damp and cold, you wondered how long it would take to soak into your pants.

You turned to look at Bill, your only source of entertainment for the next indefinite hours. Bill was looking off into the forest, his eyes staring intently into the brambles, as if he could see past them for miles. You wondered what he was thinking, though you didn’t dare ask. For a moment, the way the sun shone down on him made him look quite handsome.

“Well Bill,” you mused, “I hope you're comfortable, because our being here depends on the will of the courageous Mr. Tuttle”

“I’m sure Dutch’ll get him here in a timely manner. Dutch could sell water to a fish, I’m this guy ain’t immune to his charms.” He replied, looking down at his boot and picking at a scuff in the leather.

“I don’t know, the way Dutch describes this guy, even he might not be successful with his sweet talkin’. Sure sounds like he’s going to have a hell of a time.”

Bill turned his head, his eyes catching yours, and for a moment you thought he looked petrified. He looked back down at the ground, then around at the scenery, and at everything but you. You were reminded of his skittish behaviour over the past weeks. 

“Bill,” you asked, “is everything alright with you?”

Bill wasn’t quite sure what to make of the question, “I’m fine,” he responded, “why do you ask?”

“Well… I don't know, you’ve just been acting a little weird, and… I always thought of us as friends, y’know, so if something's wrong, you can tell me.”

It wasn’t often that people were either caring or considerate to Bill, he did not know how to respond. For a lot of the afternoon, the conversation was rather one-sided. Bill was suddenly very nervous. He realized the opportunity that Dutch had given him in the mission, yet it required more bravery than Bill had. After a while of boring sitting around, you started to drift off asleep, your head slowly but surely drooping down to meet Bill’s shoulder.

Suddenly, you felt a firm hand grab onto your shoulder and vigorously shake you. Your eyes shot open, and you came out of the deep haze and quiet your mind had been resting in. You remembered where you were and what your mission was. Looking around at the now dark surroundings, your eyes searched the darkening path for someone to shoot.

“Stay still,” whispered Bill, “I think I saw a light coming this way,” You turned over to crouch behind Bill and look over his shoulder at who was coming, while trying to keep still like predators on the hunt. When you heard an unfamiliar voice and the light from a lantern began to light the path you steadied your breath and tightened your grip on your gun, preparing yourself for the fight ahead. The light and the voice got closer, your muscles clenching harder with each echoing beat of the horses hooves. 

“Mildred,” said the voice, “ain’t nobody gon’ rob us. There ain’t nothing to rob,” with an exhale and disappointing release of tension, you realized it wasn't Dutch. “What they gon’ take? My pants? My shoes? I ain’t even got no shoes on, we can’t afford none.”

“Shit, Bill,” you said annoyedly, after the wagon had passed, “how long have we been out here?”

Bill pulled out his watch from his pocket, “I don’t know… it's almost seven o’clock now, so about eight hours.”

“Eight hours? Hell, I’ve had enough of this.” You threw your rifle over your shoulder and stood up.

“Hey now, where are you going?” asked Bill. 

“To camp… or to town, anywhere but here.” You stared off into the forest, looking for wherever your horse had walked off to. 

“You can’t leave!” said Bill, quickly standing up behind you, “Dutch is goin’ to be here any minute now!”

“No he ain’t,” you retorted, "It's been eight hours! It's getting dark! The man ain’t coming!”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” asked Bill angrily.

“I don’t know, go to town, go drink or something.” you responded, wanting Bill off your back and to get to someplace warm. However, your words reminded Bill of Dutch's present in his pocket. He reached into his coat and pulled out the bottle. 

“Give me a couple more hours,” Bill said calmly, dangling the bottle by the neck like a carrot on a stick. 

You looked at the bottle and recognized the label, it was a rather fancy brand of whiskey, one you had only seen in the window of nice bars you could never afford to drink in. 

“One hour.” you said firmly. 

“Two,” negotiated Bill, “Dutch’ll sure be mad if he found you bailed.”

It was not an unreasonable bargain. Two more hours, fine whiskey, and a little more faith in Dutch. 

“Fine,” you said, taking the bottle from his hand and screwing off the top, “two hours then I’m gone.” 

In much less than the allotted time, you may as well have just left, because there was no way either you nor Bill were robbing any wagons while drunk. Luckily for Bill, the alcohol had also quelled his fears substantially. Laughing with you felt like nothing in the world mattered, other than you and your company, and suddenly he wasn't so afraid of you.

