"I shocked my Friday date when I arrived at his camp; he brandished a knife, but when he learned who I was, he served me some fresh stew and told me all there was to know about Evelyn Miller.
I admittedly dozed off, but he was cuddling with me by the bonfire when I woke up. He made up nonsense about hearing some wolves; he wanted to protect me, but I knew better. This Dutch fellow has spent too much time on his own. But he's' charming, even if he doesn't shut up. I think we'll go on another date."
(Ao3 link)
CONCEPT/REQUEST: Blackwater, September 1898. Sean and Karen are flirting and Karen’s really having fun and feeling herself fall for Sean when suddenly he takes a raw egg out of his pocket and bites into it while continuing the conversation. Like 100-200 words
I fucking cackled at the vets when I saw this request. Had some time to kill so I got it all written down.
Cw: idk eating raw egg?
~~~~~
Karen hated to admit it, but she was falling for the little shit.
Yeah he was loud, and cocky, but Sean was also funny and... Earnest. Not to mention he was the only one who could match Karen bottle for bottle in drinking. That was definitely a plus. It was hard to make friends when they all passed out before Karen was even slurring her words. But Sean loved the bottle just as much as Karen, and the two could go all night.
Karen couldn't believe she was admitting it to herself. She'd sworn off men completely. Any romantic notions had turned cynical long ago. And yet she thought maybe she was falling for Sean. Well and truly falling for him. She certainly could do worse. But he was good to her, and she liked spending time with him.
As she was staring at Sean, watching him as he told her a story, hands gesturing wildly, she let herself start to consider the "could be" with Sean. Could be a good romp. Could be a great partner in their wild world. Could be love?
As she was thinking, Sean reached into his back pocket, fishing around for something before pulling out an egg. Karen sat up straighter, blinking in confusion. Was she that drunk? An egg? Where had be been keeping it? How had he not broken it?
Sean picked a piece of lint off the shell before polishing it on his shirt like an apple. Well... Maybe it was pickled? Or hard boiled. It would still be a little weird but... Maybe the guy just liked keeping snacks on hand.
Karen watched with horror as he bit into the egg, shell and all, like a goddamn apple. The liquidy whites of the egg began dribbling down his chin. It was horrible, but like watching a carriage accident, she couldn't look away. Even as he chewed the shell and licked the juices off his face. He slurped up the last of the egg before popping the rest of the shell in his mouth and crunching on it.
"What?" Sean asked, mouth still full of eggshell. "A man needs his protein. Especially if he's gonna keep up with a lady as lovely as yourself," he touched her elbow, and she had to resist the urge to slap him as slimy eggwhite on his hands touched her bare elbow.
Original request under the cut (18+). Sorry it took me so long. I made this a double drabble to make up for it 😅 Hope you like.
Arthur should go slow and enjoy that he can finally have you, but it's hard with the way you spur him on. No matter how deep he's buried inside you, you keep asking for more, begging him to go harder.
Snapping his hips forward with more strength behind it, Arthur finally gets you to stop talking. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your nails leaving red streaks on his skin as you moan and pant like a wild animal.
Arthur dreamed about you like this, sweaty and needy, begging him with every breath for more, his name on your lovely lips.
☆
You dreamed about Arthur like this, no longer guarded, losing his control around you. His body feels heavy on top of you, his arms the walls of a prison made of heat and lust.
Arthur keeps whispering in your ear, the words without meaning by now. All you need is his voice, deep and rough, commanding you to do whatever he wants.
Without thinking, you obey, alive for this one moment you wanted more than anything else. You hold on to Arthur with all your strength, melting against him as he invades you, clawing your name in his back.
-Nora occasionally changes the wallpaper on Lem's phone to an unflattering image of Lem. However, while out for her birthday she realises doesn't have the heart to change it this time around.
You're ever the charmer aren't you?
This flustered Nora whose following words only came out in jumbled nonsense. Her cheeks now a bright red in contrast to her usually pale complexion and to see her like this caused a small chuckle to rise. "You're ever the charmer aren't you." By now, she had forgotten the reason why she was mad entirely.
Bonding
"Y-You have a point, it was nice talkin' with you though."
Nora gave Lem a gentle smile, "it was, maybe we should do it again some time?"
"I'd like that."
Lost in the snow
The soon began to fall once again and she looked up, her eyes filled with worry at the switch in weather. Using one hand he brought it up to her face, his thumb gently tracing along the scar on her forehead before he finally cupped her cheek and once he leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead, Nora looked calmer with the gentle display of affection.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Characters: Hosea Matthews
Additional Tags: old men roleplaying, First Dates, First Impressions, vandermatthews, Hosea Matthews Lives, BAMF Hosea Matthews, Bonfires, POV Hosea Matthews, POV First Person, Camping, Campfires
Summary:
A little drabble: Hosea and Dutch enjoy roleplaying first date scenarios with one another, and this one takes place under the stars and by the campfire.
Thinking about Charles x reader where the reader has a cough and Charles is low key panicking bc losing of Arthur to TB and he doesn’t want to lose his love to it too 🥺
So I've been thinking about this one for a while. I'm not totally satisfied with this but I wanted to work on something.
It's just a little drabble, nothing exciting. But I hope you enjoy it.
Under cut just to keep things neat
~~~~~~~~~
When you'd first met Charles Smith he'd seemed... Broken. But an old kind of broken, like he'd learned to live with it long ago, patched what he could and carried on. He didn't talk much, always looking over his shoulder. At first you'd thought him cold and intimidating.
He'd moved to your small town in Canada. A nice little mountain town, still getting its feet under it, not quite sure if it was going to stay small or grow with the rest of the world. You hoped it'd stay small, you liked it better that way.
