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fawnwilde · 5 months ago

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What Comes After II ⋆˚࿔

charles smith x reader

previous | request

rating: explicit (18+)

You and Charles have arrived in Canada, beginning the next chapter of your life together.

Everything couldn't be going better, until you witness a working girl taking a fancy to your man

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, fluff, charles being a sweetheart, idiots in love, jealousy, unprotected piv, bit of a breeding kink dont @ me, happy ending :>

word count: 4.0k

Five months have passed in the blink of an eye, and your perfect future is closer than ever.

The morning after yours and Charles’ first night, the two of you decided to head north to Canada. The journey would take a while, but you both knew it would be worth it for a fresh start.

The harsh summer heat in the mid west became freezing winter’s making your way to the Canadian border. Before you knew it, you and Charles had found yourself in a whole new country.

Full of new opportunities.

Along the way, you both worked to build up a decent amount of cash. Hunting game to sell to towns along the way, accepting jobs from strangers in dire need.

No matter what your days consisted of, your nights were always spent wrapped up together, beneath the stars when the weather was warm, or in your wagon when the winds blew cold.

Whatever the day brought, you faced it with a smile having Charles at your side.

The day you crossed the border, you did so hand in hand. A merchant took your American money and exchanged it for Canadian currency.

You found an area of Canada you liked, in the western edge of Alberta. A widow sold her husband's properties throughout the province, and Charles spent a good amount of money on a perfect piece of land that would be the empty canvas for your home.

The property was large even for what you spent, a green field nestled amongst mountains and snowy forest trees.

A town has been built not too far away, two hours by horse. It overlooked a lake that brought all kinds of wildlife to drink.

When you first arrived, you spent a good while just looking out at the wondrous views your new home offered. And behind you, Charles admired your awed expression, a smile on his face.

The first morning, the two of you sit on a log overlooking the view of the distant lake and the surrounding peaks.

“We’re home.” You sighed, smiling up at your man.

Charles smiled back, taking your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles, “We’re home.”

Only a few weeks in, and Charles had taken making your home in stride.

You and he drew up a plan, and he went into the town to buy supplies. The house would take a long time to built by yourselves, but Charles didn't seem worried.

After the initial planning, a few young men make the journey from the nearby town to help with building, for reasonable pay.

Charles had his guard up when they approached, but when the men descended from their horses, you saw the men were dark skinned like your man. They had been looking for work, and heard about the two of you.

You were just happy to be surrounded by people without questions, without judgment. It was almost like being with the gang again.

With your husband's strength, the assistance of half a dozen able-bodied men, and your own help in planning and menial work, a strong foundation was in place within a month.

Tonight, you sleep in your wagon, wrapped up in blankets as you read a book in the glow of the lamplight.

The wagon steps creak, and Charles crawls in. He smiles tiredly, tugging off his boots before sliding in next to you. His solid weight behind you makes you purr like a cat, snuggling against him.

“Going well?” You ask.

“Mhm.” Charles murmurs, “Tired now.”

You turn to kiss him gently on the lips, before blowing out the lantern and settling against him to rest. Before long, you hear him snore softly, and it lulls you into your own sleep.

You awake to the sound of birds and the harsh bite of the Canadian cold.

A shiver runs through you, your eyes opening slowly and adjusting to the sun poking through the cracks of your wagons curtain.

It’s far too early for you. Gone are the days where you woke up with the sunrise to work with the girls in camp, or sometimes joined the men with a job.

You’re domesticated now, and utterly spoiled by your partner.

Charles always lets you sleep in, waking you with coffee and food. And, inadvertently, treating you to the sight of him sweaty and smiling after working on the house since dawn.

You’re truly the luckiest woman ever.

This morning, however, the winter has no sympathy for you. Snow has fallen on your mountain side hideaway, and the wind drags its fingernails over your exposed cheeks and neck.

Squirming, you snuggle further into blankets, growing frustrated when the cold persists, slithering through the edges of your cocoon.

With a sigh, you decide to get up and face the day.

Leaving the confines of your wagon, you look over the now snowy landscape, shocked at how much snow had fallen while you slept. The foundation of the house had been covered by a large canvas, and a few of the men were already banging hammers and cutting up wood.

You spot Charles across the open field of your home, bundled up in his own coats while he secures a wooden beam. His strength knows no bounds, the biting temperature not getting in the way of his efforts.

And despite the temperature, you smile when you look at him.

“Morning, miss.” One of the men greets you as you pass, waving before going back to warming his cupped hands. The others nod at you as you pass.

“Morning, Ira.” You say, your breath forming a cloud in front of you, “Gentlemen."

As you approach the house-in-progress, you’re hit with another gust of wind. It makes you audibly shiver, coming up to Charles’ side to try and steal some of his natural warmth.

