one thing i hate about the soc fandom is the amount of people who act like jesper and his father have a healthy relationship; i know a lot of these posts are joke posts but it just irks me so bad.
colm fahey was NOT a good father and he did not have a healthy relationship with his son whatsoever. in fact it's literally stated that the primary cause of jesper's gambling addiction stems from his father because he instilled fear and shame within jepser just for being grisha. even in his childhood, aditi had to teach jesper to use his powers as a fabrikator in secret. a father who fears his son cannot have a healthy relationship with his child because no matter how much he hides it, that fear will always be apparent through his actions.
what primarily makes colm a better father than most is that he's trying, he listened to jesper's outburst and he's trying to remedy his relationship with his son even if it's so late.
Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader
Chapter Summary: Javier, Hosea, and Arthur return to camp with news no one expects to hear while Arthur struggles to come to terms with the revelation.
Word Count: 4.5k
Warnings/Tags: Slow-burn. No use of y/n. Memory loss. Emotional angst. Strangers to friends to lovers. Eventual smut. Nothing too canon in this chapter so its spoiler-free.
Read on AO3
You didn’t look back. That was the rule. Yours, though you hadn’t known it long enough to name it.
You kept your gaze ahead and your steps steady, leaving the past where it belonged. Colm had taught you that much without ever saying it directly. The past was weight and weight slowed you down.
But your pulse hadn't settled.
You rode hard out of Valentine, the noise of the street swallowed by open land. The men around you were tight-jawed and wordless, and that suited you fine.
It was only when the road stayed empty and the dust had settled that your grip on the reins finally eased.
You told yourself it was the close call. A chaotic street, too many men moving at once, a townsman blundering between you and your shot. Disruptions happened. You'd learned to account for them.
That wasn't what was bothering you.
The ride back passed in near silence, feeling longer than it should have.
They hadn't turned straight for camp. After clearing Valentine, they'd cut wide across open land, doubling back once and keeping to lower ground—just in case anyone had thought to follow.
Dusk was settling in, the last light thinning across the plains and stretching their shadows long beneath them.
Javier rode a little ahead, glancing back now and then like he had something to say but thought better of it while Hosea kept an even pace beside Arthur, offering no push for conversation.
Whatever thoughts the men carried stayed their own as they watched the road ahead, letting the silence remain undisturbed.
Arthur rode with his eyes forward, hands doing nothing more than holding the reins.
He'd had worse rides. Worse days. He kept telling himself that but the words didn't take.
You were alive.
The image had settled behind his eyes with no intention of moving—you in green, moving through the chaos of Valentine's main street with that particular economy of motion that had always been yours. Directing men who followed without question. The steadiness in your aim. The way you'd looked at him.
As if you didn't know him.
That was the part that wouldn't let go. He'd said your name and you'd stared back at him and acted as if he was a stranger.
Eventually the land began to rise beneath them, the path narrowing as it wound toward the ridge overlooking the Heartlands, the familiar shape of camp slowly taking form against the fading sky.
As they crested the final rise, Lenny shifted at the edge of camp, stepping out from beside a tree with his rifle resting easy in his hands. When he recognized them, he lowered it and gave a small nod.
"'Bout time," he called. "Town still standing, or you three tear it down this time?"
Javier lifted a hand in acknowledgment as they guided their horses through. "Still standing… more or less."
Lenny’s gaze moved between them, lingering briefly on Arthur. He didn’t so much as acknowledge him like he normally would, his expression closed off, a faint dark streak of dried blood marking his ear.
"You get clipped?"
Hosea slowed just enough to catch Lenny’s eye as he passed, giving him a small shake of his head—a silent not now. Lenny understood. He gave a faint nod and stepped back toward his post without another word.
They rode into the clearing, hooves thudding against packed dirt as lantern light caught on dust-streaked coats and tired horses. The usual hum of evening softened at their arrival, a few faces near the fire glancing up.
Arthur guided his horse to the hitching post and swung down without a word, tugging off his gloves with sharp, impatient pulls.
Bill moved in. “Well? Sounded like the whole damn town—”
Arthur looked up at him. Just a lift of his head but the expression on his face was hard enough to warn him off and whatever Bill had been about to say thinned out and died in his throat.