“And- and so,” laughed Bill so loudly some birds flew away from the trees, “I said to this guy- I says- I don’t think you’re a fish monger, I think you’ve got a plop in the wrong outhouse!” 

At that point in the story, you couldn’t exactly remember what the beginning was, but a hearty laugh was ripped from you anyways. Chests heaving and struggling to breathe, you and Bill were practically falling on top of each other with laughter. 

“And I ain’t ever seen that guy since!” added Bill through snorts and attempts to catch his breath. 

Out of nowhere, you suddenly felt very serious. There was something you had to say to Bill. 

“Bill, Bill, Bill,” you slurred out, sitting up straight and staring firmly at him, putting a sober hand on his shoulder, “there is something very important I have to tell you. Listen to me.” 

Bill sat up immediately, staring back at you with a deadpan expression. On the inside he felt a rising dread, a heat spreading from the bottom of his feet to the top of his head. He was very nervous to hear what you had to say, you seemed so serious. Yet looking into your eyes brought an unusual sense of comfort. 

“Are you listening to me?” 

“Sorry, sorry, yes I am.” he mumbled. 

“Good, because I -hic-  have something to tell you,” it was hard to keep your eyes from rolling into the back of your head, but you kept your gaze steady on him. Bill looked at you like he was waiting for you to spit out an eleventh commandment, you enjoyed his undivided attention. You opened your mouth, waiting for the anticipated words to fall out. For a moment you both sat, waiting intently for whatever it was you had to say. 

Finally; “I don’t remember.” 

You kept looking into each other's eyes, your hand lingering firmly on his shoulder. Then Bill broke out into laughter again. You couldn’t keep it in either and another bout of laughter shook your chest. Swaying back and forth and howling like wolves, you both had to keep grabbing onto each other to keep from fully toppling over. 

“I don’t- I don’t think I had anything to -hic- say in the first place!”

“You had me there! You had me- I thought, god I couldn’t even begin to guess what was going to come- come out of your mouth,” choked out Bill, “you looked like you were about to tell me… well I don’t even know!” 

You laughed for another while, passing the bottle back and forth again. When it was down to the last couple drops, Bill gave the bottle to you.

“Finish ‘er.” he said. 

“That's mighty kind a’ you.” you said, killing the bottle, then throwing it off into the forest. 

“Now, -hic-” said Bill, “I got somethin’ I want to say to you.” Throwing all caution to the wind, he decided now was the time.

“I sure do hope you got something to say,” you laughed, “it’d make one of us.”

Bill chuckled, “no, nope, this here- this here’s serious. I think you’re mighty fine.”

“I think you’re mighty fine, Bill. Now say your piece.” you smiled.

“That is my piece,” responded Bill with a sudden apprehension, like he had realized too late the weight of his words. You noticed he pulled away from you, he looked down at the ground and picked at a blade of grass. Bill had done everything he could now, now he waited for what felt like an eternity.

“What?” you asked after a minute, unsure of what he was trying to get across. 

“I think-” he mumbled, “I think you’re about the finest person I ever met. And I-” 

You became as nervous as he. Bill had always been a little strange to you, but you never thought something like this was the cause. Though it was certainly not unwelcome to you. 

“And you what?” you asked, wanting nothing more than for him to go on. 

“And I… and I nothin’. Nothin’. Forget it.” He shook his head and turned his face away from you, picturing an expression of uncomfortability or disgust across yours. 

You wrapped your arm around his and tried to pull him back towards you, the alcohol keeping any thoughts of reigning in excitement far away. 

“Tell me Bill, tell me.” You urged, gently shaking his arm.

Bill looked at your arm in his, the weight of it burned, yet it was a touch he had dreamed of for a long time. Then his eyes slowly ventured up to your flushed and drunken face. Your eyes were heavy and your cheeks were painted with crimson colouring. You were the most wonderful sight he had ever seen. With surprise to both you and himself, he kissed you. It was clumsy and forceful, as at first it was like his face was mashing up against yours until his lips found yours. His mouth tasted strongly of the whiskey, but so did yours. You kissed him back with as much force and excitement as he did. It was every bit as wonderful as he wanted it to be.

In the heat of the moment, you broke the kiss, only to push him backwards onto the

ground and pounce on him like a starving man on a buffet. You both rolled around on the ground for a while, kissing each other with the fiery passion of new romance and extremely strong alcohol. Your limbs tangled and your hands roamed each other, grabbing and pulling each other as close as you could get. 

