#deputy morgan

[inafieldofdaisies]

WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @euryalex @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @trench-rot 🤍 | Tagging @poisonedtruth @adelaidedrubman @shegetsburned @g0dspeeed @nightbloodraelle @nightwingshero @madparadoxum @aceghosts @jacobsneed @jinfromyarikawa @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @purplehairsecretlair @detectivelokis @vampireninjabunnies-blog @strangefable @strafethesesinners @sstewyhosseini and anyone with something to share <3

I present you another snippet from Chapter 8 where we finally get to meet some new OCs that are set on catching John and becoming heroes. Enter Charlie "The Menace" Morgan...

The Spread Eagle was empty when Calahan entered, his day had started at 5 am with a couple of Peggies stumbling across his camp and ruining his chance at getting some rest. "You've been marked, Sinner! John is coming to get ya-", was the last thing their leader had said before Hartley sent him to meet his beloved maker. And since then, his day was going just peachy. He needed a drink, or more like five. No rest for the wicked. Or do I say the "Sinner"? "Rookie, the usual?", Mary May shot him a smile from behind the bar. "Why is it so quiet, gorgeous?" Seeing a friendly face was already brightening his mood. "Take a guess." "What do I win if I guess right?", his wink made Mary May roll her eyes. Her reaction caused him to think of Sabrina and how she never took his charm too seriously either. Where the fuck are you, Gray? Who has you? He couldn't go 5 minutes without thinking about all the people close to him that the Seeds had captured few days back. It made him restless, angry, ready to lash out on any Peggie that crossed his path. "First drink's on me." Calahan gave her his best "I'm so lost in deep thought" face, the same one he used anytime Whitehorse lectured him on how he should be behaving as a Deputy. "I'd say-"

The sound of the bell cut him off as the doors to the bar opened and three Resistance members walked in, involved in what seemed like a very heated discussion. "Mary May, drinks, darlin', we bear good news!", the oldest of the trio chimed in. The voice belonged to Charlie Morgan, a man in his late 30s, with short dark hair and beard, shifty pale eyes and neck tattoos. "Rookie! Just the man we need!", he shouted before slapping Calahan on the back with unnecessary force. Hartley was already over the interaction, dreading whatever he and his buddies had come up with. Back in the days before the Reaping he wouldn't have been caught dead interacting with Charlie, but as Dutch had said they needed any assistance they could get. He only wished the helping hand in question was better at their tasks and didn't spend half the day drinking at The Spread Eagle, calling it "work for the cause". The sooner I get Hudson out and track Gray down, the quicker we'd make actual progress and rescue the others. "What is it now, Charlie?" "Deputy, we have him!", it wasn't Morgan that responded but a teen that couldn't have been older than 17, an unfamiliar face to Hartley. "Have who? And you are?" "Justin Harker. My ma and I moved in here few months back, may she rest in peace.", he offered his hand to Hartley, which he shook, then added in a whisper, "We've got intel on John Seed!" Charlie sat down in the chair next to Calahan's, downing the glass Mary May had produced in front of him. "Bastard's running a leaky operation, Rookie. Heard from a source he's left that bunker of his on his own. But it gets better… in less than an hour he will be headed to his ranch." Hartley shook his head, "Sounds too good to be true, Morgan. You sure you didn't dream that up?" "Deputy, it's true. We're going there, thought to stop to ask you to joins us for the ambush.", Harker couldn't contain his excitement. "We're capturing that bastard and making him suffer today.", Charlie let out a maniacal laughter at which Mary May slapped her palm on the bar, giving him a pointed look. "Keep it down. I'm running a business here. First and last warning, and you're gonna be making your own booze in your toilet." "Sorry, darlin'." The third guy remained silent, Hartley knew his face but for the life of him couldn't remember his name. "So you coming, or not, Rookie?" Calahan sighed, his head was already throbbing enough, and Morgan's presence wasn't helping. "No, I'm exhausted. I doubt this is going to pan out, boys. No offense, but you're miles away from being a capture party. Best case scenario, some Peggie is fucking with you and sending you on a wild goose chase… Worst, well… you'd be captured and meet John face to face, but in his bunker." "Rookie, are you afraid?", Charlie chuckled. "You heard anything from what I just said, you asshole?" "Now, now, let's all calm down.", third guy broke his silence, waving his arms around. "We're going, Rookie. And you can sit on your ass and be afraid all you want. I'm catching that bastard that carved my chest and carving his face as payback today. Let see then how well his broadcasts perform after I'm done with him."

Charlie downed his second drink and stormed out without a look back, followed by Mr. "Calm". Hartley grabbed Harker's arm as he went to leave, too. "Kid, if you know what's best for you, don't go anywhere with Charlie Morgan." The teen shook his head, "It's fine, Deputy, I made a promise at my ma's grave, I plan on honoring it." "You know which channel to call if you get anything?" "Yes, Deputy. I will be sure to keep you posted." With that he left, heading outside to join the others. "God, I hate Charlie.", Mary May groaned. "Then why serve him, gorgeous?" "Can't be picky in these times, now can I? As long as he pays… but I'm getting close to banning him indefinitely." Calahan rested his head on the bar. "You really not going to go with them?", Mary May nodded towards the now closed door, "There's still time." "Nah. I'm good. Don't believe John Seed would just offer himself on a silver platter like that." "Well, in that case, why don't you head upstairs, catch some sleep on the couch? Didn't plan to say it, but you look like shit.", Mary May smiled. "Don't I know it. Sleep avoids me like an ex-girlfriend these days." "You still worried about Sabrina?" "No news, absolutely nothing. It's bizarre." "I'm sure something will turn up." "Thanks, gorgeous." Hartley took a final sip of his drink and climbed upstairs, ready to get some needed rest before he'd have to head back out.

John drove in silence, his eyes glued to the road while he felt like he was on autopilot as the last few hours replayed in his mind. His emotions were all over the place: from how the morning started with yet another close encounter with Sabrina through the decision to take her to the ranch to holding her lingerie in his hand as he imagined peeling it off her body. Bad idea. He had no clue what had possessed him to do it and she seemed just as shocked. He needed to put as much distance between them as soon as possible, if he was to come back to his old self and focus on his tasks. Then there was Savannah and her genuine excitement at his presence and their "trip". He knew he had made the right decision the second she told him she's not afraid of him even if he's a "Peggie". He didn't want to imagine those big green eyes fill with fear at the sight of him. Ever. "You doing okay there, Seed?", Sabrina whispered after a while, amusement seeping into her tone. John nodded, gripping the steering wheel, "Just thinking, going over my schedule." A complete lie… but he doubted she'd appreciate the truth, especially spoken out loud in front of her sister. He took his eyes off the road for a second to sneak a look at Sabrina just in time to see her faint smile vanish completely off her face. Her hand shot out to his knee, his name coming out in a panicked whisper, making him look back ahead. The road they were on wasn't empty as it was before, instead a car and an armed man stood blocking their path as the truck came to an abrupt stop. John looked in the rearview mirror, contemplating driving back the way they came from but two more men had popped out from hiding, headed for the truck with determination. The Resistance.

"Who are these people? Are they Peggies? They don't look like it.", Savannah spoke up, her face twisted in confusion. "I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, pumpkin.", Sabrina responded just as one of the Sinners shouted, his voice carrying through their open windows, "Out, Seed, don't think of doing anything funny. There's no need for anyone else to get hurt." "John-" "Rin-Rin, what's happening?", panic was taking over Savannah's voice. One of the men was by the driver's door then, rifle trained, ready to haul John out of the truck by force. "It's okay, Savi." He leaned in, wondering if he's smelling Sabrina's scent for the last time as he whispered in her ear, "There's a gun in the glovebox, the Bliss bullets are non-lethal but they will slow them down, do what you must to protect Savannah." Then he turned to the Sinner, calling out, "I'm coming out. There's a child in the car." "John, this is a bad idea." He knew as much, but the alternative presented just as much danger. "It's not my time yet, Deputy. Don't worry." He opened the door, climbing out with one last look at Sabrina, knowing chances were she'd drive away now that the road behind them was clear and leave him to face Judgement at the hands of the Resistance. She owed him nothing, especially not when her sister was in danger. "Walk, Seed.", the Sinner gritted out, his rifle poking John in the back, urging him on. As they neared the lone gunman, he raised his hands, "I'm unarmed, let the others go." He wasn't exactly unarmed, he still had Sabrina's knife, though using it would be a gamble with his own life. "You're not in charge here, you bastard.", came out the familiar voice of Charlie Morgan, his dead gray eyes narrowed with a look of hatred, hinting at his intentions. That very man had his turn sitting in John's chair not that long ago, screaming about revenge while John carved "Gluttony" into the Sinner's chest. From the corner of his eye he could see the youngest of the group speak into a walkie, probably calling in reinforcements. Captured. Me?

John wanted to laugh at the irony, but thoughts of Sabrina and Savannah clouded his mind. "You haven't learned anything from your Confession, have you, Charlie?" It was the wrong thing to say, making Morgan's face twist up in rage, gaze shifting to the truck behind them, "Maybe I should go drag out that lady of yours, march her over here, see how mouthy you are then, you bastard." John tried to keep himself in check, but something must have flashed across his face, urging Charlie to keep pushing. "Yeah, I'd start with carving into her. Make you watch. Then comes your turn. How does that sound?" He turned to the older Resistance member, "Bring her here, Blake." "You have to love them, Brother.", Joseph's voice did little to calm the anger bubbling up inside. The thought of Morgan putting his slimy paws on Sabrina made John see red. Before he can even attempt to silence the urge for violence, his hand had taken out her knife from the back of his jeans and in one brisk motion plunged it into the neck of the Sinner that had led him there. Before Charlie could react he was on top of him next. The whole time the youngest Sinner stood frozen in shock. His pistol shook in his hand at the sight of one of his comrades lying dead on the concrete, blood pooling beneath him and the other was close to follow in his footsteps, too. "Charlie, this isn't what we planned…Hurting others…Blake's dead.", the teen mumbled, voice small. John ignored his panicked ramblings, keeping his attention fully on Charlie, his smile dark as he said, "Yes, you haven't learned anything, Charlie." Morgan was nowhere close to giving up, his fury fueled his struggle and eventually allowed him to overpower John. He was set on grabbing the knife as he came on top with a maniacal look on his face. "You carved my chest, now it's time to carve that pretty face of yours, you bastard. See how Joseph likes you then."