Hosea and Javier dismounted just behind him. Javier offered the gang a faint smile that didn’t quite hold.
Arthur barely seemed to notice. He hauled the reins through the hitching post, hands working the rope with quick, practiced movements.
He glanced up, gaze moving across the clearing until it settled on a figure near the wagons and stayed there.
Without breaking that stare, Arthur gave the rope a sudden, hard yank, cinching the knot tight. Leather snapped sharply against the wood—louder than it needed to be—and the crack carried across the clearing, turning a few more heads.
He stepped back from the post, rolling his shoulders beneath his coat. Whatever distant fog had followed him in from Valentine was gone now, burned off and replaced with something sharper.
Near the wagons, Kieran paused mid-stroke, the brush still in his hand where he’d been working oil into a saddle. The sharp crack of leather against wood made him glance up with the others across the clearing.
He hadn’t done anything wrong and hadn’t said a word.
But for some reason Arthur’s stare was already fixed on him like he did.
Arthur started toward him.
"What the hell happened?" Bill asked quietly, watching his retreating figure.
"Valentine happened," Javier muttered.
Bill frowned. "That ain't an explanation."
Javier let out a slow breath. "Wish I had one." He clapped Bill once on the shoulder before moving past him, leaving Bill standing there none the wiser.
Ahead, Arthur crossed the clearing without hurry, his stride steady and his gaze locked. The camp grew quieter as heads turned to watch, eyes following him across the dirt.
Kieran had gone stiff the moment he realized that Arthur was heading straight for him, the brush hanging useless at his side. Confusion flickered across his face before the old, uneasy caution settled in, his shoulders drawing slightly inward.
"Hey, Arthur," he tried, aiming for something close to normal. "You're back quick."
Arthur didn't slow.
He closed the last of the distance and grabbed Kieran by the front of his shirt, fist bunching the fabric tight. Kieran stumbled forward with a startled sound, boots scraping the dirt as he was hauled closer.
"I ain't done nothin'," he blurted immediately, hands hovering but not daring to push back. "I swear to you, I ain't."
Arthur’s grip tightened just enough to still him before he spoke, his voice low and controlled, carrying a weight far more dangerous than a shout.
Around them, a few members of the camp had started watching, exchanging uncertain looks. The sharp edge in Arthur’s voice was enough to put them on alert, though none of them yet knew what had set him off.
“Valentine was crawling with O’Driscolls. More than usual.”
His eyes didn’t leave Kieran’s. “You wanna tell me why?”
Kieran blinked, genuine confusion cutting through the fear. “Valentine? I don't know nothin' about that. I ain't been near ’em.”
Arthur studied his face hard, searching for the slightest flicker of deceit.
“What’s Colm doing?” he pressed. “He movin’ camps? Shiftin’ men into town?”
“I don’t know,” Kieran insisted, panic edging into his voice now. “He don’t tell me things. You know that. I ain’t exactly trusted with that.”
Arthur held him there another second, jaw set.
“There was a woman,” he said at last. “Ridin’ with ’em. Givin’ orders.”
Kieran’s brow knit. “A woman?” he repeated. “Colm don’t—that ain’t how he runs things.”
The confusion lingered a moment before something shifted behind the panicked man’s eyes—slight, but Arthur caught it immediately and his gaze sharpened at once.
“I heard talk,” Kieran admitted, his voice tightening.
“Wasn’t with ’em long enough to see much. But there was someone Colm took an interest in. Didn’t think it meant nothin’.”
He shifted uneasily beneath Arthur’s stare before continuing.
"Colm took her in. Didn't come with the rest of us—just showed up one day, and he kept her. Didn't put her in the back like the others. Had her riding out after a while."
The members who had been watching the confrontation exchanged muted looks, low murmurs passing quietly between them.
“She been with ’em long?” Arthur asked.
"Long enough. Saw her once. Men listened when she spoke—even the rough ones." He frowned faintly. "Colm don't usually waste time on charity."
Arthur held him there another second, weighing the words and finding no comfort in them. Whatever he’d been looking for, he hadn’t found.
With a rough shove, he let him go.