After a moment, when you both needed to stop to catch your breaths, Bill spoke. 

“You ain’t… you ain’t just doin’ this because you’re drunk, are you?” he asked, his brows scrunched with worry. 

The question took you by surprise, “no,’ you responded between deep breaths, “are you?”

Bill let himself look at you for a moment. Without thinking, his hand caressed the side of your face and his fingers brushed through your hair. It was a touch neither he nor you thought he was capable of. It felt almost new. “No, I like you. I like you a lot.” 

“Thats very convenient,' you said, your face leaning into the warmth of his hand, “because I like you a lot.”

Few words we needed after that. For a while you spent time alternating between kissing and simply holding each other. However, the lack of sun and campfire let the cold get to you both quickly. No amount of cuddling could keep away the growing chill that soon reached your bones. 

“Bill,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “I’m cold.” 

With difficulty, Bill got up off the ground, then helped you up. He took his jacket off and placed it over your shoulders. 

“Let's get back to camp.” He said, taking your hand and leading you off into the forest to find the horses.

By the words of Arthur, the next day Bill Williamson was an unusually ‘smiley’ man, though he wouldn’t tell anyone the cause of his joy, yet. While you were still asleep, Bill approached Dutch when he opened the flaps of his tent to let in the morning sun. 

“Dutch!” he called out, “Dutch, I wanna thank you.” 

“You were successful, then eh?” Dutch asked with a smirk on his face. 

“Yes, sir, and the whiskey sure helped too” replied Bill bashfully, “But I also want to apologize.”

“For what?” 

“Well, you eventually came around with Mr. Tuttle, didn’t you? And (y/n) and I were

either too drunk to notice… or gone at that point.”

“Mr. Tuttle?” repeated Dutch. 

“Yeah, the guy with the stuff?” 

“... Oh, that's right, Tuttle.” said Dutch, nodding his head. 

“I guess we kinda threw the whole thing,” said Bill remorsefully. 

“Bill,” said Dutch, putting his hand on his shoulder and dropping his voice to a whisper, “I’m going to tell you a secret.” 

“Oh, what is it?” Bill asked curiously. 

“There was never a Mr. Tuttle.” 

It took Bill a moment to put two and two together, but when he did, he had all the more reason to admire the genius and the cunning of the cupid Van Der Linde.

[strangemayfair]

I hope you get your computer fixed soon I love your fics so much😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

Guess whos back!!!!! I got one in the chamber with yous guys's name on it coming out in the next couple days....

[strangemayfair]

Hey guys I broke my computer screen because I was walking with it while eating a carrot and listening to the song Yakety Yak and I tripped and threw my computer. So, the fics are getting a massive delay 😔

[strangemayfair]

Rules for making requests

I can write for any of the main rdr2 characters, either platonic or romantic.

I do x fem!reader or x gn!reader. If you don't specify in your request which one you want, then I'm probably going to write x fem!reader.

You can give me as much or as little plot as you want. I will usually take whatever suggestion is given to me and expand upon it. That being said I need a little bit more to work with than just 'write a fic about x character' with no other prompt. Things I will not write:

Smut, though I can make suggestive content I will not do full blown sex

Nothing icky like pedophilia, racism, homophobia

I cannot write x male reader or mlm, but I can do gender neutral

Graphic depictions of gore

I may turn down a request simply because it does not inspire me. Similarly, cannot guarantee your request will be done quickly. It may come out in a couple days, could be a week. Please be polite to me, as I try to be kind to everyone I interact with.

[strangemayfair]

If your comfortable with it could you write a story about Bill where he's drunk and the gang was antagonizing him and reader tries to comfort him and he hits her thinking it's Javier or someone

So originally when I read this ask I was lowkey going to turn it down because I did not want to write about domestic violence even if its accidental, but then I got to thinking about it and I'm going to do it, but it will not be a happy ending.

[strangemayfair]

Bill having huge crush but trying to figure out how to get gn reader attention but it doesn’t know how for the love of him

Smutt and fluff pls

Thanks sm for the ask! I think I have idea of how I'm going to write this, I'm actually pretty exited! Although, I am not a smut writer, so unfortunately there will be none.

[strangemayfair]

So im lowkey traveling rn and will be for some time, so my upload rate is going to decrease. That being said, I’ll have something out soonish and my reqs are still open :D

[strangemayfair]

I'd really like to write a Bill Williamson x Reader fic but I have zero plot ideas. If anyone has an idea my requests are open!