"Is John going to be okay?", Savannah's eyes were brimming with tears. Sabrina's gaze shifted from the scene in front of them back to her sister as the armed man led John away. She rolled the windows up, afraid what might carry through them. "Hey, look at me, everything is going to be okay.", she reached her hand out to Savannah, "Don't look ahead, okay?" "Okay." Two paths were presented to her again: to drive off or help John. Her brain screamed at her to be rational, that Savannah was the only priority, that she should crawl over the console and into the driver seat, turn the truck around and leave. Her conscience argued he's in danger because of her: because he took her out of that bunker in the first place and he was breaking a rule by taking her to his home to protect her sister. And her heart… it reminded her he's the man from her visions. That she would be abandoning him to die, never to see him again. Acting or not. I can't leave him. Her father was not one for inaction, it's what led to his death and he passed that dangerous drive down to his daughter. She knew what he would do. Her mind was made up the second she saw John take down one of the men. You're going to get yourself killed, Seed. In a blink, she was reaching into the glovebox, pulling out the gun, absorbing the familiar feeling as she gripped it and released the safety before she turned to Savannah. "Keep your head down, whatever happens, you don't look. Lock the doors behind me, Sav." "John-" "I'm going to get him." She kissed her sister's forehead, rushing out of the truck, her eyes zeroing in on John and another man locked in a struggle on the ground, fighting over a knife. Above them stood a teenager, face frozen in shock, as he pointed the gun at the two men, unsure what to do, if he should shoot. "Charlie, stop it! We agreed we're taking him in alive! We had a plan!" Charlie? She knew that name, many times she and Hudson had to escort him out of the Spread Eagle after he had decided to sleep there after a full day of drinking. Then suddenly one day he had disappeared, taken in by John's men only to reemerge with a dark look that refused to leave his eyes, constantly talking about getting revenge on the Project. In that moment he was set on killing John, screaming about carving into his face as payback. Seems like your own sins are catching up with you, Seed. Did you have him in that room, too?

The teen's gaze shifted from the ground up to Sabrina as she drew in closer, he raised his pistol in panic, pulling the trigger but his hand was shaking so badly he missed, grazing Sabrina's arm instead. She ignored the sting, hitting her target in a spot at his shoulder that was less likely to be leathal, the tricky shot incapacitated him, but whatever was in the "bullet" took him down in seconds, to the point she was worried she had killed him somehow. A brief moment was all it took for Charlie to get distracted when his friend's body hit the ground, giving John the chance to strike and sink the knife into his neck in one swift move. "A chance at Eden, Charlie. And you threw it away.", came as a mutter. He rolled the man's body off him as Sabrina reached her free hand out to pull him up. "Sabrina.", he lay still for a second, his blue eyes staring into hers, betraying his bewilderment at her assistance. "You expected me to leave?" John nodded, as he grabbed her outstretched arm, his own hands were bloody, getting hers covered too. He got up, smoothing the strands of hair that had gone out of place during the scuffle. "You should have left. Your sister-" "She's okay. I told her to lock the doors. I don't leave people behind, John." "Even me?" "Even you." "And yet, that boyfriend of yours left you behind. Ironic." "Boyfriend?", Sabrina's eyes narrowed in confusion. "That blond Deputy.", the resentment was clear in his tone and the mask slipped for a second as his features morphed into a dark frown. She didn't correct his assumption when she said, "Calahan. And he didn't leave me, I told him to go." "You sacrificed yourself so he gets away. You must love him then." Fishing for information now, are we? "I simply didn't want to risk his life too. I can take care of myself." "That I've seen. You're quite resourceful.", John wipped her knife off his jeans, "Your little gift saved my life, Deputy." Gift. Ha.

""A knife in your boot can save your life one day.", it's what my father used to say." And Scott Donovan was right, her own knife had helped John. "Smart man." Sabrina gave him a sad smile as she kneeled down, checking on the teen at her feet, "He was. A truly good man." Barely lucid, but still breathing. Good. "We have to go, Deputy. I'm pretty certain this one called in reinforcements." She nodded in response and when John made a move towards the teen, knife still clutched in his hand, she put herself between them, adding, "If you're planning on killing him, too… I won't let you. He's a kid, couldn't even hold his weapon steady. Enough lives were lost today, John, and it's barely noon." "Fine, Deputy." After moving the bodies off the path, they headed back to the truck, as he asked, "What do we tell Savannah?" We. That's progress. Sabrina took a deep breath, "I- for once I'm not sure, I need a minute." His hand was on the small of her back, offering silent support as they reached the passenger's side door. To Sabrina's relief her sister had followed her instructions: she was curled into herself, her auburn hair barely peeking out between the seats. She looked up cautiously when Sabrina knocked on the glass. "We're okay, pumpkin. You can open up." Savannah climbed over the console, rolling down the window, "Are the bad men gone?" Gone. Both literally and figuratively. "Yes, Sav. Pass me your water bottle, will you?" Sabrina and John quickly washed off whatever they could from the blood before climbing back into the truck. Soon they were back on the road with the men's bodies not visible in the rearview mirror anymore as Savannah's face poked inbetween the front seats, her green eyes focusing on John then on her sister. "You're both okay, right?" "Yes", came out in unison, making her laugh out loud. John looked at Sabrina before shifting his gaze back onward, his lips curling into a triumphant smile, "Deputy, you just said "Yes"." "No, I didn't.", she deadpanned. Savannah giggled, "Yes, you did, Rin-Rin." John tilted his head in her sister's direction, "See, Savi here says I'm right." "You're unbeliavable." "So you keep telling me.", and he had the audacity to wink. He just killed two people and is smiling like nothing has happened. Sabrina rested her head against the window, ignoring the pain in her forearm and trying to keep her emotions in check while Savannah and him chatted away, filling the time until they reach their destination.

#things pick up in this one folks #Calahan is so looking for new hires for the Resistance; fyi #and ffs say thanks; *John* #and she did not say YES to you #wip wednesday #oc: sabrina donovan #wip: in hope of tomorrow #ship: the diviner and the baptist #john seed x sabrina donovan #john seed x female deputy #john x sabrina #oc: charlie morgan #oc: calahan hartley #oc: justin harker #wip stuff #dialogue snippet #wip snippet #snippets #wip #fc5 deputy #fc5 ocs #wip whenever #far cry 5 oc #far cry 5 deputy #oc character #original character #original characters #snippet #current wip #oc: savannah donovan

[curlymantis]

I FINALLY GOT A COMMISSION OF MY FARCRY 5 Deputy Morgan Adams :D I got this from the lovely @/nerd_enough (Insta)

Look at her 😭, she’s so over this cult rubbish and just wants to spend time with her girlfriends 😔

#far cry 5 #fc5 #farcry 5 #deputy rook #Farcry 5 oc #oc: deputy Morgan Adams #commission #own character #oc: Morgan Adams

[deputy-morgan-malone]

Other OCs (part 1)

I’ve been wanting to talk about other OCs that may or may not be a part of Morgan’s story - I haven’t decided yet, and there’s always aus - but I felt like I wanted to make at least something for them rather than just ramble, and I could never quite get up the motivation.  But today I have, using this picrew, for a few at least.  So:

Connor Lannon

His hair should really be silver/grey rather than white - as should Morgan’s grandparents in this post - but the picrew only had white (purple and blue, but not grey) and I’d already started making some characters in it and I kind of wanted to have a bit of a ‘uniform’ representation for them, so - I did what I could.

Connor is probably the most fanciful idea I came up with.  Essentially, he is a career criminal, a contract killer/enforcer for the most part - with a lot of Liam Neeson in Taken vibes, but more evil and I only vaguely think of Liam as a faceclaim for him.  About 20 years before the start of the game, he was on a job in Montana.  Things went south, he had to run, and ended up getting hunted down by a rival gang.  His car stalled on a road around Great Falls, and Morgan’s father happened to pass by.  He helped fix the car for free, and when people looking for Connor showed up - he let Connor hide and covered for him, sent them on their way.  Without asking any questions or demanding anything in return, despite a decent implication he might get hurt for it.  Connor got out of the job safe and sound, but he kept thinking back on that incident a lot as the years went by.  20 years later, now in his middle age, he has something of an existential crisis - he decides one thing he really wants to do is find that guy who saved him, thank him, and see if he can pay the debt back in any way.

He tracks down Morgan’s father, but finds out he died years earlier.  He still visits Morgan’s mother, being very vague about his connection to Morgan’s dad, and finds out about Morgan.  Morgan who has just started a career in law enforcement, away from her family.  And he decides to go find her and see if he can ‘repay’ the debt by helping her in some way.  I figure that getting in to Hope County during the Reaping wouldn’t be quite as difficult as getting out - the Cult wants to ‘save every soul they can’ - so whether it’s during the Reaping or in a no-warrant AU, he manages to get to Morgan and - helping her out with the immediate problems in her life in either situation brings him rather sharply into conflict with Eden’s Gate.