“It’s a cold one today, my love.” You say through chattering teeth.

Charles smiles when he turns and sees you at his side, placing his tools down to wrap his arms around you. His body is a furnace, melting the icicles on your skin.

“You’re not too cold, are you?” He asks against your hair, “I can chop more firewood and make you another fire.”

“Ah, I've survived worse.” You laugh, tucking yourself into him like a burrowing critter.

Charles hums, tucking you under his chin, “Reminds me of Colter.”

“Ugh, don't remind me.” You laugh, shaking your head at the memory.

“It’s better here. Happier.” You can feel Charles smile, “Better company when I sleep too.”

“Very high praise. I’m better than Bill Williamson and Micah Bell.”

The two of you share a laugh. A few snowflakes flurry past you, sighs of another wave of snowfall to come. You’re looking forward to the house being done, days ahead where you can sit in front of a fire and watch the snow through glass windows.

“I need to go into town to get more wood, maybe something else to reinforce the house.” Charles says, “Raymond and Paul will come with me, need them to load the scraps.”

Raymond and Paul Hislop are two brothers who have been building the barn, and the two you both are closest too. They’re young and kind, far too enthusiastic for the circumstances they’ve lived in.

You try not to think about how they remind you of Lenny.

They don't have a home, so they camp alongside the two of you, unlike the other men who return to their homes at the end of the day. You hope that when you and Charles have an operating cattle farm, as Charles dreams, they will continue to work for you.

“Could I come into town with you?” You ask, hopeful, “I’d like to see a bit of civilisation.”

You don't travel there often, preferring to socially interact with the men who help around camp, and travel around with Charles through the woods to get your fill of nature.

What can you say? You love your new home too much to leave it often. Even if it’s just a scrap of land and the bones of a house.

“Of course, my love.” He smiles, “We’ll find somewhere warm for you to stay for a while, wait out the coming storm. Wouldn't want my future wife freezing before I can finally make an honest woman of her.”

You laugh with a roll of your eyes, letting him take your hand as he leads you both to the Hislop brothers and the horses.

The four of you travel quickly, wanting out of the cold as soon as possible.

You’re sat in the cargo wagon, wrapped up in two coats to fight the chill as Charles drives and the brothers ride alongside you.

Paul tells you stories from his and his brothers travels around Canada, and you listen aptly. He’s a good storyteller, and you need the distraction from the biting chill. Raymond and Charles discuss plans for the house, and the barn they plan on building for the cattle farm.

By the time you’re in town, the men have a good plan in mind, swiftly securing the materials and tools they need, and then going to a saloon for warmth and a drink.

The saloon is quite bustling for such a small town. As you take in the various patrons milling about the well decorated room, you realise many travellers must come through this town to get to the rest of Alberta.

You can't find it in you to hate it, enjoying the white noise of eager chatter and music coming from the piano and it’s elderly player.

“That’s Mr Ellis.” Charles points to an older man across the bar, with a big handlebar moustache and one cloudy eye, “He’s the farmer I plan to buy our cattle from. Do you mind if I go and talk to him for a bit?”

“I'm a big girl, Charles.” You laugh, “Raymond and Paul will keep me company while you’re gone.”

With that, Charles kisses your forehead, before heading off to talk to Mr Ellis.

The brothers find the three of you a table, lining up shots before you even register what's happening.

They’re eager to take some time away from working, talking and laughing together and incorporating you into the conversation eagerly.

An hour has gone by in the flash of light, and you’re laughing around your drink at Paul’s retelling of an incident a few weeks ago, making it more humorous instead of terrifying when a bear tried to move into camp while you and Charles were hunting.

It’s easy being around them. But you’re starting to miss your man, so you look to the bar to try to find him.

He's still talking to Mr Ellis, but there's a big smile on his handsome face, making you smile in turn.

Until your smile drops.

A working girl has approached Charles, sidling up beside him wordlessly. She seems overly familiar with both men, edging into the conversation without a beat wasted.

Seeing your expression, Raymond turns in his seat to see what has soured your mood. His eyes widen, and he shakes his head before nudging his brother.

“Elsie’s back.” He whispers to Paul, grimacing.

Paul sighs, knocking back his whiskey, “She just won't quit, that one.”

“Who?” You ask, staring at the woman.

Elsie, as they’ve called her, is pretty. Startling so. Dark hair and eyes, a full figure with long legs. Like a damn amazon, and her attention is all on Charles.

The sight of her throwing her head back, exposing her elegant neck as she laughs flirtatiously, makes your stomach turn.

Raymond and Paul give you a look, before looking at each other.

“Well-” Paul begins, “Elsie is one of the working girls. She heard talk about Mr Smith coming to town with full pockets and thinks he’d be a good client.”

Absolutely not, you think as you grind your teeth.