[strangemayfair]

If Wishes Were Horses: Kieran Duffy x Fem!reader

My Masterlist

So this is a request from an Anon in my last post! I lowkey struggled with this because I wrote the ending first and then couldn't actually figure out how I wanted to get to the ending. Then I got busy with life (I'm unemployed and I don't go to school) and now here it is! Hope you like it anon! Word Count: 4.6k

Plot: Kieran Duffy weasels his way into your heart, but you aren't sure if you can trust the former O'Driscoll. tw & cw: Attempted kidnapping on reader, O'Driscoll deaths, angst (not that much), fluff. Also I didn't read it over, so if theres mistakes, well, 🍅

The first time he laid eyes on you was in Colter, wrapped up in a hundred pounds of clothes and still shivering when you had stumbled into the barn he was tied up in. All Kieran could really see of you were your eyes and snow covered lashes as you stopped to ogle him, the captive. Kieran hadn’t a clue what you looked like, but he thought anyone with eyes as pretty as yours, must have a beautiful face to go along with them. 

Kieran’s theory was proved right when he was re-stationed to the tree in Horseshoe Overlook. During the few interactions he had with you and when he could see you through the cluster of wagons in front of him, he admired you greatly. You were the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. 

One evening, you were standing by Pearson’s wagon when you overheard a conversation take place between Karen and Kieran. You giggled when Karen called him a baby, and turned to see the end of their interaction with Karen hurling her cigarette at the poor captive. You thought that was a little mean, as he was pretty helpless. You felt sorry for him, with his head hung and tired feet wobbling under him. He looked like a pathetic little puppy.

“Don’t mind her,” you said, walking towards the O’Driscoll, “She’s a nice lady, when she likes ya.”

“I’m sure,” murmured Kieran with a weak voice. 

“I’ll get you somethin’ to drink.” 

Kieran’s head shot up with your words and he watched as you grabbed a tin cup, dipped it into the water barrel and brought it over to him. Pressing it to his lips you watched as he drank it up as quickly as he could, you wondered when the last time he had drunk was. 

“Oh, thank you, thank you kindly Miss,” Kieran spluttered out when the water was all gone, taking long and deep breaths, “Miss, what's your name?”

“(y/n).” you said, looking at the now empty cup in your hands. Had you’ve looked up you would have seen the completely reverent look in Kieran’s eyes. 

“I’m Kieran,” he said, “Kieran Duffy. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss (y/n)”

“I can’t say the same for you, O’Driscoll.” you responded.

“(y/n)!” called out the familiar voice of your fearless leader, “you makin’ friends with our resident O’Driscoll?”

“I ain’t no O’Driscoll… I told you guys already…” he retorted in quiet protest. 

“Whatever you say, son,” responded Dutch, then turned to you, “what do you think we outta do with this boy, hm?”

“I don’t know Dutch, but you gotta do something, this ain't humane.” you said, shaking your head in disapproval.

“The O’Driscolls know no such thing as humanity, they are uncivilised savages.” 

“This is a human being being tortured,” you countered, “I don’t like him any more than you do, but this is not the sort of thing we should stand for.”

“Oh don’t you worry, miss, he’ll be off that tree real soon. Maybe in the ground instead, but he won't be suffering much longer.” said Dutch lowly while sizing up Kieran, then he walked away. 

Kieran stared up at you with hopeful eyes, like you had some sway in helping him. 

“I-” you shrugged your shoulders, “I am sorry.” You returned the cup to Pearson’s wagon and went to carry on with your chores.

Much like the rest of the Van Der Linde gang, you were distrustful of Kieran when he was officially ‘let in’. It shocked you that Arthur had spared Kieran’s life and then proceeded to bring him back to the camp, and then, for some reason, Dutch let him stay. While he was still under major surveillance from the rest of the gang, his presence made you nervous. While he claimed good intentions, and seemed like an alright guy, you couldn't truly be sure.

While he was tied to the tree, you had been nice enough to slip him some water or a bite to eat here and there, only because you couldn’t stand to watch a human being suffer. Kieran's gratefulness towards you powered you to keep breaking the unspoken rule of not feeding the captive. He always looked so sad, so hungry and afraid, that watching him was difficult and you felt like it was your duty to mankind to throw him whatever scraps you could. However, that was where your humanitarianism ended. Once he was freed from the tree, he became more of a threat to you than you to him, and you didn’t exactly like that.