He basically just came out of an idea I had for a) Morgan deserves a psychotic badass on her side, and b) how would she deal with a psycho, given her morals, outside of the specific culture of Eden’s Gate and ‘we’re saving people really’.  Connor is a psychopath in my general conception of him - but not a pure one, not incapable of empathy, just having had it crushed out of him by a lifetime of organised crime and trying to survive it.  He has some feeling - hence his getting stuck on Morgan’s dad’s act of selflessness, and wanting to ‘repay’ that in some way.  But he is not a nice man, and he will do horrible things, despite having the ‘honourable’ goal of helping Morgan.  How that will mesh with her morals, and the situation she’s in, will likely be very messy.

Carl

Carl is a member of Eden’s Gate - not a Chosen, but one of those high-level ‘security’ dudes with the cool black coats.  During the Reaping, and maybe in some aus, Joseph specifically wants him to try to talk with Morgan about her situation and why she should join Eden’s Gate, because Carl has a unique insight into her position - he used to be a Deputy at the Sheriff’s Department too.  He joined up, very optimistic and with the best of intentions - but became disillusioned with law enforcement in the County and in America.  Largely related to the treatment of black and POC people, and poor people.  He does do his best to make a connection with Morgan and talk to her - but very often at the end of a shotgun, or after she’s been woken up from being knocked-out, tied up, again.  She is a slippery one.

I don’t have a specific last name for Carl - I was thinking Teller, but I also quite like the headcanon that everyone in the Cult takes on the last name Seed, because they’re all a ‘family’ - except for Feeney, to whom no rules apply.  Teller may be his pre-Cult surname, but I also might change it.  I don’t have a lot of backstory decided for Carl, but I really like the idea of him and Cold Little Heart by Michael Kiwanuka always makes me think of him.

#oc: connor lannon #oc: carl #other characters #oc: tim malone #project at eden's gate #hope county sheriff's department #deputy sheriff #friendships #allies #enemies #morality #morgan-in-the-reaping #no-warrant au #aus #picrew #family #morgan + connor #morgan + carl #joseph seed #joseph x morgan #carl + joseph #connor + tim #morgan vs project

[ao3feeddestiel]

Very bad super worst day of Deputy Morgan

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OpfYbNw by Winelady Words: 1199, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 3 of The Winchester Gospels Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Gen, M/M Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Law Enforcement Pursuing the Winchesters (Supernatural) read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OpfYbNw

#IFTTT #Very bad #super worst day of Deputy Morgan #Winelady

[luveline]

I read the Derek and Spencer fainting bit and now I want to complete it with Hotch :)))

If that’s alright of course…

thank you for your request ♡ fem!reader

Aaron knows you harbour more affection for him than anyone else on the team, which is a true compliment to him, as you adore Spencer. He can never tell if you're friendly or loving, if you want some or all or nothing, the line between you blurred. 

When Morgan and Garcia first began their flirtatious friendship, Aaron thought they were seeing each other on the sly for a whole fortnight. He's a profiler, but he doesn't know everything. 

He does, however, know that something is wrong with you today. Hand held up over your eyes, you squint out over the crime scene with a wrinkled nose. The lakeside smells as bad as it looks with gore blackening the surrounding grass. He's been telling you for months to get some shades. You've been ignoring his advice. 

Your disapproval of the smell is normal. Your unsure footing is not. You take his forearm when he offers it and step across the muddy bank to the body without audible complaint, though you give him a 'this fucking sucks' narrowing of the eyes when he gives you the time. 

"Agent Hotchner," a deputy greets, "Agent L/N. We found the second body here. Bystanders pulled the first out thinking she was still alive, but that was unfortunately not the case." 

You shift unprofessionally close to Aaron. He doesn't really care. The sheriff barely looks at you both, his attention on the corpse hidden between overgrown cattails. 

Aaron hates to admit that he gives you more of his attention than is helpful. You seem odd. Call it intuition, call it plain old profiling, Aaron reads the next minute of events in the smallest twitch of your finger.

You put your hand on his back and he doesn't think, he just grabs you. The sheriff deputy startles as you fold over Aaron's arm like a marionette with strings sliced, exhaling hard as your body does its best to hit the grass beneath your feet. 

"Agent L/N!" The deputy yelps. 

"I got her," Aaron says, easing you down to the ground. He keeps a hand behind your head to lay you down flat, the other quick to leap from your side to your cheek. You'll likely have bruises in the shape of his hands at your waist. "Y/N?" 

He rubs his thumb under your eye. Quick, he leans down with an ear to your lips and relaxes at the sound of your shallow breathing. He pulls away, resting a hand atop your chest. 

"Can you hear me?" he asks, conscious of and ignoring the copious pairs of eyes watching over you. 

You don't respond. Aaron goes into emergency mode, flagging down a cop who races for a paramedic, hands at your throat unbuttoning the first button on your blouse, the second in an overabundance of caution. 

"Y/N, if you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes. Can you do that?" His tone wavers somewhere between demanding and desperate. "Come on. Come on." 

Fainting is one thing. Fainting with no signs of dehydration and little sun exposure is another, especially considering you hadn't moved from one position to another. You've passed out with no obvious cause. Any number of things could be wrong. 

He doesn't slap you —it works in the movies and not often elsewhere. In fact, Aaron finds himself at the opposite end of the spectrum. Patient outwardly and insanely panicked on the inside, he holds your face in his hand and waits for someone to tell him you're alright. 

Your breath catches, your head lolling into his palm. He straightens it, weary of your airways. "Y/N? Tell me you can hear me." 

The whirlwind of your fall and the eternity of your recovery has him holding his breath. 

"I can hear you," you mumble, again attempting to turn your head. He lets you this time. He's so relieved, he'd let you do anything. 

He fights the urge to shout, Where's the medic? instead following your face, tilting his head to the side. "Open your eyes, honey," he murmurs, for your ears alone. 

Your lashes twitch against his pinky index finger. You frown as though you're in pain and finally rouse to attention. 

"What hurts?" he asks, brows furrowed.

"Nothing hurts…" Your frown worsens. "You look really unhappy." 

"I'm not ecstatic about this," he says. He gives in, shouting, "Where's the medic?"

"Oh, no, please," you say, trying to sit up, "that is so embarrassing."

Aaron pushes you flat to the grass beneath you. "Stop, you need to stay flat. You passed out. This is the solution–" He puts his hand flat over your chest as you put in some effort. "Hey, this is what you need to do. Listen to me, agent." 

"What happened to honey?" you ask quietly. 

"That's when you were doing what I wanted." 

You close your eyes in a faux strop. "I guess I'll have to do what you want more often, sir." 

"That's enough." He sounds fond. Why does he sound so fond? 

The deputy clears his throat. "Paramedics are here." 

You groan. Aaron hides a smile. Through everything, his hand has stayed on your cheek. He doesn't pull it away until he absolutely has to, and even then, he holds some part of you. Your elbow, your wrist. He has the sense to be sheepish about it when the paramedic ushers him back, but even then, he's thinking about when he'll get to touch you next; he needs the assurance that you're okay. 

He gets it a half hour later when you're sipping on a gatorade in the back of an SUV. 

"Do I still get paid for today?" you ask, smiling playfully. "Or is this a write off?" 

He wants to joke about it with you, but there's work to be done. He sends you back to the hotel with a frankly unprofessional hug and a demand to take it easy. He's sure you'll be back stepping on his heels by late afternoon. 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[radiant-reid]

A blurb on spencer with the audio thats like “I always thought you were the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen” and it’s to reader? :))

love this !! and i don't care if it's such a cliche image, I'm not going to stop

Spencer jumps when you slide the balcony door open. Even with the serial killer caught, you're all still on edge, chilly in the Alaskan spring.

"Sorry, I hope you don't mind me interrupting." You step forward and close the door to stop any heat from the fire escaping inside.

"Not at all," Spencer assures you, smiling softly to encourage you forward.

You stand next to him, looking out over at the hill and evergreen trees, everything with a fresh dumping of snow on it. The sun's just setting even though it's not too far into the afternoon, the sky beginning to turn soft pink and orange.

"Things were getting a bit tense inside." You laugh at the very recent memory of some passionate arguing.

"Prentiss and Morgan?" Spencer guesses. You confirm with a nod. "Hotch should add Uno to the list of banned games."

You laugh at the rare joke from him. "We're not going to have anything left now that Monopoly, Clue, and all card games are banned."

"We'll have to all play chess." He decides, matching his enthusiasm with a grin.

"Then you'll have to sit out so it's fair." You remind him with a smirk.

He pouts at that, not the answer he was after. A comfortable silence falls between you as you watch the sky changing colors. It's really like nothing you've seen before, and it's a nice reminder that there's still beauty in the world.

"It's just wow." You say softly, in awe.

"The stars will be out soon," Spencer notes. "They should be incredible. It's meant to be clear and there's no light pollution here like there is in DC."

"You looked it up?" You wonder. It's sweet, really, and his interest seems to go beyond adding to his vast general knowledge.

He turns to you to nod. "I'm going to come out after dinner to watch them. I've never seen anything like this in the cities I've lived in, and we don't get many cases in such beautiful, remote places."

You hum with your own nod. "You're right. Or..." Your curiosity doesn't allow you to resist the opportunity to segue the conversation. "Many beautiful people, like the deputy that's into you."

You're trying to disguise it as teasing him, at least then you can play it off as being teammates and friends, and you're desperately hoping he doesn't notice that you're tense about his answer.

His nose scrunches slightly. Maybe disgust, maybe excitement. "I wasn't looking."

"Not your type?" You ask, slightly alarmed again. You do share some similar traits with her, so if she's not his type, your chances are slimmer.

"I always thought you were the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen." He says sincerely, knocking the wind out of your chest. "So, no, Y/n, I'm not looking at anyone."

You take longer than you should to get over your shock. "You're serious?"

"Sorry, sorry." He quickly apologizes as his cheeks heat up more than can be accounted for by the cold weather. "That was weird. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"No." You rest your hand over his, hoping to calm his spiraling worry. "You didn't... just thank you. That's... the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"It's true." He reiterates.