“Your Charles only comes in here to talk to Mister Ellis. But Elsie keeps approaching him, taken a real liking to him.” Raymond says.

You flinch, confused by his phrasing. You know damn well Charles would never be unfaithful to you. Especially not spending money on affections that he's getting at home.

In excess.

Raymond notices your look, and is quick to explain, “Mr Smith ain't doing nothing behind your back.”

“Yeah.” Paul nods, “The lord knows he ain’t that kind of man, and me and Paul wouldn't let him be taken advantage of when Elsie approaches him after a couple drinks.”

“She does what?!” You’re sure there’s steam coming out of your ears at this point.

“Miss, really- Mr Smith hasn't ever spared her a second glance.” Paul tries.

“She once tried to ‘slip’ and fall into his lap, but Mr Smith just set her right and excused himself from her presence.”

They're right. Charles is deep in conversation with Mr Ellis at the bar, his eyes never straying to the woman latched to his side.

But that doesn't deter Elsie from leaning into him trying to get his attention, twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger and batting her eyes at Charles.

You’re reminded of a time, long before you and Charles were together, being with the gang in a dusty saloon. The men had working girls surrounding them, Javier and Sean drunkenly dancing with a few, and Charles disappeared upstairs with one.

He wouldn't do that to you, be unfaithful and spend hard earned money on a night with a stranger… but the fact that he wasn't averse to a working girls touch makes your skin prickle with unease.

Another twinkling laugh from Elise, her smile hungry and her hand on Charles’ arm as she giggles at a joke, and you've had enough.

Pushing yourself up from the table, you storm towards the bar.

Raymond and Paul watch you leave. The younger of the two gets up to try to stop you, but Raymond grabs his wrist.

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” You hear him mutter, before his voice disappears amongst the symphony of the saloon.

During your walk towards the bar, you think of a thousand ways you could handle this.

You could go over and scream bloody murder, stake your claim in front of everyone. But Charles is a very private man, surely he wouldn't want attention being brought to the situation.

You could calmly tell Elsie to back off, but how many working girls are approached by enraged wives, only to slide back into their husbands laps when they leave?

You could leave it be- no, you’re not doing that, that's for damn sure.

You sidle up to the bar before you have a plan in mind. There are a few patrons sitting and drinking, and the thought of causing a scene now seems almost selfish, causing drama where people are just trying to have a good night.

Although you know full well a fight in a bar is about as rare as a priest in a church. Sean always said, “Nothing livens up a night out like a good scrap.”

Looking to your right, you can see Charles’ broad back while he converses with Mr Ellis.

There are a few drinks between you, but you can see that the conversation seems to be going well, with the older gentleman raising his glass to your man as he chuckles.

Elsie leans against the bar, her back arched in an attempt to draw Charles’ attention to her ample chest. Mr Ellis looks down at her, but you cannot tell if Charles has taken notice.

It makes you feel sick with envy and rage, a powerful possessive urge inside you, a primal desire to make your territory.

Watching her, you remember a conversation you shared with Abigail, a lifetime ago. How prostitutes had unspoken rules, how they wouldn't listen to civilian women staking their claim.

But cat fights amongst working girls were not uncommon. See a man you want, and it’s all fair game amongst other women of the night.

A smirk forms on your mouth as an idea strikes you, turning to the bartender to ask for a room for the night.

Time to play Elsie at her own game.

Moving past the patrons in between you and the trio, you catch the attention of the bartender, ordering a shot of whiskey. Charles turns at the sound of your voice, and his face lights up seeing you.

He bids Mr Everett a good night before turning his attention to you, his eyes soft as he tilts his head at you.

Leaning your hip against the bar, you bat your eyelashes at Charles, “What's a handsome fella like you doing in a place like this?”

Charles' eyebrows furrow in confusion. Beside him, Elsie scoffs, narrowing her eyes at you.

The look between you and her makes Charles raise his eyebrows, but he gives you a befuddled smile.

“Just looking to have a good time, miss.” Charles says, leaning closer towards you, playing along despite his confusion at your behaviour.

“Well, that I can certainly provide.” You flirt, dragging your fingers along his thick forearms.

Elsie makes a disgruntled noise, taking a step into Charles’ side, causing his eyes to widen and lean away from her.

“Oh come on, sweetheart. Don’t waste your time and money on her.” She says to charles before turning to you, glaring “This isn't your territory, girly.”

“He ain't your sweetheart,, so why don't you back up a bit.”

Elsie scowls, opening her painted mouth to continue arguing, but you hold a hand up to her face, silencing her as you lean into Charles.

“How about I show you how a real woman fucks?” You breath, turning up the flirtations to a hundred.

Charles’ eyes darken, but purses his lips to keep his face neutral, extending his elbow to you. You link his arm, leading him towards the rooms upstairs.