He seemed to avoid you at first, never giving you more than a polite nod when you passed each other in the street, if even that. Still you were fascinated with the handsome stranger. You couldn’t help but want to get to know him.
You started by asking about his horse. A beautiful appaloosa stallion named Falmouth. He explained that he was the colt of his previous horse, Taima, who had died a few years back. With Charles' permission you gave the stallion a peppermint and that was the end of the interaction.
But after that you found yourself talking to him more and more. You'd ask him simple things. How was the hunting today? How long was he tracking that deer? You were the daughter of the local trapper so you knew your way around an animal pelt, working the stall while your father hunted or made garments. He came to your stall often to trade and sell, which gave you more opportunities to try and talk to him.
Slowly Charles began opening up to you. He began telling you things more willingly, seeming to let some of his walls down. The two of you became fast friends, chatting until you were pulled away by another customer or your father needed you to run an errand or something like that.
You quickly learned that he wasn't cold or irritable, he just didn't like mindless chatter, and didn't trust easily. But you'd won him over with your simple yet meaningful conversation, asking about things that interested him like hunting or his horse.
The day he brought you a bouquet of flowers instead of a rabbit pelt and asked you to dinner at the local saloon was the day your friendship took the best turn. After that you two were inseparable. It quickly became known throughout town that you were courting. Then, that you were a couple. Then, that it was only a matter of time before the two of you finally tied the knot. But neither of you were in any rush, happy to take things at your own pace. Your father loved Charles and welcomed him as an apprentice. It was more perfect than you'd ever dreamed.
In quiet moments, usually in the wee hours of the morning when the two of you mistakenly stayed up past midnight talking, he began to tell you of his past. His mother and father, his years alone. The gang he'd come to love, his friends, mostly dead and gone, except for a few lucky ones who found peace.
And in those quiet moments after the two of you made love, he'd tell you about his scars, the physical ones you could trace with your hands, and the internal ones no one knew but him.
In turn, you'd tell him of your past. Losing your mother young to a fire that you'd witnessed, living rough with your father, nursing home through bear attacks and bison gorings until he'd finally settled here with his stall.
The two of you had lived different lives, but you found strength in each other, a kindred soul, a dearest love. You couldn't have been happier.
~~~~~~~
Charles had been on edge for a few days now, and you had no idea why. He was tense, overprotective, and anxious. You could see it in his eyes, like a wild horse ready to spook at the flutter of a leaf or a harsh noise. He was constantly checking in on you, hovering over you like a worried mother hen.
You couldn’t think of anything that had happened recently that may have made him worry. The two of you had just gotten back from a week-long hunting trip. Nothing strange or exciting had happened. The two of you had downed a beautiful bull moose, the hide of which Charles was working on to create a warm bed covering for the two of you. The antlers your father had crafted into a mantle piece for a man in town, who had paid a high price.
The day after your return is when Charles had started hovering. You’d woken up with the sniffles, likely just a light cold after spending a week in the elements. Since then he’d been a nervous wreck. You’d try to confront him about it, but he’d brushed you off.
Today you and he were working the stall together, trading with traveling hunters, selling meat to the locals, taking orders for items that people needed made. Well, that would be what you were doing if Charles weren't making all your customers nervous.
He wouldn't stop coddling you, asking if you were okay, do you need to sit down, do you need to rest? That set all your regular customers off worrying about you too. You were a familiar face in the community, and you were known to be tough and capable. So if your beloved was treating you like glass, something must be very wrong.
Finally you'd had enough after the sheriff came to pick up some cuts of meat to take home for his wife to cook. You'd stepped away to cough into your arm while Charles wrapped the meat. When you looked back, Charles was staring at you, hands frozen mid-way through wrapping up the cuts of venison. The sheriff was looking between the two of you worriedly.
"Everything alright?" The sheriff asked slowly.
"Just fine, Sheriff," you assured him. "Have a nice day. Enjoy that venison."
The sheriff had eye'd you carefully before taking his meat and leaving.
"Charles," you sighed.
"Are you sure you're alright, love?" He asked quietly.
"I am fine. Come here," you said, grabbing his wrist and stepping away from the stall, out of earshot of anyone who might trot by on the road.
“Charles, <em>what</em> is wrong?” you asked once you were alone, knowing he’d never admit something in earshot of others.
“I’m just worried for you,” He murmured.
“Why? I’m fine?”
“You’ve been coughing,” He whispered. “A lot.”
“Yeah. I’ve a little cold. I’ll be fine in a few days.”
“What… what if it’s not a cold?” It was very hard for such a large man to look small, but standing before you he looked tiny.
“What else could it…” You trailed off.
Suddenly it all clicked into place. He’d told you of his friend Arthur who’d died of TB. He’d told you of the horrible coughing that had wracked his dear friend's lungs during those last weeks. A coughing that likely was similar to the harsh coughs that had been wracking your lungs as of late.
“It’s not consumption, Charles,” You whispered, cupping your face in your hands. “It’s just a cold, trust me. I always wind up with a cold at least once every winter. Just some coughing and sneezing for a few days and I’m fine,”
“I know,” He sighed, knocking his forehead against yours. “I know but I just… I can’t… every time I hear you cough I just think about Arthur. And I'm terrified I might lose you, too,"
"I'm not going anywhere," you said firmly, grabbing his hand and settling it over your heart so he could feel the strength of it beating and the even rise and fall of your chest. "I promise you, Charles. I don't plan on leaving you any time soon. This little cold ain't gonna hurt me, and I promise you it's nothing more than that. Just a little chill."
Charles let out a soft sigh or relief after feeling your strong, steady heartbeat and breathing beneath his hand. His palms slid down to your hips, pulling you in for a tight hug.
"It's alright, love," you whispered in his ear. "I'm right here." You allowed Charles to hold you tight against him, letting him just take a minute to assure himself that you were safe.