Your smile deepens. "Can I come stargazing with you?" You ask. "I promise I won't distract you."

"Looking like that? Impossible." He jokes, flirtier than you imagine. It's like your reciprocation spurs him on. "But I'd love company... your company, specifically. Inviting someone else would be weird."

You chuckle. "Just me and you."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid blurb

[lovearthur]

thinking about trying to take care of drunk!arthur nd he's like 'go away i have a gf', the gf in question being u .he's so stupid i love him

𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒕 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 (𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒓 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓)

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓡𝓔𝓐𝓓! afab/fem!reader . unplanned drunk arthur . loyal outlaw . arthur the girlfriend worshipper . ur looking after the drunken fool .

“c'mon, arthur- ye've had too much t'drink. ill get a room for us.” u say as u wrap his thick arm around ur neck, letting him lean against ur figure while u made ur way to get a hotel room. even if he did his best to move slightly away.

arthur- or deputy, decided to take u out to the saloon in rhodes. just to get away for camp for a bit after having to pick up and move again. it was a nice little town and the saloon was so big, it was such a beautiful building with lively music too. the people seem kind too. although, maybe they wouldn't be so kind if they knew who arthur really was. an outlaw, who was acting as a sheriff. only arthur drunk a lot more than he thought, his words slurring and his actions... he seemed more distant with u, and u have no idea why.

“'m fine. just one more drink-” he roughly says, slurring every word. u talk to the bartender for a few moments before replying to arthur. and been giving the key to room 9. “mhm, no more. 'm takin' ye upstairs.” u say softly, keeping a firm grasp of his big hand. “ye seem real nice, miss, but my woman ain't gonna like that.” he said. his woman? what did he?... “yer woman, huh?” u reply in a slightly confused yet playful tone. he was drunk, yes, but u were his woman. his girlfriend. and u had no idea what he was talking about. until he spoke. that damn fool. “yeah, [name].” he chuckles, pulling away from u slightly. only a little. he always yearned for touch. “'m a lucky feller. she's a sweetheart. pretty lil' thing she is, too.” he added, as his eyes dilated at the thought of u, he was so in love. u giggled at his words slightly as u pulled him closer to u. “u silly man, 'm [name]- yer girlfriend, now let's get up those stairs-”

“nah- my girl would lemme have 'nother drink. loves me t'much not to.” he protests gently while he leans against u. he would've stumbled to the floor if u didnt have a hold of him. u rolled ur eyes in a playful manner at his words. “arthur- ye silly man. its me, yer girlfriend. now come with-” u say, smoothly trying to get him to come with u to ur room. carefully making sure he didn't bump into any troubling men.

“no you ain't... or are ye? my girl?” he replies as he looked at u. squinting his blue-green eyes to try and focuse his gaze to not three of u. “'m yer girl, arthur morgan. now help me out here!” u say with that pretty laugh of urs. he chuckled as he leaned against u as u helped him up the stairs to ur room.

didn't take him long before he started kissing ur neck as he closed the door behind u, some giggling escaping from ur lips.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x fem!reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan x oc #painted red

[sailorholly]

Strictly Business Pt 1

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking his out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/cases. Friends with benefits. Eventual smut.

W/C: 1.5K

You roll your eyes at Officer Brewer. The handsome cop came on pretty strong with his cheesy pickup lines. Each one was more inappropriate than the last. It’s not that you didn’t find him attractive, but in your five years at the BAU, you had learned not to hook up with the officers you were assisting.

You had only been with the team three months when you were called in to help Portland’s local police on a case. Deputy Julian Lopez had been assigned to assist you on the field and you quickly fell for him. It took six weeks to catch the unsub. During that time, you and Julian were sneaking around, having a secret relationship.

You were heartbroken to learn he had been using you for information he fed to the media to make himself look like the sole hero on the case. What made it worse was the scolding Hotch gave you. You should have known better.

You and your favorite coworker, Spencer were on your way out of the small police station to see the medical examiner. A jogger had stumbled across two bodies in the woods on their daily route. The two of you were going to see if you could find any similarities between them.

“Hey beanpole, take care of my girl for me.” Brewer called out to Reid, winking at you in a way that made bile rise in your throat. “You don’t actually like that guy, do you?” Spencer asked once you left. “No way! I just flirt with him to make sure he cooperates with us.”

Spencer took his plump bottom lip between his teeth. You watched the innocent act wondering what it would feel like to have his teeth sink into your lip like that. You were attracted to Spencer, there was no denying that. It was purely sexual though. You knew the kind of hectic life JJ and Will had. You wanted no part of that.

You didn’t understand why there wasn’t a pile of women at his feet at all times. But so many thought he was too awkward or talked too much. You found it endearing when he shared the information his brain retained from reading something only once.

The two of you were closest to each other out of everyone on the team. You read together on the way home from cases. You would let him look at the latest book you were reading. He would finish it in three minutes, then continue with his own. Once you had finished, he would discuss it with you. You loved that about him.

You mostly read smutty romance, and you looked forward to the blush that would flood his cheeks when he read a particularly spicy scene. Sometimes he would clear his throat and shift in his seat. Those were your favorite moments. You spent most of your spare time together watching movies, you were teaching him how to cook and he taught you how to play chess. You paled in comparison to his skills, but he enjoyed playing with you.

When you returned to the police station, Spencer started giving statistics about the unsub. You watched as he scrunched his nose when he got to a part he found particularly interesting. You were practically drooling when he started talking with his hands. You couldn’t help thinking of what they would feel like against your skin.

You squeeze your thighs together trying to suppress the throb in your panties. Most everyone hated when he went off on a tangent, spilling every detail he knew about something, but not you. You never interrupted him once he started. You thought it was incredibly sexy how much endless information was stored in that brilliant mind under his messy curls.

After four long days, the case was finally solved. Morgan had captured the unsub when he went back to visit the crime scene. The whole team and the local police went out to the closest dive bar to celebrate. You were three shots in when Officer Brewer asked you to dance.

You decided it wouldn’t hurt, and you felt a little bad for shamelessly flirting with him all week. To your surprise, he was a great dancer. He spun and dipped you like a professional. When the song ended, you both walked over to the large booth both of your coworkers had settled in. Brewer placed his hands on your hips pulling you tightly against his body. He pointed at Spencer. “That’s how you woo a lady, Einstein. I’ve seen how you look at her. Just know she’s in good hands. She will be sleeping with a real man. She’ll be screaming my name tonight.”

You quickly remove his hands from your body. One glance at Spencer was enough for you to know that the jab had hurt him. Luckily, Brewer wouldn’t be able to tell. But you could read Spencer like a book. You grabbed the nearest drink off the table, splashing it in his face.

“You pompous ass! I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth. For your information, Spencer is more of a man than you’ll ever be. He’s the perfect lover. He knows the female anatomy like you know your ABC’s. He can spell out Webster’s Dictionary in its entirety with his tongue when he goes down on me. He’s incredible.”

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. His brown eyes widen as he takes in what just happened. You take his hand in yours. “I’m ready to go.” He stands and walks out with you. You go back to the hotel spending the rest of the night watching rom coms on TV.

When you were back home, everyone was talking about what you said at the bar. Most importantly, you had to explain to Hotch that you and Spencer were not involved. He didn’t want to deal with all of the paperwork or the drama if it didn’t work out.

Penelope, Emily, and JJ cornered you by the coffee wanting every dirty detail of your hookup with Spencer. They were understanding when you explained you made it all up to defend him. Rossi seemed amused by the gossip. When you tried to set the record straight, he said “What you kids do behind closed doors is your business.”

Morgan was a different story entirely. He greeted Spencer with a high five. “My man! You could have told me. You and Y/N, huh? I’ve seen you two all cuddled up after cases. I should’ve guessed.” Despite Spencer denying anything between you, Derek couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

A few weeks passed, the gossip had been long forgotten with all the cases you had been working on. Your first free weekend, Rossi invited everyone to his house for a cooking lesson. The wine was flowing, even Spencer had a few glasses.

He was chatting with Derek about some girl he met through his Dr Who fan club. Spencer described her as his dream girl, but he was nervous to ask her out. Derek slapped him playfully on the back. “At least you’re not a virgin anymore, Pretty Boy. You should have plenty of confidence with the ladies now.”

Spencer’s face fell. He stormed out of the house. You followed after him, concerned for your friend. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You catch up to him, sitting on the step beside him. “I’m just tired of all the comments on my personal life. Just because I don’t have a different girl in my bed every night doesn’t mean I’m a virgin. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.” You reply laying your head on his shoulder. “Why did you say all that stuff at the bar?” He places his head on top of yours. His mop of messy brown hair flowing down your cheek. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just trying to stand up for you. I wasn’t going to let anyone talk to you like that.”

“I know that. I meant… Never mind.” He lifts his head and scoots over, distancing himself from you. “What is it? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He sighs looking everywhere but at you. “Why did you say I was a perfect lover and that thing about the dictionary?”

“It just kinda came out. I guess I said it because that’s what I always imagined it would be like.” Finally he looks at you. “You’ve imagined doing that with me?” His voice raises several octaves when he asks. You nod your head in response. You could tell the conversation was taking an awkward turn so you change the subject.

“So tell me about this dream girl. You’ve been keeping secrets!” He smiles sheepishly. “Her name’s Chloe. She’s brilliant. We like a lot of the same things. She speaks three languages. I want to ask her out on a date, but all that stuff Morgan said is messing with my head. What if I’m not enough for her? I’ve only been with one woman. I’m not exactly skilled in that department.”

He swallows hard, self doubt sketched all over his soft features. “I would like to have more experience before I take her out. So I can be more confident.” “I have a crazy idea. You can say no if you want. But what if we slept together? You want more experience and I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. It would be great practice for you since we are comfortable with each other. I would tell you what you need to improve on. And it would be a good stress reliever for me. What do you think?”