You can hear Elsie call you something unsightly as you leave, but you pay her no mind. As you ascend the stairs, Raymond and Paul lift their glasses to you.

Walking away from the chaos of the saloon feels like a victory lap, despite the lingering jealousy in your veins.

Once in the hotel room, you swiftly push Charles onto the bed, climbing into his lap.

You kiss him hurriedly, before he wraps his strong hands around your waist and pulls you back slightly.

He looks into your eyes, searching them. You try to hide your prior jealousy and aggravation, but he can see right through it.

“What's going on, my love?” Charles asks, “Not that I don't mind what happened, but you seem upset.”

You sigh through your nose, “Elsie.”

Charles blinks at you, “Who? The working girl?”

“The whore, yes.”

“What did she do?” He chuckles, eyebrows furrowed.

“What did she- what did she do?” You parrot, “Trying her hardest to get you into bed? Every time you're here?

“Oh…” Charles’ blinks, his head cocked,, “To be perfectly honest, I thought she was after Mr Ellis.”

You huff out a laugh, “I can't believe you. Why would you think that?”

Charles just shrugs, “I paid no mind to her. Is that what all this was about?”

You sit silently, your eyes drifting down as you fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, suddenly embarrassed about how jealous you were of a woman who had no chance of turning Charles’ head.

Your silence answers Charles’ question, and he chuckles.

“Was my girl jealous?” He asks, a small smile on his face, “I have no interest in her, my hummingbird, you know that right?”

“You’re mine.”

“That I am.” Charles smiles, pulling you close.

The next kiss is passionate, full of every words left unsaid and every emotion you both feel. Charles wraps his arms around you, pulling your body taunt against his, his firm muscles rippling below his clothes.

You lean back only enough to pull at his shirt, indifferent to the buttons that pop off and fly across the room.

Charles growls low in his throat, his own hands gripping the hem of your dress to pull it over your head with startling ferocity.

In a flash, you're lying on your back, the clothes hastily shredded from your body, naked for Charles’ heated eyes. He groans at the sight of you, biting his plush lower lip.

Hooking your knees under his arms, he spreads you out. You moan as he pushes himself between your legs, rutting his hardened length against you.

“Feel that, my love?” He groans, “Feel how much I want you? Need you?”

You keen, body jolting as you try to match his thrusts. He gives you a look, and you nod, “I feel it. I feel you.”

“No woman will ever make me like this. No woman ever has.”

His lips descend on yours again, as he reaches between you to push his trousers down his hips. They stay at his thighs, his need too strong to wait any longer.

The pressure of his head against you makes you mewl against his lips, your body stretching to accommodate his girth. Charles hums kissing your neck as he begins sinking into your tight heat.

“God, love… always so tight for me.” Charles sighs, “I can’t believe you would've thought I’d ever consider wanting someone else, when I have you. My other half, my love, my world.”

You sob in pleasured agony, wrapping your arms around him to pull his body even closer as he fills you to the brim.

His hips are flush against your own, harmonious moans escaping you both. Charles kisses you sloppily, beginning to fuck you at a slow but hard pace.

“Can't wait to put a ring on your finger.” Charles murmurs against your neck, “Marry you proper, make everyone know you're mine. And I'm yours.”

You mumble out incoherent noises of affirmation, nodding as you look up at him with bleary eyes.

Charles looks down at you heatedly, his fingers gripping into the sheets beside your head as he pounds into you, sending your body jolting against the bed sheets.

It’s driving you insane, and Charles is no better…

“Once our house is done, we’ll get to filling it.” He grits out, pupils blown, “I'll spend every night fucking you until there's a baby in your belly. You want that, dove? Walking around all swollen with my child? Everyone will know just how much I love you-”

He’s rambling now, words becoming incoherent as he picks up his pace, the thought of getting you pregnant making him throb and keen.

You’re desperate for it, clenching around him, your body aching for him to stuff you full of him.

“Come on, darling, cum for me. Need to feel it, before I fill you up.”

“Oh my god, Charles- fuck, I’m gonna- gonna cum-” You cry, throwing your head back.

“Give it to me, my dove.” Charles demands, “Let me feel you.”

With a silent scream, you cum, biting on Charles’ shoulder as pleasure sends feral moans through you. Not a moment later, Charles falters, pressing his length into you fully as he pumps you full. With a groan of your name, he collapses on top of you, breathless and sated.

You lie there, catching your breaths, caressing each others heated skin and exchanging soft kisses.

Charles remains inside you, keeping his seed where it belongs, the both of you hoping it will take.

“I think I like it when you get all possessive.” Charles murmurs against your neck, kissing along the marks he left behind.

You huff out a breathless laugh, “Good, because you’ll be seeing it a lot. You’re mine, Mr Smith.”