Kieran, on the other hand, liked you. You were kind, your smile was like sunshine, and you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen. Though Kieran was not exactly a socialite, the type to meet many women, he saw you as a rarity. Though now that he was off the tree, your interactions with him had ceased due to him no longer needing charity work. If Kieran wanted to interact with you, a thought that both excited and terrified him, he needed to find an excuse to do so, as you no longer came to him.

Kieran had a way of always being nearby, always being within a certain radius of yourself. He wasn’t weird about it, you hardly noticed at first that he was always close, doing some sort of chore. It wasn’t until one of the girls pointed it out to you, that you began to take notice of him. He wasn’t trying to be weird or creepy, he just found comfort in seeing you around. 

At first you were weary of him, unsure of his real motives. Though Arthur said he had saved his life at six point cabin, and had technically ratted out the O’Driscoll camp, you wondered if he had some greater plan at play. Perhaps his nervousness and toady personality was all an act, but then again, he was living with a group of people who all had a mind to kill him. Whenever he came around to talk to you, you studied him, searching his face and his words for any hint of what was beyond his skittish and timid persona. However, as time went on and nothing presented itself to you that would suggest he was at all malignant, you began to almost favour him.

Although you didn’t talk much to him, the conversations you did have with him were actually quite pleasant and insightful into his person. Like the rest of the gang, Kieran had a tragic backstory that seemed to never end. Since he was a child he shifted from place to place, never quite finding a home or a group of people in which he felt comfortable, and often what he did find he was violently uprooted from soon after. The thing about Kieran that intrigued you, was his kindness. Despite having had a difficult childhood, equally bad teenage years, and struggled through adulthood, he was still a genuinely nice person to be around. Unlike everyone else, he had been through immense hardship his whole life and yet hadn’t developed any hardness, any jaded edges as a protection against the world that mistreated him. 

You could tell he had a bit of a school boy crush on you. Kieran always said good morning and goodnight to you, would often give you little gifts of things he knew you wanted, like herbs and fruit, he took extra good care of your horse, keeping her coat shinier than you could ever get it to be. On occasion, when he found you sitting alone and looking down, he would nervously stutter out a compliment, usually something along the lines of how pretty you were. Though you would never admit this to anyone, the little things Kieran did for you did brighten your day. 

However, none of that took away from the fact that he was heavily distrusted by Dutch and the rest of the camp, that didn’t change the fact that he was once an O’Driscoll. While he claimed to have been forced into their gang, ride or die style, you weren’t sure if you could believe him. You wanted to, really you did, his stories and his smiles seemed so genuine, and every compliment he gave you softened your heart to him a little bit more each time, but he worried you. While some people in the gang were fine with him, there were people who thought he was a spy, or would start slitting throats in the middle of the night. When those possibilities crossed your mind, you felt a deep sense of dread. You had gotten close to him, too close for someone you didn’t know if you could fully trust. And unintentionally, you had let him into your heart, before you even knew if he was an enemy or not.

The gang had settled in quite well at Clemens point, despite the humidity, you actually quite enjoyed the location. One thing you really enjoyed was the access to Flat Iron lake. It was extremely convenient for bathing, fishing, and collecting water without having to go on long runs. Though the mosquitos were bad, you were happy. 

Kieran was also happy to be there, and as time went on he settled in more and more with the gang. He was trusted to come and go by himself, and though he didn’t go far, it was a freedom he was happy to exercise again. On top of that, he was slowly becoming more accepted by the members. Aside from Sadie, the girls all seemed to warm up to him, as he was the polite and gentlemanly sort. Half of the men seemed to like him, while Arthur chaffed him every now again, Kieran always took it in good humour and Arthur appreciated that. Dutch wasn’t entirely sold on him, but you figured that if there were no surprises, he would eventually come around too. 

One particularly boring and muggy afternoon, Kieran finally worked up the courage to ask you to go fishing with him. You were tired and overworked, looking for any excuse to get away from camp, even for a little while. Kieran was nervous, could hardly look you in the eyes as he muttered out his question, only in the end looking up to see you with a big smile on your face as you nodded your head.

“Oh I’d like that, though I’m not a very good fisherman,” you said. 

“But I am, I’m sure I could teach you something,” Kieran said, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement, “c’mon, we’ll just go a little ways down the river, there should be some good catches there.”