Kieran stumbled back a step, barely keeping his footing as his hand went to his shirt. He stayed where he was, uncertain whether to speak again or quietly make himself scarce.
Behind Arthur, Hosea stepped closer and called his name carefully.
Arthur didn’t turn. The silence stretched, heavy and watchful.
Then the flap of the biggest tent in camp snapped open and a familiar voice cut through the stillness.
"You boys make quite the entrance."
Dutch stepped out into the evening light.
His gaze moved slowly across the clearing, taking in the stilled bodies and the quiet that had settled there, then the tension set deep in Arthur’s shoulders before noting how close he stood to the boy clutching at his shirt near the collar, looking shaken and unsure of himself.
A faint trace of amusement tugged at Dutch’s mouth, as if the scene had caught his curiosity more than his concern.
He started toward them at an easy pace, eyes shifting from Arthur to Hosea as he closed the distance.
"How'd it go? Doctor's office as profitable as we hoped?"
“Back room was full of O’Driscolls,” Hosea said. “Managed to get a few stacks, but the deputies came quickly.” His gaze flicked briefly toward Arthur before he added, more carefully, “More… company showed up after—must’ve heard the shots. Whole street turned into a mess.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened, the muscle shifting beneath his skin. For a moment it looked as if he might say something.
“We got what we could,” Hosea finished quietly. “But it stirred more than we expected.”
Dutch nodded, then his gaze returned to Arthur and lingered. The easy amusement in his expression faded into something more curious as he stepped closer, tilting his head slightly.
"You're bleeding."
Arthur reached up as though only just remembering it, his fingers brushing the cut along his ear where your bullet had grazed him earlier. The blood had already dried against his skin. After a moment, he lowered his hand.
“Just a scratch.”
Dutch’s mouth curved faintly, though he didn’t look convinced. His gaze drifted across the clearing, taking in the quiet camp and the O’Driscoll boy still clutching at his shirt before settling back on Arthur.
“Well then. Care to explain why you came ridin’ back with half of Valentine at your heels… and then decided to start a second war in my own camp?”
Arthur turned his head just enough to acknowledge him. “Wasn’t startin’ nothin’.”
Dutch’s eyes flicked briefly to Kieran, who straightened instinctively under the weight of that glance.
“Kieran,” Dutch said evenly, “you care to explain why my best man looks ready to skin you alive?”
“I—I don’t know what’s got into him,” Kieran answered quickly. “He asked about the O’Driscolls. I told him what I knew.”
“And what’s that?”
“They’ve got a woman riding with ’em. Colm’s keeping her close.”
A faint crease appeared between Dutch’s brows. “A woman,” he repeated, as though weighing the word. “Well. That is… new.”
“She ain’t just with them,” Kieran added, glancing uneasily at Arthur before continuing. “She’s leadin’ his men.”
Dutch’s expression sharpened with interest. “Is that so.”
Kieran nodded carefully. “That’s what I heard before I left. Colm don’t take in strays for nothing. If he kept her, it’s for a reason.”
Dutch let that settle for a moment, turning the thought over before his gaze returned to Arthur.
“And this concerns you why, Arthur?” he asked lightly.
The question hung in the air.
Arthur didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped briefly to the ground between them, one hand flexing faintly at his side before going still again. When he finally looked up, his attention settled back on Dutch.
“…Because I know her.”
A subtle shift moved through the clearing at that. A few of the men straightened, the weight of the admission drawing more of their attention.
Arthur kept his eyes forward.
“Or I did.”
Dutch’s interest sharpened. “And who might that be?”
Arthur hesitated, the pause just long enough to notice before he said your name, and the silence that followed was a different kind entirely.
Across the fire, Abigail had gone very still. At the sound of the name, her eyes found Arthur’s face immediately, searching it with the sharp focus of someone who remembered her just as well. Her lips parted slightly, but whatever she’d been about to say dissolved before it reached the air.
From where he sat near the poker table, John looked over at Arthur, confusion creasing his brow. “What’re you saying?”
Arthur’s jaw clenched hard enough to ache. He stared at the ground for a moment, like he might swallow the words back down, but they came anyway—rough and low, dragged out of him.
“I saw her.”
Dutch blinked once, the easy amusement slipping into something more puzzled.