“Damn right I am, Mrs Smith.”

AN/ good god I've finally gotten this out!! It's been a weird time but I absolutely love this and want to get back into writing again <3 hopefully ill post regularly again now xoxo

for the lovely @illbecanon who wanted a part two to their ask <3

#fanfic #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #charles smith #charles smith x reader #rdr2 community #red dead fandom #fawnwilde

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fawnwilde · 6 months ago

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Taboo III Ecstasy .𖥔 ݁ ˖

Sean MacGuire x reader

◃◃ [chapters] ▹▹

rating: explicit (18+)

A storm has torn the camp to shreds. The Van Der Linde gang is lucky to have you around to help them pick up the pieces of the camp.

But you're lucky there's a certain Irishman who knows how to lift your spirits, in more ways than one...

content warning: f reader, smut MDNI, cunnilingus, piv smut, arthur has high honor so sean lasts longer, goofy smut bc it's sean macguire, he's a goofy guy

word count: 5.0k

The night before, a storm damn near flooded Clemons Point.

The sun disappeared beyond the horizon, and heavens opened up in retaliation.

You were sitting at the campfire, whittling arrows while listening to Javier idly strum his guitar. A distant rumbling made you sit straight.

Like a bloodhound, you looked around, sniffing the air for the earthy aroma of rain. Years living outdoors gave you a sixth sense, knowing when the weather brought danger to you and your nomad lifestyle.

Lo and behold, the warmth of the early evening sky was being interrupted by blackened clouds. A storm was brewing.

“Not good.” You said to no-one in particular, as you tucked away your knife and arrows.

“What’s wrong, señorita?” Javier had asked, ceasing his music to give you a look.

“A storm.” You responded, looking at the others around camp, “Looks like a bad one. We need to move quickly, find sturdy shelter.”

Within the hour, you and the gang were scurrying through rain, thunder, lightning and harsh winds, trying to protect and save what you could of the makeshift camp..

Dutch listened to your instructions, and together you managed to get people to transport valuables to the safety of the trees nearby. The group huddled together in a large, makeshift shelter created by two wagons and a canopy.

A very rushed solution which did little for the camp, that was bombarded by elements. All you could do was watch the camp flood and disperse, a blanket wrapped around you with Dutch’s chin resting against your shoulder.

You tried to get some sleep, used to the sounds of winds and rain. The effects of the storm would have to be dealt with in the morning, you had said.

In the present, you just sighed dejectedly.

The camp, for lack of a better word, is a disaster.

Tents destroyed by rain, wagons submerged in mud, horse escapees that had to be herded back to base by an exasperated Charles and a rather hysterical Kieran.

The sun above feels like it's taunting you all. Everyone else busies about, following the instructions bellowed out by Grimshaw. No-one has the energy to complain in their various states of exhaustion, lugging around whatever was still intact and grouping together destroyed items.

You’re standing beside Pearson, trying to salvage his supplies, half-listening to him recounting an event in the navy where his ship almost went overboard during a storm.

Another cracked bowl is put into the growing pile of unusables, another bottle of beer is found full of muddy water, and the world keeps turning.

What a dreadful day, you think as you rub a hand over your face.

“Hello, whore.” A female voice greets, and Karen joins your side with a wink.

You smile at her, “Careful. That’s Micah's favourite nickname for me. Don't want him to get jealous.”

Karen scoffs, but smiles at the easy banter between the both of you.

It’s taken you a while to get used to Karen’s way of talking with you, especially now that she knew about your rendezvous’ with the gang’s leader Dutch Van Der Linde and the resident hot mess John Marston.

Two weeks have passed since you began warming both of their beds, and somehow you worked in perfect harmony.

The gang was just happy Dutch seemed to have an outlet, and John was starting to turn his life around.

Speaking of which, Arthur and John walk past, carrying a wagon wheel between them towards Strauss’ worse-for-wear wagon.

When John sees you, he brightens up, sending you a wink. You smile back, putting your hands on your hips.

John realises you’re wearing one of his shirts, and he does a double take, dropping his end of the wheel and making Arthur lose balance. The wheel goes crashing onto the ground below, knocking off two of the wooden spokes. John winces as Arthur exclaims angrily.

“What happened?!” Strauss demands angrily, storming across camp.

“Ah! We broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur groans, glaring at John.

“John!” Dutch laments, coming between the angered Austrian and his two unruly sons.

Karen bursts out laughing, nodding to you to try to fix the problem you had somehow inadvertently caused.

As Arthur grabs a hammer and takes Strauss over to amend the wheel, Dutch sighs frustratedly. He’s stormy as he passes you, so you gently take his hand, pulling him closer.