“Let me go get my rod, then we’ll be off,” you hurriedly walked away to go find your fishing rod. You tried to hide your blushing face from the girls as you rooted through your things for your fishing rod. Karen was the first to put two and two together, seeing as Kieran had been walking around with a fishing rod for a while.

“Finally you’re goin’ out with that O’Driscoll boy, eh?” she joked, “you watch yourself ‘round him, I hear O’Driscoll’s got cooties.”

“Well it's a good thing he ain’t no O’Driscoll then,” you giggled as you found your rod, “I can have all the fun I want!” you added as you started to run towards Kieran.

“I'm ready,” you said, smiling and shaking your rod at him. By the time you had gotten your rod Kieran had both your horse and Branwen ready to ride. Like a gentleman, he lifted you up to your horse, admiring how your waist felt in his hands. You followed along beside him across the shore of Flat Iron lake, until you reached a small bay Kieran deemed suitable for fishing. 

“Here’s good,” he said, dismounting his horse, “did you bring bait? If you don't, you can borrow some of mine.”

“I did, actually,” you said, your hand digging into your saddle bag, “I brought some cheese that's a little too old for me to eat.”

“Perfect,” responded Kieran. 

Standing a little ways apart from each other, you cast your rods into the water. The sky was a beautiful shade of blue and the sun was shining down on you. Your conversation with Kieran was light, mostly consisting of small talk about the weather, or menial things like chores. For a while you oscillated between conversation and silence, either way you were comfortable with him. He felt like a friend to you. 

While deep in thought about something irrelevant, the sound of someone whistling broke you out of your trance. You looked over at Kieran, expecting it to be him, as he was the only person you thought was around. 

“Oh my goodness, (y/n) I think you oughta look away, that man is as naked as a jay bird.” he said, surprised with the words that were leaving his mouth. Much to your surprise, Kieran was telling the truth, there was in fact a naked man in the water. You laughed as you spun around, to avoid your eyes being seared with the sight of a strange man’s willy. 

“I think that's a man who needs to go to confession…” murmured Kieran, “Hey! Watch the lines!” he shouted out. 

“Sorry fellas! Why don’t you take a break, the waters are lovely, you could come swimmin’ with me!” the jovial naked man called out. 

“There’s a lady-” Kieran started.

“I think we’ll pass!” you interrupted kindly. 

“In the bay over there's real big fish,” said the man, “like this!” he outstretched his arms. 

You and Kieran exchanged a glance, silently agreeing it would probably be better to change bays, for both the fish and the scenery. 

“Thanks, mister,” he said to the man as he folded up his rod. 

The both of you mounted up for a second time and quickly rode to the other bay, laughing between yourselves about the man in the water. 

Conversation carried on well between the two of you as you cast your lines into the water, both hoping you’d be the one to catch the massive bluegill that occasionally jumped out of the water, teasing and egging you on more. Kieran was easy to talk to. His light and jovial nature was present today, as usual, even though there was a shared sense of nervousness and hesitation. Then, Kieran turned the conversation around. 

“Y’know, things are gettin’ better for me,” he said, “do you think Dutch… does he trust me now?”

“I think it's unlikely,” you responded, “but can you blame him?”

“Well, I don’t know what to do or say. I ratted out the O’Driscolls to them, I saved Arthur’s life, yet they still like to call me an O’Driscoll,” bemoaned Kieran, “I really want to fit in. I like you people very much, but I don’t know how to make you trust me.”

“I think it’ll take time. Remember you’ve only been off the tree for a couple months now. I mean, can anyone really be sure of you?” you said, more focused on your fishing than Kieran. 

“But- but you trust me, right?” asked Kieran. 

“I-” you wanted to answer him, but you were unsure of what to say. You hesitated, wanting to be honest with him, but not wanting to hurt him either. 

“It's okay,” you could hear the disappointment in Kieran’s voice, “you- you don’t have to yet. It’s just- well, you're about the only friend I’ve got. And I-” he hesitated, “I really- nevermind. It’ stupid, just forget it.”

Your heart broke for him. You really liked him, probably more than you should, but you didn’t want to lie to him either. There was a long stretch of silence between the two of you, you couldn’t think of anything to fill it with. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna catch that bluegill today,” said Kieran defeatedly, “I’m going to ride back to camp, wanna come with me?” 

You thought for a moment, “no, thank you, I think I’m going to stay a little longer.” 