Spencer studies your face carefully looking for any signs of this being a cruel joke. When he is certain you meant it, he answers. “What about our friendship? I don’t want to mess this up.” He gestures between you.

“Of course we will still be friends. It’s not like we are going to fall in love. Think of it as a business transaction. We won’t let emotions get in the way. It will be strictly business.”

“No feelings?” He asks reaching his outstretched pinky towards you. ��No feelings.” You confirm hooking your pinky with his.

Part Two

Tags (if you want to be added let me know)

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #strictly business

[criminalskies]

Aaron letting you borrow his spare shirt and/or dresspants on a case cuz your go bag gets stolen by the obsessive unsub you're trying to catch rn cuz Aaron's just so sweet like that 🥺🥺🥺💖💖💖💖

Oh my goooosh he would too.

whether his shirts fit you like a glove or make you look like you've raided your father's wardrobe, sleeves rolled up four times before the tips of your fingers peek out, he looks at you in his clothes with complete awe and adoration. He can't help it.

The team all note how he instantaneously decided to share half his go-bag with you instead of offering to take you to a store or even discuss who on the team may have spare clothes for you. He just swept his bag up into his arms and brought it to you telling you to take out whatever you wanted, just leave him an extra change of clothes and he'll make do.

Morgan and Rossi share a sort of look which is more eyebrows than it is anything else but they know how particular Hotchypoo is about his clothes so this is a real big move for him.

You come out of your hotel room the next morning adorning his clothes and he wonders if he's burst a lung with the way he just cannot catch his breath looking at you. You look so radiant in his clothes. His heart just melts watching you interact with Prentiss but you're wearing his clothes like they're made for you.

He receives quite a gentle shove on his shoulder from Derek who's grinning ear to ear seeing his boss all lovestruck, as Dave rounds Aaron's other shoulder telling him that feeling in his stomach is a good one. It's telling him to just go for it. Be happy.

You feel like you must look a little silly, Hotch makes all of his clothes look so effortlessly sexy and you suppose you're resembling a dolphin with legs right about now, something just looks out of place. You must look like something's missing, normally, the wearer of these clothes carries an authority that's not to be messed with. You figure this just proves that it's the man underneath the suit that causes that effect, it has nothing to do with the material itself.

It isn't until the coldest day yet on the case, a freezing cold wind blowing through the small town you're investigating, when Hotch comes to realise he's only packed one jacket. He offers it to you without a moment's thought, sealing his fate of receiving knowing looks from the entire team all week. That's a move as old as time.

He manages to find an FBI puffer in one of the SUVs to wear and now it's your lungs you fear aren't inflating properly. Seeing his tall figure wear the Michelin Man style coat with nothing short of a runway model's finesse.

When the two of you stand almost shoulder to shoulder before a takedown, the team discussing tactical plans, you try achingly hard to ignore the heat you can feel rising off of the man beside you as his eyes seem to drift to you in his quarter zip at the end of every sentence from Reid.

During the takedown with the unsub, when your gun was kicked from your grasp and the unsub came lunging towards you with a knife, it was Hotch's big strong hands that came to grab you by the back of his quarterzip to pull you out of harm's way as he shot the unsub once, twice for good measure before he pulled you into his arms as EMTs and local deputies flooded the warehouse, buzzing around you as you stood, tightly circled in his embrace. Every layer of warmth cloaking your body as you shook from the adrenaline of it all having come from one man and one man only.

It takes the two of you a while to separate again, and even as you do, as your wound on your arm is checked out by paramedics and you're walking back to the station, Hotch's hand never seems to leave your side. Either guiding your back as you walk or tightly grasping your shoulders to relax you as you continue coming down from the shock of it all, and start to lean into him for comfort and support.

Even as Hotch has to leave to berate the local enforcements for their complete lack of cooperation throughout the investigation hindering your team, he leaves you with a hot cup of tea and his FBI puffer draped over your shoulders in a quiet office while he chews out the officers in charge.

If the two of you return to dinner from your rooms after having caught the unsub, and the two of you seem to have swapped dress shirts, nobody mentions it. It goes without saying that it took only one glimpse of what a life together might be like to make the two of you decide that a life apart is just no longer worth exploring.

#this kinda got away from me #idk #rome’s got mail! #HOTCH MAIL! #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner imagine

[inafieldofdaisies]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

please and thank you! <3

prompt: 🌹 = 1 random sentence from a WIP

"Rookie! Just the man we need!", he shouted before slapping Calahan on the back with unnecessary force.

Hartley was already over the interaction, dreading whatever he and his buddies had come up with. Back in the days before the Reaping he wouldn't have been caught dead interacting with Charlie, but as Dutch had said they needed any help they could get. He only wished the helping hand in question was better at their tasks and didn't spend half the day drinking at The Spread Eagle, calling it "work for the cause".

#ty for the ask <3 #a Charlie “The Menace” Morgan sneak peek #just what poor Calahan needs to make his shitty day even worse... #oc: calahan hartley #wip: in hope of tomorrow #oc: charlie morgan #ocs #fc5 deputy #wip stuff #random wip sentence #wip snippet #snippets #dialogue prompt #original characters #dialogue snippet #wip

[hearthotchner]

can I request a hotchycakes blurb about how fucking gently he speaks to people, like, I personally tend to shut down if people are yelling at me and I think if Aaron noticed bau!reader sort of closing off when he’s yelling at the local PD or at Morgan or something he’d find a quiet moment just to check reader’s okay, and he’d be so so sorry for upsetting them and he would make it his life goal to be careful raising his voice. He might even take to shutting down other detectives or officers who are trying to yell at the team (like they always do y’know) and he would so calmly sit down and shut up them

if you had told yourself two years ago that ssa hotchner would be the kind of boss to speak to his subordinates with such a gentle tone, you’d laugh.

the unit chief was notorious for being a drill sergeant, hardass, and, some may even say a bully, which was why you were so cautious around him at all times, not wanting to feel his wrath.

however, he quickly changed your perception of him during your first few months with the team.

—

it had been a straightforward case, but the police force that you had been working with decided to disobey direct orders and leaked classified information to the press. this lead to aaron becoming furious with them, and he let them know — he was like a thunderstorm, coming down aggressive and loud.

you never liked yelling, whether it was directed at you, or anyone else — it would bring back memories you’d prefer to keep locked away.

whenever you’d hear somebody going off on anyone, you’d shut down, become quiet, trying to busy yourself, so you wouldn’t be next; aaron noticed.

he noticed how after, you wouldn’t meet his eyes out of fear, how you’d be afraid to even speak to him, on edge that he would snap at you.

so, he went to you, without anyone else around, and apologised — speaking so softly, that his deep voice was close to soothing you to sleep. since then, he vowed to himself to never yell, while you were in the room.

—

this meant that, however much he wanted to rip this pathetic excuse of a deputies head off, he wouldn’t.

“don’t shout at my agent, deputy.” he spat, towering over the shorter man.

internally, aaron was boiling over with rage. he could take the side remarks directed towards the team as a whole — at this point, it was normal. but, when someone purposefully decided to single out a member of his team, to berate them, while they struggled to defend themselves, he wouldn’t take it.

“i don’t need to remind you that my team and i were sent here to help you, not to cause unnecessary conflict.” aaron scowled. “i’m sure the sheriff wouldn’t approve of knowing what you like to do during your breaks.” he threatened, now rendering the deputy speechless. “if i see anything like this happening during the case again, i won’t hesitate to have you stripped of your badge and gun.”

when he stomped out of the room, aaron turned to face you, hard gaze shifting to one of fondness.

“are you okay?” he asked, standing infront of you.

“yeah.”

“you really shouldn’t let them get away with that stuff, you know. these guys always have issues with authority for some reason — it wouldn’t hurt to put them in their place, once in a while.” he smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

“i know.. but you learn to uh.. tune it out.” you added on, “plus, putting people in their place really isn’t my thing. that’s what i have you for.” you grinned at him, “you’ll always be here to stick up for me, right?”

“yeah. always.”

“thanks, hotch.” you leaned over, pressing your lips to his cheek.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #my fic

[deputy-morgan-malone]

I think about Morgan in a No-Warrant AU, where everything’s basically the same except the warrant never got issued, the Marshall never came to the County (officially anyway), and the arrest didn’t happen, and she just had to...start living in Hope County, and start working in the Sheriff’s Department, and learn (quickly? slowly?) about how things were with the Project in the County (to the extent the Sheriff’s Department knew about it, or would admit to it) - a LOT.  A LOT.  I honestly don’t know which I’d be more interested in writing, her canon story, or the AU where she’s just trying to live her life, but uh-oh, cult.  Cult who takes an interest in the new Deputy anyway, because they take an interest/hatred in law enforcement officials, they have to be careful what they do around law enforcement officials, they check every newcomer to the County for ‘suitability’ for the Cult.  And she’s just...slowly coming to the realisation of what most other people don’t want to admit.

Some people call them a cult.  Other people don’t, and the Sheriff’s department she’s working for have to try to stamp down on that kind of speech because John Seed will fucking PUNISH anyone who smears the group like that, and the legal authorities in the area for letting it happen, and it only works people up and makes them scared anyway, and the Sheriff prefers to keep the peace.  People talk about being threatened - about their loved ones being kidnapped - and Morgan doesn’t know if that’s real, and no-one’s doing anything about it, or people are just treating this separatist group as a scapegoat and making up lies about them out of paranoia.  She especially doesn’t know when she talks to members of the group about it - particularly the leaders of the group.  She gets a weird vibe - but nothing she could put her finger on.  Nothing she could actually use as evidence, even casually, to anyone else.

They’re upfront about their end-of-the-world beliefs, at least, and the fact they think their leader, Joseph, sees the future and can talk to God.  But as for what they’re actually doing...no-one will give her a clear answer, and it’s so fraught and dangerous trying to work it out.