Dutch raises an eyebrow at you. You smile, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lip. His mustache tickles, but he hums into the kiss, his posture relaxing for a moment. As you pull away, a small smile rests on his lips, anger forgotten.

He nods to you and Karen, tipping his hat, “Ladies.”

As he disappears from view, John follows him. You lean into him, kissing his cheek. He chuckles rapidly, nudging his forehead with yours before he wanders off.

Hosea, who was stood waiting for Dutch at his tent, awaiting an argument between the gang’s leader and John, was left surprised when both men just nodded to one another and went on with their day.

Turning back to Karen, you smile at her bewildered looks “Problem solved.” You say, shrugging.

“Witch.” Karen laughs.

“Am I a witch or a slut? You laugh, poking her arm.

“You’re a goddamn miracle of nature, that’s what you are.” Mary-Beth laughs as she joins the two of you, followed by Sean and Tilly as they bring over chairs and crates.

“At least someone can control those two.” Tilly laughs, “When you’re fully healed, I reckon you’re a real force of nature.”

You’re reminded of your wound, looking down at the bandage that peaks out from the sleeve of your dress. It had been healing well over the past couple of weeks, but there had been a scare a few days ago where you had a fever, and Grimshaw realised it had gotten infected.

Another reason to stay with the gang for a little longer. If you had left when you originally wanted to, the infection would have killed you.

“Aw, yer poor arm.” Sean coos, poking your forearm.

You shrug, “It ain't too bad.”

“Ain't too bad? If ye were a horse, ye woulda been shot ‘fore ya went lame.”

“Oh, that's not…” Mary-Beth sighs.

“Sean, why are you like this?” Tilly slaps his shoulder. The Irishman just stares at the women, shrugging without a care in the world.

“See, this is why we ain't together no more.” Karen says with a roll of her eyes.

Sean scoffs, “Please, like that wasn't my decision.”

“It wasn't.” The girls say in unison.

You join in their laughter, and Sean catches your eye.

His eyes twinkle with life, making a small blush appear in your eyes. Sean is undeniably handsome, in an unkempt, boyish way.

“If I hav'ta be the butt of the joke to hear tha' lovely laugh, then I’ll gladly take the blow to m'pride.”

“You always are the butt of the joke, Sean.” Lenny laughs as he walks past the small group.

“Everyone, hurry up! We’ll be moving closer to the lake until this area has solidified again.” Dutch calls out, walking through camp with Hosea at his side.

You smile at the thought of being on the waters edge, having confided in the Van Der Linde gang leader about your affinity for water.

Dutch winks at you as he passes.

“Sean! I told you to move the firewood an hour ago!” Hosea yells at him, storming towards the younger man looking ready to reconstruct his bone structure.

Stuttering out excuses, Sean heads off, Hosea on his trail, sending the girls back into hysterics.

Sean MacGuire always knows how to lighten the mood… even when he doesn't realise it.

You’re stood on the outskirts of camp, trying to salvage the girls’ lean-to cover, which got torn pretty awfully by the torrential rain.

“Ah, come on now.” An exasperated voice whines.

Looking up, you spot Kieran across the way, trying to lead the horses away from their old spot to the new one across camp. The grass at the hitching posts has turned to sludge against the mud below, yet the horses seem content to stay there.

And poor Kieran has the bad luck to try to move them all to their new home.

Which they are clearly unhappy about, if their whinnying and motionlessness is anything to go by. Kieran tries feebly to lead Boaz away by his reins, but the horse shakes his head and stomps his hooves at him.

“Please, just listen to me.” Kieran sighs, “You’ll be happier over there, I promise!”

“Having some trouble, Kieran?” You call, folding up the canvas as you come to his side.

“You have no idea.” He sighs, looking dejectedly at Boaz who huffs at him and stays in place. If he had arms, they would be crossed in unimpressed protest.

Bo stands a few feet away, happily grazing on a lump of soggy hay. Definitely not a picky eater, you laugh to yourself.

“Bo.” You call, whistling.

He looks up, nickering happily when he sees you. He trots over, nudging at your head, and you press a kiss to his nose.

“Take him over, Kieran.” You nod.

Kieran sighs, taking Bo’s reins limply, already prepared for another embarrassing defeat.

But Bo just sniffs, leading Kieran away as if he were the horse instead. Kieran sighs in relief, “Thank you, Bo.”

As Bo and Kieran meander off, you nudge Boaz to follow, who seems to get the hint and trudges over, followed by Old Boy and Brown Jack.

Slowly but surely, the horses trickle over to the new space, and Kieran grows more and more at ease as more of the horses take your lead.

With only two horses remaining, you tie your skirt up at the hem, grabbing the Count’s reins in one hand and Taima’s in the other. They hesitate for a moment, before following you forwards.

“And I thought I was good with horses!” Kieran beams, giving you an appreciative nod, “Thank you for helping, miss.”