“…That can’t be right,” he said slowly. “Arthur, we all thought she’s gone.”
Arthur’s mouth tightened slightly. “Yeah. So did I.”
“And you’re tellin’ me the woman… ridin’ with Colm’s men… is her?”
“That’s what I’m tellin’ you.”
Dutch was quiet for a moment, turning the pieces over in his mind before speaking again. “That does leave a rather important question.”
His gaze moved between Arthur and Kieran as he weighed it aloud. “How exactly does a woman we all thought dead end up ridin’ with Colm O’Driscoll’s men?”
Arthur didn’t answer. He only held Dutch’s gaze, the quiet between them thickening.
For a moment Dutch simply watched him, the faint curiosity in his expression sharpening into something more thoughtful.
“Then I reckon if she’s ridin’ with O’Driscolls and givin’ ’em orders…” he continued, “that rather makes her one of Colm’s people now, don’t it?”
Arthur’s shoulders went still. He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself at first, but the thought had already settled into place. You were with Colm now. That made you the enemy. That part, at least, was simple.
He looked away briefly, jaw set hard before answering. “I saw her with ’em,” he said, voice quieter now. “That’s all I’m sayin’.”
“You’re certain it was her then.”
“I ain’t mistaken.”
Arthur didn’t waver. He could still see it—the alley, the sharp set of your shoulders as you turned, the instant the bandana came down and the world had briefly, violently rearranged itself.
Not a trick of light. Not a memory playing cruel games on a man who’d grieved too long.
Hosea spoke then, low and careful, the way he always did when the ground needed steadying beneath someone else's feet.
“We saw her too—Javier and I… or near enough to be sure.” He met his gaze evenly, hands quiet at his sides. “It was her, Dutch.”
The firelight caught the faces around the clearing one by one—confusion, disbelief, the slow dawning of something none of them quite knew how to hold.
Dutch slowly rubbed his jaw, turning the thought over in silence. Whatever calculation ran behind his eyes seemed to finish, and he let out a long breath through his nose, folding his arms across his chest.
“That is a strange thing,” he said at last.
Arthur gave a short, humorless breath.
His voice settled back into something easier. “Still, there ain’t much sense in gnawin’ on it tonight.” His gaze swept across the small circle of faces gathered nearby. “Whatever the truth of it is, we’ll learn soon enough.”
Arthur didn’t answer.
He studied Arthur another second, then gave a small nod, as though deciding to leave it there. “Alright,” he said lightly. “That’s enough excitement for one day.”
With that, he turned and started back toward his tent.
It didn’t stay quiet long.
By the time Dutch had retreated toward his tent, the camp had already started turning it over.
Bill was first.
He planted himself near the hitching post while Arthur checked his horse, squinting at him with that perpetually baffled look he wore whenever the world declined to make sense on his terms.
"So she's just... what. One of them now? Just like that?"
"Don't know," Arthur said, not looking up.
"And she acted like she didn't know who you were."
"I said I don't know, Bill."
"Well, which is it? Is she playin' 'em or is she—"
"I don't know." Quiet. Final.
Bill shifted his weight, glancing past Arthur toward the rest of camp before lowering his voice a notch.
“Could be she’s runnin’ some kind of game on Colm. Workin’ her way in… waitin’ for the right moment. Or could be she—”
“Bill.”
Arthur’s voice came out low, a warning without being raised. “I ain’t got more answers than you. So let it alone.”
Bill opened his mouth like he meant to argue, then thought better of it. He huffed under his breath and wandered off toward the fire, muttering something about it being a simple question.
Charles tried next.
He approached quieter than Bill had, stopping beside Arthur while he finished seeing to the horse.
“You alright?” he asked.
“Fine.”
Charles didn’t push right away. He stood there a moment, watching Arthur work, then spoke again, more carefully.
“You think she knew it was you… before she fired?”
Arthur stilled.
He’d asked himself the same thing about thirty times since Valentine and hadn’t come up with anything worth saying.
Arthur only gave a small shrug.
Charles nodded once and left it there. That, at least, Arthur was grateful for.
Dutch found him again as the evening deepened, materializing from the direction of his tent.