And things seem more dangerous as time goes on.  And she said she wanted to be a cop, knowing that that could be dangerous, but she specifically chose Hope County because it was quiet and seemed safe, she’s really not supposed to die young, her family would not be able to handle that.  And also she doesn’t want to.  But is that actually a risk?  Or is she just imagining it?  Nancy at work always acts like she’s being insane when she mentions stuff or talks to her about it.  And she doesn’t really want to be kidnapped or brainwashed into a cult either - but is there a risk of that actually happening?  Everyone acts like everything’s fine, except the people who are angry...and she did agree to be a cop.  If there is a risk, she should stay and try to protect people, and not run...shouldn’t she?

It’s something I tried to put across in Direction, very briefly, the horror, the anxiety of that situation...but specifically playing up the horror, in a distilled sort of way, for a Halloween-themed fic.  But I think about the wider situation, the long-term experience of it...a LOT.

#inspired by a similar post on the dash and the thoughts brought up by it #no-warrant au #aus #deputy sheriff #morgan thoughts #hope county sheriff's office #project at eden's gate #nancy #kidnapping tw #murder tw #brainwashing tw #joseph seed #family

[twola]

Hey don't know if this one is up your alley but I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is a sharpshooter (kinda like Black Belle) and Arthur was originally gonna take her to the sheriff's but they end up getting caught up in a fight with the O'Driscolls and she saves his life, then que the enemies to friends to lovers lmao

Later on they meet again and take down a house full of lemoyne raiders, they both lay low for a while then smut ensues lol.

I'm bad at describing but you can put your own twist on it if you want, make it however long you want, don't matter I just love your writing ❤️❤️

Hoooooo’kay. So this is probably a bit harder than the original requestor was thinking, but I’ve written too many sweet one-shots recently. It’s time to get a little nasty.

Anything You Can Do

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Arthur meets his match in one of his bounties. His infuriatingly difficult match.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz

Curtis Malloy rolls his eyes as the gunslinger ahead of him inquires about the bounty poster tucked on the far corner of his desk. Of course, the man would ask about that one. A picture of a woman, of all things, wanted for murder, robbery, and theft. A woman with hard eyes but a pleasing face.

Wasn’t the first one to come askin’. The sheriff took the damn poster off the wall after men started dying when they went after her. He’d hear talk of fool-hearted bounty hunters heading north into Ambarino to find this lady to bring her in, only to end with lead between their eyes, floating down the Dakota River.

But this man, well, he’s been rather successful as of late - and Malloy knew that he probably ran in the same vein of people he was picking up. No loyalty to the trade, he guesses. And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t any skin off of his nose. Would get the man out of his hair and stop begging for more folks to hunt. Give him more time to deal with this Moira situation…

“Supposed to be up campin’ by Window Rock. But she likely has the area booby-trapped. Startin’ to lose count of the men who’ve gone up there to get killed tryin’ to take in this little lady.” Malloy warns as he hands the poster to the man ahead of him. The man grunts, tucking away the poster in his brown leather jacket, nodding before exiting out to the street.

Malloy gives a look to one of his deputies across the room.

Both begin to laugh.

-

Arthur’s seen his fair share of women easily fend for themselves. He saw the way Black Belle could shoot - likely better than he could. He sure as hell wouldn’t want to meet Mrs. Adler in a dark alley. She’d likely stab him before he could get a hand on her.

This woman supposedly had a deadly shot - a pile of bounty hunters at her feet. He knew he wasn’t going to just walk up to the tent and threaten you. This required a bit more finesse.

But still, as he gazed through his binoculars at his prize, you certainly didn’t look like the woman people were talking about in Valentine. Fairly short in stature, long dark hair falling in waves over your back. Arthur raises an eyebrow when he notices your curves as you kneel on one knee at your campfire.

Nope, he definitely does not miss the way those trousers hug your form.

He also does not miss the revolver in the belt slung around your hips as you rise from the fire, stretching your arms above your head and yawning. He does not miss the fishing line taut along the ground, tied to a rock precariously perched on a tree branch. Obviously placed there to alert you of intruders. Several fellers likely met their end due to that fishing line.

Arthur circles the campsite at a wide angle, hidden by the shadows of the night. He takes his time hunting his prey, taking in the lay of the land around, noting your movements, and ways of egress - like stalking a deer, he has you in his sights and is damn sure of it before he makes his move.

That move being edging dangerously close, revolver drawn, and diving at you once you’re in distance to reach. Your breath is knocked from your lungs as his large form lands atop you on the hard ground, caging in your limbs beneath him. You squawk, in a rather undignified manner, as he holsters his own revolver and reaches into yours to draw it out, disarming you and tossing your revolver several feet away.

“Get your damn hands off me.” You spit, but alas, the way he has you pinned down, you’re unable to fight back. The strength of this man was frightening. If it weren’t for the damn noose you know is waiting for you at the end of this, you would be excited by how strong he is. He quickly and easily hogties you, leaving you cursing and sputtering on the ground as he whistles for his horse.

Once his mare has sidled up, he heaves you over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes, and you yelp in indignation as he tosses you over the rump of his horse.

A sack of potatoes with a very nice ass in those trousers.

Arthur blinks briefly before shaking his head, pulling himself up into the saddle. Just to cut back through Cumberland and to Valentine, then he’d get the pretty penny on this woman’s head. One of the larger bounties he’s seen, he has to admit.

“You lousy sack of shit, I wasn’t bothering anyone!” You yell from the rump of the horse.

“Ain’t me who decides your bounty, Miss-” Arthur simply replies, urging the mare into a trot, before you cut him off with a hiss.

“Say another word and I’ll geld you.” You interrupt before he can say your name.

“Sure, lady.” Arthur chuckles, knowing you wouldn’t be gelding anyone hogtied on the back of his horse, crossing the Dakota near Fort Wallace.

Blessed silence. For what seems like only a few moments.

“Since you know me so well, who the hell are you?” You ask, raising your head a bit.

“Now why would I tell you that?” Arthur chuckles, urging his horse southward on the road, deep into Cumberland Forest.

“I’d like to at least know the man’s name before I get fucked.” You retort, an even more sour tone in your voice.

“Arthur Morgan, my lady.” He replies, egging you on with the honorific, knowing you ain’t anything close to that, especially with the mouth on you. He’s about to stay something to prod you further when he hears voices up the road in the distance.

“Shit.” Arthur curses, as four green-sashed men crash through the trees. He immediately circles the horse to change direction as he hears a rider approaching on horseback, yelling at him.

Of course, O’Driscolls had taken up again at Six Point. Morgan, you idiot, you’re waltzing straight past them.

“Let me go and I can help you.” You call from behind him, trying to duck from whizzing bullets as much as your bindings would allow.

“Yeah, so you can shoot me in the back of the head too? Not a chance, lady.” Arthur retorts as he spurs his mare into a gallop, and you grunt as the wind gets knocked out of you from the jolting.

The O’Driscolls are in hot pursuit, the rider is joined by three others as Arthur pushes his horse back toward the Dakota, but with you slung over the back of her rump, he’s not able to urge his horse faster, not if he was going to get this bounty. Needed you alive.

He curses aloud as a bullet whizzes by his head on the right, and he turns the horse to the left, which was a poor decision as the mare reaches the cliffsides jutting up on either side of the Dakota, the river far below.

Pinned down along the face of the cliff, Arthur senses his horse getting skittish. Any more of this and the mare is going to buck him, and the bounty. He curses again as a bullet nearly hits his hat, sliding off the saddle and dragging you to the ground. You squeak with indignation until you hit the ground, groaning and cursing him. But to your surprise, he is unsheathing his knife and cutting the ropes at your ankle and wrists. You immediately scramble up and turn to him, smacking him hard across the face.

“Serves you right, asshole.”

“Y’done now, lady?” Arthur fumes, working his jaw as he reaches over your shoulder to grab the long guns from his horse’s saddles, before the damn thing spooks and runs away.

“If you wanna go with them, be my guest, but O’Driscolls don’t have a particularly good reputation of their handlin’ of women.” Arthur sneers at you, shoving a repeater at your chest, glaring before another bullet whizzes by and the both of you hit the ground out of sheer reflex.

You immediately open and close the lever to chamber a round, gritting your teeth. “This thing full at least?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Arthur retorts as he pulls revolvers from his belt, dual wielding as his mare screams and bolts for cover.

By the time the two of you rise, bullets fly and hit their targets, one O’Driscoll falling off his horse in a spray of blood to his chest, another gets shot in the head and his body limply clings in the saddle. Arthur runs across the open glen, knowing he’s a sitting duck in the wide open, and you dart in the other direction to the other treeline, quickly disappearing from sight.

Goddamnit. Of course you ran. Morgan, you’re even more of an idiot.

Arthur is fuming to himself so much so that he doesn’t hear the clicking of the revolver’s safety until too late, the steel of a barrel being pressed against the back of his neck.

“Drop 'em’.” The O’Driscoll threatens, and Arthur drops the revolvers in his hands, clattering to the ground as his captor pushes him forward, winding an arm around his shoulder and pressing the revolver further into his neck. They stop in the middle of the clearing.

“Think ol’ Colm misses ya, Morgan.”

Arthur scowls at the ground with the warm barrel of the gun against his neck, probably burning his skin. The O’Driscoll laughs behind him.

“You stop right there, you mick bastard.”

Your voice, high and sharp, cuts through the mountain air like a knife.

The O’Driscoll spins himself and Arthur around, forcing Arthur ahead of him to shield most of his body.

“C’mon now, you go on and leave the shootin’ to the men, dearie. I’ll even give you a head start.” The O’Driscoll laughs as you point the repeater dead at his face, twenty feet away.

You don’t move, and the O’Driscoll frowns, shoving his pistol into Arthur’s neck harder.

“Put the gun down, lady. Or Morgan gets the next round.”