“Of course-”

“Bollocks!”

You and Kieran jump at the sudden, Irish outburst.

Sean seems to have drawn the short straw, or is currently being punished by Hosea, because he is attempting to independently push one of the wagons out of the mud.

And looking positively pathetic as he huffs and heaves while trying to shove the wagon.

You lose the battle against laughing, trying to hold it in but a chuckle escapes your pressed lips. Sean looks up, and his eyes widen when he notices you’re watching.

Clearing his throat, Sean nods at you, “Lass.”

“Mr MacGuire.”

He presses his lips together, rolling up his sleeves dramatically. He takes a big breath, before throwing his body against the wagon.

It doesn't budge.

It’s strange to see Kieran looking at someone pityingly, “Do you need some help?”

“Shaddup, O’driscoll!”

“Not an O’driscoll.” You and Kieran say. He smiles at you, avoiding your eyes as you chuckle.

The horses notice the lack of human supervision, and Baylock tries to make a break for the old land, with Boaz on his tail.

“No, come on guys!” Kieran yells as he runs back to them, herding them back to their new home.

Turning back to Sean, you put your hands on your hips, “I don't think that's moving.”

“It-’s almost- there- woah!”

A slippery patch of mud sends the wagon sliding forwards, much too quickly for Sean to regain his balance. He falls into a heap into the floor, making a loud squelch against the mud.

“Sean!” You shout, a laugh escaping you as you rush forward to help him.

Pulling him from the mud, he looks up at you with a somber face, half covered in mud. He spits out a mouthful, mumbling words that you don't understand.

You wipe off the mud from his nose, looking at him and bursting out in hysterics.

“Aw, you look like Bill Williamson.” You point to the mud surrounding his mouth.

“How absolutely dare you- ow…” Sean winces, rolling his wrist with a grimace, “Definitely fell on that wrong.”

“Here, let me look.” Laughs stifled, you extend your hand to his.

He shows you his wrist, a grimace on his face. Looking it over, you carefully run your fingers over the sharp bones and wiry muscle. Sean hisses when you out pressure to his joints.

“Think you might have sprained it.” You sigh, “It's not broken, but it'll hurt for a while."

“Gah, ain't too bad then.” Sean shrugs, though he fails to hide his scrunched up look.

“If you were a horse, you would be shot before you go lame.” You smirked.

“Hardy har, she's a comedian.”

You just giggle, rolling up your sleeves, “Let’s get this thing out of the mud, then we can swap jokes.”

Sean rolls his eyes playfully, wiping off some mud on his face before coming to your side at the back of the wagon.

“I’ll push it, it isn't too big.” And you’re not lying when you say this. It’s the cart used for simple journeys taking supplies, a donkey could pull it.

But Sean doubts your abilities, huffing out a laugh while he wipes mud off his hat.

“Just warning you, it's heavier than it looks.” He says, “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

You brace your hands beside his, giving it a sturdy shove and sending it forward.

It moves easily, the strength you have gained from hunting, riding and running coming in useful once again. Looking over your shoulder victoriously, you’ve earned a look of pure astonishment from the Irishman, before his face falls and he gives you a playful pout.

“...show off.” Sean grumbles, traipsing after you as you push the wagon further into camp.

Lenny whistles as he passes the both of you. He’s covered in muck, clearly also fighting a losing battle against sorting out the camp.

“You sure are helpful, miss.” He muses, before rolling his eyes at Sean moping behind you, “And stronger than this buffoon, clearly. Bet you could push that thing with me on it.”

“Hop on if you want.” You joke.

He chuckles, prodding at Sean’s wounded arm. The two squabble behind you, indignant defences from Sean and quips from his friend.

Trying to look over the top, directing the wagon towards the shore of the lake, most people avoid your path respectfully.

But Micah Bell nearly walks right into you, a sneer on his face and his hands full of weapons. He huffs out a laugh at Sean's expense, “Need a woman to do your job for you, Irishman?”

“Notice how no-one's offering to help you?” You say as you pass, noting the gun that has fallen out of his arms.

Sean gives Micah a goofy, self satisfied grin, “She's entranced by my Irish charm.”

He clicks his heels, making you and Lenny laugh.

Before long, you're depositing the wagon by the horses. You and Lenny share a smile and a wave before he returns to helping with rebuilding tents.

Sean goes to the water's edge, squatting to cup water and wash it over his face. It’s ineffective with only one hand, but every time he lifts the other, he winces. Dramatically, you know. Sprains ache but you’ve had enough to know he's exaggerating.

With a pout, he looks up at you “Help a poor, injured fella out?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, but relent to his puppy dog eyes. Pulling a rag from the laundry pile, you join his side, dunking the rag to wet it before bringing it to his mug.