“You know,” Dutch began, settling beside him, “if she’s in there running her own game…if she’s working Colm from the inside—that’s exactly the kind of position we’d want someone in.”
“We don’t know that’s what’s happening,” Arthur said.
“No,” Dutch agreed pleasantly. “But we could find out. Make contact. See what she does when she’s got a friendly face in front of her.”
“And if she ain’t running a game?” Arthur asked. “If she just—” He stopped.
Dutch glanced at him. “If she just what?”
Arthur didn’t finish it. There were too many ways it could go, and none of them sat right. Maybe she was playing Colm and had kept it from him for reasons he couldn’t begin to guess. Maybe something had happened to her—something that made the look on her face in that alley real, like she truly hadn’t known him.
Or maybe she’d known exactly who he was and pulled the trigger anyway.
Arthur didn’t know which of those he could stomach least.
“Regardless,” Dutch continued, voice smooth and measured, “she’s inside Colm’s operation. Close to him. That has value to us.”
Arthur’s gaze lifted from the fire.
“She ain’t a chess piece, Dutch.”
“I didn’t say she was.” Dutch raised a hand, patient. “I’m saying she’s alive. I’m saying there’s time. And I’m saying we’ve got options we didn’t have this morning.”
“And if she fires at one of us again?”
Dutch held his gaze a moment before answering. “Then we’ll deal with that when it happens.”
Arthur’s jaw tightened. “That your plan?”
“My plan,” Dutch said evenly, “is not to throw away an opportunity before we understand it.”
Arthur let out a quiet breath through his nose, his eyes drifting toward the fire. “You’re already talkin’ about her like she’s part of some play.”
“I’m talkin’ about the situation,” Dutch replied calmly. “There’s a difference.”
Arthur shook his head once. “You don’t know her.”
Dutch didn’t rise to it. “No,” he said evenly. “But you do.”
That hung between them for a moment. Arthur stared at him another second, something hard settling behind his eyes. “Yeah,” he muttered at last, the word low and flat.
Then he turned away.
Arthur crossed the grounds without another word, shoulders tight as he stepped out of the circle of firelight and headed toward the far edge of camp. He’d made it only a few steps before Dutch spoke again behind him.
“Arthur. We’re going to need to think about this clearly.”
Arthur kept walking.
“Whatever she knew—or didn’t know—today, she’s in Colm’s camp tonight. That puts her in the middle of this whether—”
“I’m very aware of where she is.”
The clearing went still at the sudden sharpness in Arthur’s voice.
He stood there another second before adding, rougher now, “So give me one damn minute before we start decidin’ what that means.”
Silence settled over the camp. Dutch said nothing more.
Arthur moved past the hitching post and the last of the lantern light, continuing until the camp fell behind him and there was nothing ahead but open dark and the pale edge of the ridge.
Hosea watched him go. He lingered where he was for a moment, his gaze resting on the space Arthur had left behind while Dutch stood beside the fire, quieter now, the sharp edge of the conversation settling into something more thoughtful.
After a moment Hosea glanced toward him, a look passing between them that said more than words would have managed.
“Let me,” he said simply.
Dutch met his gaze. For a moment he said nothing, his eyes drifting toward the darkness where Arthur had disappeared, the faintest crease forming between his brows.
“Yeah,” he said after a beat, quieter now.
He gave a small nod and turned back toward the fire.
Hosea adjusted his hat and headed in the direction Arthur had gone, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
The edge of the overlook fell away sharply a dozen yards beyond the last of the camp's lantern reach, the ground sloping to a lip of pale rock that jutted out over the land below.
From up here, the plain stretched enormous and still beneath the darkening sky, the Dakota River a pale thread of silver winding through the low ground far below. The grasses rolled in slow, even waves where the evening breeze moved through them.
Arthur stood at the edge of the rock with his hands in his pockets, hat tilted slightly back. He hadn't looked at any of it. His gaze had fixed itself somewhere in the middle distance and stayed there.
Hosea came up beside him and settled with the easy familiarity of a man who had done this sort of thing many times before. He tucked his thumbs into his vest and looked out across the Heartlands.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Eventually Hosea broke the silence.
“Hell of a day.”