“Okay,” responded Kieran, folding his fishing rod and walking away, “don’t be too long, it’ll get dark soon.”

“Alright, I’ll see you back at camp,” you watched as he rode away. 

A couple minutes after he left you folded up your rod as well. You didn’t really want to stay longer, you just didn’t want to ride back with him. Your heart was heavy, you felt like you had somehow let him down. You wanted to be his friend, someone he could trust and rely on, yet you did not know if he could do the same for you.

You walked up to your horse and pulled the reins, deciding instead of riding back, you would take your time and walk back, enjoying the cooled air of the evening. Instead of walking back along the shore, you cut through the forest to the road. There was still enough light for you to see, but the sun was beginning to sink into the skyline. You sauntered slowly, feeling no motivation to walk any faster than you needed to. 

As you continued on, you saw two men riding in the opposite direction as you. They were traveling at a rather brisk pace. Trying to be polite, you smiled at them as they slowed down to pass you. However, when they passed, the sound of their horses hooves did not get quieter and more distant, they stopped all together. You turned your head to look, they were stopped and staring at you. 

“Y’alright miss?” one of them asked with a smile on his face when you turned to look at him. 

“Fine,” you said, continuing walking, it was then you realized you left your gun back at camp, “just fine.”

“You lost?” asked the other man, spurring his horse to catch up with you. 

“No.” you responded firmly, hoping they would just go away. 

“We’re part of an organization…” said the man, “we help lost women find their way home.” He stopped in front of you, blocking the trail. 

Fear crept into your heart as you turned around and saw the other man dismounting his horse. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, getting closer to you, “we’re friendly O’Driscolls.” The man gave you a devilish smear before laughing at you and grabbing you, trying to wrestle you to the ground.

Before you could even scream you heard a shout and a gunshot. The man who tackled you fell on top of you, his body limp and heavy. The other man drew his gun and reared his horse, but was soon shot off, the horse galloping away without its rider. 

“Are you okay?” called Kieran out frantically, as you pushed the now dead body off your attempted captor off you. 

“I-” you felt pretty rattled, “I think?”

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Kieran asked, helping you off the ground. Too stunned to say anything, you just shook your head. He kept your hand in his as he led you away from the O’Driscolls.

“What the hell is going on!” shouted Bill as he emerged from the treeline with a gun, “I heard shots!”

“Kieran saved me,” you said, turning around and dazedly pointing at the two dead bodies left behind, “the O’Driscolls tried to… and then Kieran…”

“Jesus,” said Bill, “Somebody’s got to clean that up, we don’t want any attention.”

“Let me take (y/n) back to camp, then I’ll deal with it. If you could get her horse?”

Bill begrudgingly went and caught your spooked horse while Kieran took you back to camp.

Walking back to camp you realized what a close call you just had, and had it not been for Kieran who was nearby, that could have been a deadly encounter. In silence Kieran walked you through the bushes back to camp, sitting you down on a crate behind a wagon, away from the prying eyes of the camp. After you had sat down, Kieran turned around to go back and deal with the bodies.

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his arm before he could walk away. Kieran knelt down beside you. The look in his eyes was unfamiliar. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, miss.” he said, he held your hand in his and stroked his thumb over the back. “I should go help Bill,” he sighed as he got up and walked away. 

You didn’t want Kieran to go, you wanted him to stay with you. You felt a longing in your heart that you had never felt before, a wanting for him that was new for you. You wanted him to be near, to hold your hand again. It was surprising to you, how much you yearned for his company at this moment. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be alone, you just didn’t want to be without him. 

Over the next couple of days this feeling only intensified for you. Suddenly, you were the one who found yourself staring at him from across camp, you were the one trying to find any excuse to talk to him. You could also tell that something had changed within Kieran, he seemed to be avoiding you. Kieran seemed disinterested in talking to you, always finding some excuse to go somewhere else whenever you came up to him. You felt heavily rejected by him, wondering if your lack of reassuring words by the lake had hurt him too badly. You wondered if there was any way to salvage even just the friendship you shared with him, let alone make him like you the same way you liked him. You wondered when the feeling would pass, hoping you wouldn’t have to live with this unrequited yearning for much longer. 

After a week of being avoided by Kieran, you found yourself in a depressed state, moping around everywhere. You understood now what Kieran meant to you, that you did trust him, but it was too late, and it was killing you. To try to cheer yourself up, you bought some extra carrots for your horse, thinking that perhaps seeing it happy would make you happy.