Your stance never wavers. A small smirk comes across your face.

“Doin’ me a favor then?”

The O’Driscoll raises his eyebrow, but in a flash, it is all over. The crack of the repeater echoes in the glen as a body hits the ground. Arthur’s hat rolls on its lid across the ground.

“Jesus Christ!” Arthur stumbles ahead, holding his ear, absolutely covered in blood and brain matter. His eyes flit behind him, to take in the O’Driscoll, dead on the ground, half his face caved in from the bullet that hit him between the eyes.

He looks up to you in shock and bewilderment. You slowly lower the repeater and open and close the lever, chambering another round. Completely unfazed.

“I got one more round in here, Mister Morgan. I’d like very much not to use it on you.” You state with an air of superiority, dead serious as you grip the repeater tightly.

Arthur slowly raises his hands, his guns still strewn across the ground feet away after his tussle with the now-dead O’Driscoll.

“Now listen to me. I’m gonna take one of these horses and be on my way. And you ain’t gonna follow me. You’re gonna forget that bounty and get on with the next sucker you chase down.” You say, with an even, deadly tone.

“Don’t you usually shoot them men comin’ after you?” Arthur asks, his hands still outstretched.

“I do. But usually the men comin’ after me ain’t as handsome as you are. Would be a shame to blow your brains out.” You say with a smirk, starting to back away, toward where the O’Driscoll’s horse grazes in the long grass.

Arthur’s cheeks tinge pink as he remains still, but lowers his hands.

“I’m sure I’ll see you again, Mister Morgan. Maybe you can make up for me savin’ your pretty hide.”

You give an exaggerated curtsy before climbing into the saddle of the horse, the repeater still ready to fire. You grab the reins tightly and circle the horse once before galloping off, leaving Arthur Morgan standing alone in the clearing, saved but for the dead O’Driscoll.

-

Lemoyne was too damn hot. Sweltering. Disgusting. Even as the dusk fell. Even outside of the damn swamp, Arthur hated it. The gang had moved south after that shootout with Cornwall in Valentine. Bad business all around. Now, Dutch and Hosea have been working both angles of the local yokel families, locked in some kind of bitter generational feud.

Arthur just needed to clear his head. Dutch had him working as a lawman, of all the ridiculous things. He’s taken this free moment to do his own work, having been tipped off on a Lemoyne Raiders safe house not far from Ringneck Creek, supposed to be just a few of these idiots and a cache of items they have stored from their roadside robberies throughout the state.

Ripe for the taking.

The old barn house stood on the rise, and he could tell, as he swung down from his mare just beyond the treeline. He smacks her rump and she’s off, back down toward the Kamassa. He lets the rifle strapped across his shoulders down, aiming through its sights at the movement of men in the distance.

“Well well, if it isn’t the fastest draw in the west.” A sharp voice cuts through the quiet.

Arthur swings his rifle at the interloper that appeared several feet away from him, cursing himself for not being aware of his surroundings.

Oh. It’s you.

God damnit.

“The hell are you doing here?” Arthur harshly whispers, lowering the rifle.

You nod your head toward the barn behind him, “I was going in on a tip I got that the yokels had things stashed here.”

Arthur frowns. “Don’t tell me you got that from Alden.”

“The ticket man, in Rhodes.”

“God damnit.” He rolls his eyes. He scowls at you, standing there with your hand on your hip. Looking positively infuriating in dark trousers and a fairly tight-fitting button-down. Highlighting your curves, while your dark hair is pulled back into a long braid.

Focus, damnit. Arthur chides himself as he turns back toward the barn, looking again through the scope of this rifle at the men mulling about.

“Tell you what, Mister Morgan. You could use another gun. I could use wastin’ less bullets on these inbreds. Split what we find.”

Arthur has counted seven Raiders going in and out of the barn, which would be a fairly large number if he were alone. He sighs in exasperation.

“Fine.”

-

“Well, probably wasn’t the whole lot of them, I’m sure there are more of these wannabe civil war soldiers slinking about.” You muse, rifling through papers on a makeshift as Arthur picks a lockbox, pocketing the billfolds inside. Stepping over a dead body, you catch Arthur’s frame over that lockbox.

You notice what his hands are doing, and glare at him. “Hey - asshole, we’re splittin’ this.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, but acquiesces, tossing one of the billfolds at you. You catch it with ease.

“After that noise we should probably lay low for a bit.” You move toward the barn door, shouldering your repeater, stopping to listen outside for a moment.

“Oh, so now there’s a we?” Arthur snaps back at you as he follows you to the door.

“Be my guest if you wanna head into the swamps at this time of night. I, on the other hand, have a cabin I cleared out on the other side of Dewberry Creek.” You glance at him, pushing through the barndoor with your hand on your gun, looking around for any kind of movement. Your horse has meandered closer, and you whistle lowly for it to come closer.

You pull yourself into the saddle and look down at him.

“You coming? Or you just gonna stand there like an idiot?”

-

“Ain’t this homey?” Arthur retorts, looking at the rundown state of the cabin inside. A bed, with a near-disintegrating blanket, an old table, broken cabinets, and maybe one chair that didn’t look like it was about to fall apart.

“Ain’t your momma teach you manners? Lady invites you into her abode and you just insult her.” You slide the rifle from your back and place it upright against the stone fireplace.

“You’re a lady now? Coulda fooled me.” Arthur follows, placing his repeater on the table, unwilling to have you get the last word in.

You sneer at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Last time I checked, I have two tits and a cunt - pretty sure that makes me a lady - unless you’ve encountered different.”

“Pretty sure a lady wouldn’t be speakin’ like that.” Arthur returns, glancing away from you and trying to hide the flush that he knows is burning up his cheeks - he’s trying not to look at your breasts, framed by your crossed arms. Trying not to think of your ass in those trousers, the taper of your hips, the cunt he suddenly can’t not imagine filling.

“Oh, is you a gentleman? A dashing outlaw with ladies falling in his lap from here to Armadillo?” You point at him, pressing your finger into his chest, gritting your teeth as your self-righteousness and hackles both rise.

For once, he’s silent. For once in the whole goddamn time you’ve known him, he’s given you an opening. Seize it. Take the enemy down. Merciless. Just like shootin’.

“Bet you couldn’t please a lady even if you was the one being paid.” Your voice lowers as you go in for the kill.

To his credit, Arthur resurges with sputtering indignation, pushing you several steps backward until your back slams against the cabin wall. Your eyes widen in surprise.

“Christ alive, the mouth on you. How’s about I shut you up by givin’ you somethin’ to fill it?”

With his hands clamped on your shoulders and his large frame looming over yours, it’s not fear that you feel. Not that he’s going to hurt you, or turn you in. Something more profound than that. Something that shoots to your very core.

“I’d like to see you try.” You hiss at him, and see his jaw work in frustration, “Probably can’t even make a woman come.”

His thigh immediately rams forward, parting your legs as his hands fly to your hips, lifting you several inches above the ground, you yelp as he presses up against your core.

“I’m gonna make you eat them words, missy.” He hisses as he leans into your ear.

“Not if I make you come first.” You respond breathily, your hand moving to cup at the seam of his pants, grabbing at his burgeoning cock. He grunts and shoves his thigh up higher, and you mewl as it causes you to grind against the hard bone of his femur.

“You’re askin’ fer it.” He grunts as he presses his pelvis against you, his cock hard against your belly. A zing of pleasure shoots through your core in response. He’s not lacking, in any measure. His hands briefly leave your body to pull at the buckle of his gun belt, and the belt clatters to the floor at his feet.

“Yeah,” You grab his collar two-fisted and pull him to you, “I am askin’ fer it.” You parrot back in his drawl, lips inches away from his for just a moment, before you bridge the distance and take his mouth forcefully, not letting him respond as you shove your tongue inside.

He’s not surprised, nor taken off balance, matching your fevered press into his mouth with his own, battling for supremacy as his tongue wrests with yours. You barely feel one of his hands leave your hip and start to work the buttons of your trousers, it's not until he works them open enough to shove his hand down the front of your pants that you groan in surprise into his mouth. His rough, calloused fingers weave their way downwards, under the waistband of your bloomers, and straight to your moistening core, where he slides a long, meaty finger into your cunt, making you mewl.

But you cannot let him win.

Summoning all the fight you have in you, battling against the sweet sound of his hand smacking up against wet skin, your hands shoot down to cup his burgeoning erection through his pants, and he moans as his hips move to press forward into your touch.

You grit your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut as you open his pants, breathing through your nose as he latches his mouth to the side of your neck, slipping his middle finger inside you, making you curse under your breath as you finally reach your goal. You nearly rip his pants open and fish his hard cock out, your fingers wrapping around it as you begin to pump his shaft, desperate to make him feel as helpless as he’s making you feel.

Arthur moans needily against your neck, rolling his hips, and losing his rhythm as he rocks his hand into you. You smile as your head tilts back, pleased at yourself that you’ve met him and matched him.

It would not be for long, though. He retracts his hands and finds your hips again, and the next thing you know, you’re lifted in the air, caught off guard, and instinctually wrap your legs around his waist as he walks you both the several steps to the table. One of his hands moves to your lower back, keeping you upright, as he lays you down and spreads you out on the flat surface.

The gunslinger leans over and captures your lips again as he starts to work your trousers and bloomers down your waist, over the swell of your ass that you raise in the air to help him. You have the wherewithal to kick your boots off as he works your pants down your thighs, standing to his full height as he peels them off you completely, leaving your lower half bare to his gaze. Your tapered hips, glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

You take advantage of his dumb-struck stare to unhook his suspenders from the front of his pants, yanking them down over his hips to let them rest above his knees.

Wasting no time, before you know he’s going to catch you, you wrap one hand around his shaft and cup his testicles with the other, squeezing both gently as he groans, his hands holding himself up as he leans above you, his hips starting to thrust forward.