Arthur let out a short breath in response. Not quite a laugh.
Hosea tilted his head slightly, still looking out over the land. “You want to say it, or you want me to wait until you're ready?”
Arthur’s jaw shifted. His gaze dropped to the rock beneath his boots.
“I don’t know what I want.”
“That’s a start.”
A long pause followed before Arthur spoke again.
“She looked right at me. I said her name, and for a second there something moved across her face. I saw it.” He shook his head faintly. “And then it was gone. She pulled the cover back up like nothing happened.”
Hosea kept his eyes on the plains.
“You think she knew it was you?”
Arthur let out a quiet breath. “I don’t know.”
Silence settled again between them.
“If she’s running some kind of game on Colm and she couldn’t show it… that makes sense,” Arthur went on after a moment. “That I could follow.”
He paused, gaze still lowered.
“But she didn’t hesitate.”
The words came out flat.
“She lined up and fired like I was just another man in her way.”
Hosea considered that quietly before answering.
“If she knew it was you and still held it together in front of Colm’s men… that takes something.”
“Or she just didn’t care.”
“Maybe. But you said you saw something.”
Arthur didn’t answer. His hand had found the locket without him noticing, fingers pressing it through the worn fabric of his vest as he stared out across the darkening plain.
“You’ve always been good at reading people,” Hosea continued quietly. “Better than you give yourself credit for. You saw something. Don’t rush deciding what it means.”
Arthur stood there a long moment before speaking again.
“I’m relieved,” he said at last, voice low. “She’s alive. I hadn’t let myself think she might be.”
He swallowed.
“And now she is… and she’s in Colm’s camp tonight.”
The words carried a different weight now.
“Either she’s playing some angle I don’t know about… or she’s chosen it.”
Hosea turned his head then, studying him.
“That’s a hard thing to sit with.”
“Yeah.” Arthur’s voice had gone rough. “It is.”
The wind moved quietly through the grass below. Arthur watched it for a moment before speaking again.
“What if she’s there because she wants to be?”
Hosea didn’t answer right away. He gave the question the space it deserved.
“Then you’ll know,” he said at last. “And you’ll grieve it proper. But you won’t spend the rest of your life wondering.”
Arthur stared out at the dark plain.
“You know what the worst part is?” he said quietly.
Hosea glanced at him but didn’t interrupt.
“It ain’t even the bullet.” Arthur shook his head faintly. “It’s the way she looked at me after.”
His jaw tightened.
“Like I was nobody.”
The anger had crept into his voice now, quiet and steady.
“She’s been with them long enough that Kieran’s heard about her. Long enough that Colm’s got her riding with his men, giving orders.” He let out a slow breath through his nose. “That ain’t something you stumble into.”
Hosea studied him carefully.
“Or something you survive long enough to become.”
Arthur didn’t look at him.
“Maybe.”
The word came out flat.
“But she didn’t run.”
He lifted his head slightly, eyes still fixed on the dark plains below.
“She saw me. If there was any piece of the old her left… that was the moment it would’ve shown.”
His jaw worked once, the muscle tightening hard beneath his skin.
“And it didn’t.”
The wind shifted across the ridge, tugging faintly at the brim of his hat. Arthur stood there another moment, staring out into the dark like he might still find some other answer waiting for him out there.
But nothing came.
Arthur straightened slowly, something in his expression hardening now, the last of that uncertainty giving way to something colder.
“Whatever the reason is,” he said at last, his voice low and tight, “one thing’s clear.”
He turned away from the overlook.
“She chose her side.”
The words landed heavy in the quiet.
Arthur started back toward camp, shoulders drawn tight beneath his coat. After a few steps he added, rougher now, the anger finally slipping through the cracks.
Werewolf!reader goes in heat and z team helps them by giving them gifts. (Sex toys and a heated blanket) because they don't think reader would be comfortable with having sex with them.
Reader eventually has enough and begs Robert to help, which then leds to EVERYONE helping. 🙂↕️
Reader's heat ends (thanks to the zteam) but now has to worry because they keep waking up sick and throwing up.