Kieran wasn’t feeling much better than you. When he saw those O’Driscolls grab you he imagined a horrifying situation in which he failed to help you and the O’Driscoll’s captured and killed you. Time practically slowed down for him as he shot the O’Driscolls one by one, knowing if he was off even a bit, it could mean the end of your life. Kieran had grown extremely attached to you in the small time you had known each other, and it took almost losing you for him to realize how much he needed you in his life. Yet at the same time, Kieran thought you wouldn’t feel the same way about him. You didn’t trust him, he was an ex O’Driscoll, and on top of that, he was himself, and you wouldn’t possibly want him, right?

You did feel marginally better while feeding the carrots to your horse. Somehow being around the animal always seemed to cheer you up. You were patting and scratching your horse when Branwen walked up to you and started sniffing your bag which had some leftover carrots. Branwen was such a sweet horse you couldn’t help but treat her to the loft over carrots you had.

Kieran was polishing his saddle when he watched you walk by and into the direction of the horses. Unwillingly his eyes followed you until you were hidden by the shrubs and the flanks. He shook his head at himself, no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t keep from admiring you. 

Damn it all to hell, he thought, I’m goin’ to go talk to her, I can’t stand missin’ her. Kieran set his saddle and polisher aside, standing up to go see you. However, when he got close he was stopped dead in his tracks by the sound of your laughter. You were giggling and quietly talking to someone. He couldn’t yet tell what you were saying. He slowed down his walk so as not to make any noise, but to get close enough to hear what you were saying.

“Oh you’re lovely,” your voice said earnestly, “and quite the handsome thing, too.”

Kieran’s heart felt like it had been trodden on. He dashed behind a tree, wanting to get away from what he was hearing, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually leave. You had a lover, Kieran should have known. A beautiful and lovely girl like you would no doubt have countless suitors, eventually you’d let one into your heart. 

“My goodness- you can sure eat carrots!” you giggled.

Kieran should have put two and two together then, he recognized that that was an odd thing to say to a romantic partner, but he was too upset to realize it wasn’t another man that you were talking to. He knew he ought to walk away, he had no right to eavesdrop on you or to interrupt a moment that didn’t belong to him. Despite Kieran knowing what he should do, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He loved the sound of your voice, your giggles, and the words you were saying tempted him to close his eyes and pretend like he was on the receiving end of them. 

“Fine hair, I wonder how Kieran keeps it this nice? Oh Branwen,” suddenly your tone shifted to an almost defeated sigh, “I do like him. I think ‘like’ is an understatement… I really like him. Maybe you can tell him for me, ‘course you’d have to learn English first. Shouldn’t be hard for a smart and cute little horsie like you.”

Slowly and apprehensively, Kieran turned around and inched his head around the thick trunk of the tree, somehow still anticipating to see another person talking to you, even though he was pretty certain now you were talking to his horse. Kieran’s eyes landed on your back, you were facing Branwen, gently petting her face and neck as she butted into you.

After a moment of admiring how cute the both of you looked, your words finally registered in Kieran’s mind. You, (y/n), felt the same way about him. 

You jumped and spun around when you heard a twig break under Kieran’s step as he got closer to you. You smiled at him, trying to conceal your nervousness. Your heart raced, wondering how much he had heard, hoping he hadn’t been listening at all. You hardly noticed that Kieran was white in the face himself with nerves.

“Oh goodness, Kieran, you startled me,” you said, putting your hand on Kieran's arm, “Branwen was eye’n the carrots I was feeding my horse, and I thought I’d better share if I want her to like me.” 

You studied the lines on Kieran’s face as you waited for his response, and wondered why he wasn’t looking you in the eye. Kieran appeared to be scrutinizing the ground below him, like whatever he was about to say was written in the dirt. Each passing second made you worry more and more that Kieran had heard what you said and was thinking of some way to reject you. 

“(y/n), I… I uh, heard what ya said…” Kieran said, finally looking up into your eyes, “I like you too.”

It took you a moment to process his words, at first you almost didn’t believe what he was saying was true. You searched his eyes, trying to find any hint of deceit or mockery in his eyes. Yet, there was none. 

You took his hand in yours, studying his roughened fingers and dirty nails. You looked into his pretty blue eyes and pulled him closer. Kieran put his hand on your cheek, his thumb gently caressing your face. He kissed you with a passion that promised an exciting future.