It's only a matter of time. Only a matter of time before his eyes open, hands snap to your hips, and you’re yanked bodily forward, ass nearly hanging off the table, and you let go of his member as he presses forward, the head of his cock touching your wet folds and making you both moan aloud.

“Still askin’ fer it?” He pants, and all you can do is moan in response and shake your head in the affirmative, spreading your legs for him.

Arthur immediately slides his cock all the way in, until the chestnut curls at the base of his cock meet the dark hair over your cunt, and you cannot help but to mewl, watching as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. Your legs spread even wider as both of you can’t look away from the sight: his long, hard shaft glistening with your slick, disappearing into your body.

One of his hands moves from your hip to splay beneath your abdomen and presses down hard, he moans in appreciation as he can feel himself through your skin as he buries his cock in your cunt again. And again. And again. You fall back from your elbows completely onto your back, the pressure of him making you gasp and whine.

Fuck, this is where you hurtle toward that point of no return, there’s no holding back the wave of pleasure that threatens to drown you as Arthur pounds himself into your hips. There’s no winning or losing anymore, there is just the chasing of that pleasure.

You’re cresting, back beginning to arch uncontrollably as he pumps into you hard and fast. You don’t give a shit about losing, because you’re wrung so tightly you’re about to snap, needy whines escaping your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to stop tears from overstimulation from spilling down your cheeks.

The head of Arthur’s cock keeps hitting that spot in your cunt that makes you want to die in pleasure, his large hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave bruises.

You can barely recognize the shriek you give as your own, and the grunts in return, fucking you harder through your release. Your spasming, clenching, shaking release.

“Yes, yes,” Arthur grits out. The broken syllables of his name escape your mouth as you come, he thrusts deep inside of you and you gush warm slick around his length.

He immediately groans, loudly, clenching your hips hard as he jerks himself from you, painting your mound white with arcs of his spend landing in your dark pubic hair. Arthur pants, not letting go of your hips as you at least have the wherewithal to lean up on your elbows again.

“Think…” he rasps, voice sex-hoarse and breathless, “I win.”

A smile cracks from your lips as you tighten your legs around his hips, drawing him closer.

“Best…” you pant, “Two outta three.”

-

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #red dead fandom #rdr2 #twolafic #tumblr prompt #red dead smut #arthur morgan x reader

[luveline]

jade if I’m not too late and requests are still open, can you write bombshell!reader and spence’s first kiss? secretly I think it would be funny if the team saw a hickey on her neck or something that she didn’t expect but oh how I love how soft she is for spence

ty for your request ♡ fem, 1.2k

"It's classic, comfortable anger-excitation," you say, hitting the flat of your ballpoint pen against your fingertip, a repetitive tap. "But his geographical profile is everywhere. No one place is untouched, but if he's as practised as we think he is, he'd kill away from home." 

"Then he's not practised, he's an expert," Hotch says in the seat beside you. "He knows to divert our attention." 

Your tapping increases. Spencer takes a few steps back and puts his hand over yours. You glance up at him. He mimes a deep breath for you to copy. You do it without complaint. 

You're so focused on being perfect that sometimes you forget to breathe. You're very good at being perfect, in Spencer's opinion, perfect hair, perfect face, perfect frenetic hands. And you're doubly perfect at whatever this is, smiling at him with an unquantifiable emotion in what's probably the prettiest set of eyes on planet Earth. 

Spencer puts your pen on your notebook and goes back to his board. The locations of each murder are tacked into a map. You weren't kidding when you said everywhere. 

You're in one of the poorest places in America, and the police station reflects that. There's no conference room for you guys to work undisturbed, and the beat cops and deputy alike can hear and see everything you're doing. Most have the manners to leave you alone, but you're you; you tend to draw attention. 

You've taken up the pen again, clicking and unclicking incessantly. It's an annoying sound but you're not aware that you're doing it, too determined on cracking the case before anything worse happens. Your team knows to ignore you, or even to disarm you. Emily snags the pen from your hand with a friendly laugh. "Jesus, you're tightly wound today." 

"Mm," you murmur, struggling to pull yourself from your notes. A few more seconds and you look up with a blinding smile, "That's because Spencer skimped on my neck massage last night." 

"Come on, pretty boy," Morgan says, though his heart isn't truly in it, "I thought you knew better." 

Spencer shakes his head. You and Spencer had very separate hotel rooms and no sensual touching occurred, but he loves how happy this running joke makes you, so he stays quiet. 

"He knows everything," you say, backtracking, "That's why he's gonna make me a cup of coffee. He knows exactly how I like it." 

He leaves to make you a cup of coffee, but he was heading that way anyway for his own. He's thinking to himself that coffee is a bad idea and that he wishes he was better at saying no to you when you follow him in, your arms already open as you close the two or three steps to his chest and hug him over the shoulders. 

"You didn't say anything when you left," you worry, your embrace overwhelming, sweet and soft and with a loving squeeze to round it off. "I wasn't being bossy, was I?" 

You can be, but not this time. "Shut up, you know I'll make you a cup of coffee whenever you want it." 

"That so?" you ask. 

There's an excess energy you haven't managed to kick today racing through you. He can see the restlessness in your smile, no matter how glitzy. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

Spencer's poorly kept secret is that he's obsessed with you. You dote on him, you tease him, you torture him, but Spencer wants all of it and more. He likes being the centre of your attention, loves how your fond flirtation has changed to plain affection, and he would do anything you asked him to if it meant you were gonna kiss his cheek at the end. He thinks you're beautiful and electric and a thousand yards out of his league, and he thinks you're the nicest woman they ever made under all your bravado because not once have you encouraged that line of thought —you like him for him. You don't want him to change. You don't need anything from him he can't give to you. 

His simple question transforms you, your glossy lips perking immediately into a smile. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" 

"You seem tense. I've never given a massage before, but I can actually try," he offers. 

Your hand cups his cheek, your voice aglow with a saccharine quality, "You're lovely, that's why. Maybe I'll take you up on it later–" 

"It's not like–" 

You'd been attempting a sweet thank you, and Spencer was brushing it off, but somewhere in the middle of it you'd gone up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Spencer —idiot, uncoordinated, inexperienced, is going to hate himself later Spencer— turned away from your touch to argue with you, directing your lips against his. 

Soft, sticky, pretty lips pressed to his. 

You set back on your heels quickly. Your eyes are wide, beautiful but flared in shock, a sheepishness tugging your brows together as you say, "I'm so sorry." 

"It's my fault," he says quickly, braceleting your wrist in his hand, "I'm sorry–" 

You both lean back in for a second kiss at the same time. Spencer's head angled down and your chin tipped ever so slightly upward, you close your eyes as he closes his, completely silent. It's not often you're quiet. Spencer doesn't mean to, but he kisses too hard, too much, forcing your hand from his cheek as he grabs you either side of the head to keep you in his reach. 

Your breath comes out in a huff that lights his nerve endings on fire, the barest hint of your voice tacked to it like a sigh of relief, like you're taking the edge off in the circle of his arms. Spencer's hand slides behind your head to hook you in, your lips parting at the seam from the pressure. You feel the heat of him and respond with vigour, your hand a nagging demand at the small of his back, pulling him closer, closer, as his other hand trails down your arm. 

Your elbow bumps the coffee mugs, it really is his fault, and you spring away from him like you think you've been caught. Smiling, a kid with her hand in the cookie jar, you throw your gaze around the room to check you're still alone before stepping forward to laugh against his mouth. 

That's a good sound. A great reaction. You have more patience than Spencer, dotting kisses thick with lip gloss up into his top lip, your mouth just open enough for him to feel faint. 

"It was really an accident," he says between shorter, kinder kisses. 

"I know," you murmur, words smushed. You steal a last rather frantic one before you stop, breathing funny, hands smoothing down the hair you'd mussed initially with sorry tenderness. "Was that okay?" 

He puts his hand on your hip, refusing to gratify what feels like a silly question with a response when you can't not know he's been wanting to kiss you for weeks. Maybe months. "Are you sure you're fine?" 

You smile at him like you know something he doesn't. "I'm sure, Spence. I think I just needed to do that." 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[radiant-reid]

Cate, my dear cate can I have a blurb on the hot wife wagon wear except she works at the bau and anytime the sheriffs are like flirting with her it gets tiring for everyone on the team but in like a joking way and they're like "WE GET IT SHE'S HOT"

Spencer's usually the one to say something, to jump in and be the knight in shining armor because, even though he thought he hated confrontation, he hates people hitting on his wife more.

But he's with Hotch at another crime scene, so she politely told the deputy sheriff that she wasn't interested, he should focus on the case they were working on rather than continue pestering her.

Emily, Morgan, and JJ look just as unimpressed with him as Y/n does.

"We could always do something after this is over." He tries again, sitting on the corner of the table, clearly trying to be above her while she sits on a chair.

Morgan's glaring at him like Spencer would be and Emily scoffs almost every time he talks.

Before the deputy can open his mouth again, Morgan does. "We get that she's hot, but you're just embarrassing yourself now."

"Plus she's engaged," Emily adds, nodding to the impressive ring on Y/n's finger.

"And she's not interested." JJ continues.

Morgan patronizingly pats him on the shoulder. "You'll also do much better if you stick to girls in your league." He could have said something harsher, directly telling him that Y/n's too pretty for him, but he'd like to keep his job for another day.

Embarrassed, the deputy makes up an excuse about needing to go file some paperwork, and the four of them are left alone, quickly breaking out in laughter.

"Thank you, guys," Y/n says once they all stop laughing at the deputy's fearful face. "I don't even know what I do."

"It's men," Emily suggests.

"Mostly." She half-agrees. "Happens with women too, though."

"You're hot, baby." Morgan reminds her. "Life is hard for us."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x you #spencer reid blurb