I'm not asking for much, I just want some fluff relationship headcanons for Punch-up, I JUST KNOW THAT HE WOULD TREAT ME RIGHT
I feel like carring him around like a teddy bear would heal me but its hard to tell if he has not only strenght, but also weight of 10 men, so for now I will give up on that😞
୨୧Punch Up Headcannons! (Fluff!)
⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺
→ First of all, I think this man would adore his partner. DAMN STRAIGHT HE’D TREAT YOU RIGHT!!
Colm is actually really sweet, honestly. I feel like he’s the type of guy to get you things you want without you even having to ask for them. Mention something about being thirsty? He’ll pour you a glass. Want water instead of alcohol? He’ll pour you a new one!
Food, clothes, makeup—anything, honestly. If he sees your eyes linger on an item for a second too long he’ll mentally add it to a list of things he can (an probably will) get you eventually: whether it’s for a holiday, birthday, or just because. He likes seeing the way your eyes light up when he gives you the sweater you had been wanting, or the concert tickets you wouldn’t shut up about for the past month.
→ Likes to show you his favorite Irish songs. He loves it when you spend some of your time learning about and listening to the things he likes <3 (it makes him swoon like a mf)
→ I feel like every Friday he cooks you a BOMB ass dinner. Perhaps a mean lasagna, or maybe a juicy steak… this man is breaking out the step stool and the pink frilly apron that is actually his.
If you don’t like classic American home cooked meals, he’ll make you Irish ones! If you don’t like that, or have something you like more, he’ll make it instead! I genuinely think he’s a good cook. Tell me I’m wrong.
→ probs very ooc but I think he would in fact let you put ribbon around his biceps and I do in fact think he would flex to snap it. He does it because it makes you giggle and tweak out, he does it for his ego—it’s a win-win. (Let me have fun.)
→ Saturday nights are movie nights. Get on the couch and snuggle this man while you both munch on buttery, salty popcorn and cuddle up underneath a fuzzy blanket that’s like three times the size it needs to be… moments like those are some of his favorite.
→ if you work at SDN, bring him his favorite coffee so that he doesn’t have to drink the shitty stuff in the break room.
→ if you DON’T work at SDN, drop off some lunch for him sometimes—it is guaranteed to make this man’s day.
→ his heart will melt at worried texts from you when he’s dispatched, or afterwards when he gets out of a nasty fight. Let this man come home with a boo-boo worse than a scrape and you’ll never let him hear the end of it.
I say that as in you won’t shut up about how worried you are—NOT scolding him. He’s a grown man, a grown man who you knew before getting together with him was in a dangerous field of work—or rehabilitation or… whatever.
“I was worried sick!” “I’m so glad you’re okay—“ “Honey please try and be careful! I hate seeing you like this…”
After cleaning him up or replacing his old bandages in your shared apartment, you’d press a gentle kiss to the top of his head, holding his hand. “I’m glad you’re okay, Colm.” You say with a sweet smile that he returns.
→ NICKNAMES NICKNAMES NICKNAMES
I THINK HE WOULD CALL YOU THE FOLLOWING (as long as you like them): Angel, love, A stór(my treasure), darlin’, and probably more but I think he would like those the best! If you don’t like that stuff he’ll refrain, but definitely expect him to call you things in Gaelic. (I’m pretty sure that’s the language Irish people speak… right? Correct me if I’m wrong I tried to look it up.)
→ if you bake for this man he will eat ALLLLL of that shit. ‘Fantastic gimme fourteen of em right now.’
I’m being so serious. Maybe you bake a batch of cookies and tell him to bring it into work so he can share with the rest of the Z-team: he will! But eat everything in his car(if he finds a way to drive) and just tell you everyone enjoyed them. (They would have if they got to have any.)
→ you’re the one he takes to get togethers and work parties. Every time. Without fail.
→ I also think he lowkey won’t come to said events sometimes if you express that you yourself want to stay home. It isn’t that you tell him he can’t go or that you’d rather him stay home: no, he just makes the choice that he doesn’t want to go anymore. Having Colm pull up to a function with you not by his side is rare, very rare.
→ I think that one day he wants to open a bar with you. He’d love to share that sort of experience with you, that kind of step.
I also think he’d love to watch you spread your kindness with costumers: anyone who treats you bad or responds to you rudely is getting kicked (punched) the PHHHHHUCK outta there.
→ if you’re also on the Z-team I think that he would be just as worried about you deep down, but he’d also be so confident in you and your abilities. You kick some ass during a mission? “That’s my girl/boy/lover.”
→ love love LOVES the fact that you’re taller than him. He uses you for things lwk… yes, I fear he does make you grab things in spurs when he’s feeling lazy. Let the man live 😒
→ I kind of think he uses emojis too literally, so you’d either have to teach him how to really use them OR just giggle with he uses the laughing crying emoji when he sends you a silly meme he found on Reddit.
→ oh, I also think he uses Reddit lol. SONAR PUT HIM ON OKAY—
→ Bonus points if you help him trim his mustache… only if you’re good at it though. If you end up lopping off half of his glorious facial hair he will cry.
→ overall I think Colm is an absolutely astonishing boyfriend/husband or just friend to have. He may have a rocky past, but he’s loyal and devoted to you and the people he cares about.
punch up/colm x reader . fluff . established relationship . a little suggestive . colm making sure to feed his girl . vampire!reader . fem!reader .
0.4k
due to colm's ability to control his density it isn't often when he gets hurt, the only time he does get hurt is when he's caught off guard and even then sometimes he wont even notice he's injured. after a pretty rough mission he noticed he had a few small gashes on his arm, but instead of healing it or asking malevola to heal it he went to you. colm found his way to the break room, knowing your waiting for the sun to go down slightly so you can actually work. you usually got here around 4-5 PM and worked the night shift due to being a vampire, you liked getting here earlier so when colm was resting you could see each other.
you were busy looking at your phone since technically you weren't clocked in yet so you could do whatever. for a moment colm just stood in the doorway and looked at you (the man was smitten for you), sensing his presence you looked up a rare smile playing on your lips. "hello, dear."
you said, watching him as he finally moved towards you. "hey, you're looking rather beautiful this evening my darling." he said, being the ever charmer he was. you shook your head at his words finally noticing the smell of blood and looking closer at him. "your bleeding." you stated. colm looked down at his arm once more before giving a nod, "Yeah figured you were hungry." he said with a smirk, colm found some pleasure in seeing you drink from him. knowing you thought he tasted good in multiple ways made him a little smug.
yeah he definitely spoiled you. "you just know everything don't you?" you teased.
but nonetheless you pulled him closer to your chair and leaned down, scooping some of his blood with your finger and bringing it to your mouth a hum escaping your lips at the taste. his blood type was one of your favorites to drink, one of the best blood types in your opinion. colm just watched you, due to his powers he didn't feel pain that often making it easier for you to drink from him without truly hurting him. colm soon lifted his arm into your lap, happily offering himself up for you to drink as you please.
slowly you scooped up more and more of his blood, he tasted a lot better than regular blood bags that you usually drank. the blood bags had always been too bland for your taste, you liked fresh blood. which colm was happily willing to supply to you.
a/n : is it bad i actually want him so badly | this is based of some art of punch up and coupe but i can't find the artist </3
Robert: I might be really high right now, but I think Jesus is in the corner of my room.
Punch Up: *With long hair for some reason* Rest now, my child.
Robert: *Screams*
You know, with Punch Up's circus carne/carnie background, I'm honestly surprised no one's made the prompt of him bringing up the Clown Code naturally in a conversation yet.
Like a Clown themed villain shows up and Robert dispatches Punch Up and the strongman roast the Villain over coms for not following any of the Clown Rules or Codes while punching him in the crouch.
Or the Z Team bring up the subject of silly fears and clowns get mentioned and soon Punch Up ends up explaining the difference between real Clowns and Scary Clowns. He explains how Scary Clowns aim for an Uncanny Valley, False-Sense of Friendliness, while real Clowns follow the rule of exaggerating a specific 'negative' feature of themselves to make fun of in their acts. In addition, the conversation would soon follow into clown eggs and how Clowns don't come from eggs but record their signature make up on painted eggs.
You know what? I headcannon Punch Up being annoyed by scary clowns and horror movie tropes from clowns coming from eggs, because at some point in the genre it just felt like the genre was disrespecting his good old clown friends in the circus.