Sean watches you as you drag the cold fabric over his chin, cleaning the mud off before washing it out in the waves of the lake.

“Big baby.” You chide.

He gives you another frown, batting his eyes at you, and you splash water at him. He guffaws, shaking his head like a dog when the water gets in his hair.

“Mean.” He says, but smiles when you resume washing the last bit of dirt off his cheek.

Once he's clean, you look over his face, taking a moment to admire his tiny freckles and crooked nose.

“There’s that handsome face.”

Sean blushes redder than his hair, clearing his throat. You stand and ring out the rag, tossing it back the laundry pile and leaving the bright red Irishman without another word.

He watches you leave, you pretend not to notice.

The camp has settled in for the night, newly constructed tents on the bank, and a campfire on the shore of Flat Iron Lake.

Home sweet home, for now.

Uncle had already fallen asleep face down in the sand, and people have started betting on whether or not the tide will sweep him out before dawn.

The gang is in high spirits despite all of the chaos.

Javier plays a light hearted song and the remaining alcohol is distributed. Even Charles has had a good few, laughing along to one of Hosea’s stories.

You’re quietly enjoying the atmosphere, sitting with John as the both of you listen to the sound of music and laughter.

You don't even realise he's dozing until his head begins resting on your shoulder.

Deciding he should better go to sleep, you rise and take his hand, leading him to the lean-to he's been sharing with Javier.

Once he’s down, snug as a bug in the salvaged blankets you wrap him in, you walk over to one of the only surviving tables, taking a moment to yourself with a borrowed cigarette from Mary-Beth.

Smoking is new to you, and it's entirely unpleasant. But it calms your mind as you bask in a moment of solitude.

It’s like you summoned the mouthy Irishman by asking the universe for peace and quiet.

Lo and behold, Sean strolls past you, carrying a crate of bottles towards the main campfire while whistling a tune.

You narrow your eyes looking at his supposedly mortally injured wrist being used to carry a heavy looking crate without any fuss from him. He looks almost cartoonish with his bouncing stride and smirking face.

Fucker just wanted princess treatment, huh? You think to yourself.

A turn of his head and Sean sees you.

Eyes widening, he drops the crate with a racket of rattling glass, dramatically grasping his wrist like a soldier fresh from the battlefield.

“Oh, my wrist!” He winces, leaning against your table, “Oh, it's pure agony, I’m telling ya.”

You huff out a laugh, blowing smoke at him, “Is that so?"

“Oh aye, aye. Thought I could carry that crate, out on a brace face. But lordie am I in pain, you’ve never known the likes of it.”

“Right.” You chuckle, “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

“Ah, I don't know.” He makes a show of thinking, rubbing his ‘sprained' wrist, “Haven't ya got any special healing powers or nothing? Karen mentioned yer a spooky witch or something of the like.”

You snort, “If I did, I wouldn't have needed to be saved by Dutch after getting shot saving you outlaws.”

Sean joins in your laughter, before he stops, looking you up and down appreciatively, “Oh… well, maybe there's something you can do…”

He’s shameless.

Narrowing your eyes, you finish your cigarette and give him a scrutinising look, “Oh? And what's that, Mr MacGuire?”

“Maybe you could kiss it better?” Sean suggests, voice low with obvious flirtation.

“That's all?” You ask, leaning forward, “You could have just said.”

Sean’s smirk drops, taken aback, “Wait, really?”

“Sure.” You shrug, standing, “It's just a kiss.”

He stares at you, and you can practically see the cogs turning.

Taking your hand, he leads you away from the rest of the camp, away from prying eyes, “A special healing kiss demands privacy.”

He pulls you into a tent, shrouded by darkness away from the campfire’s warm glow.

You raise your eyebrows when you realise whose it is, “This is Hosea’s tent-”

You're silenced by Sean’s lips.

Taken aback, you freeze. He stops, looking at you worriedly.

You stare at him, before shaking your head, “Fuck it.” This time, you kiss him.

Sean kisses like he does everything else, unmeasurable amounts of energy, little skill. But it's good, in a messy way.

You lean into it, arms wrapping around his neck to grasp onto his scruffy hair, knocking his hat off in the process.

“I thought-” kiss, “You wanted-” kiss, “Me to-” kiss, “kiss your wrist-” You say in between kisses.

“Nah my wrists fine, it's my lips that hurt.” Sean pouts against you, “Need you to kiss em better.”

His tongue seeks entry, and who are you to deny him?

It’s heated, your hands gripping onto his hair, his hands gripping onto your waist. You mesh together greedily, seeking the warmth of each other's bodies.

Sean nips at your bottom lip; and you frown against him. You can feel him harden against your hip.

“Fuck, get that skirt up.” He groans, gripping the fabric of your dress, “If I don't have my face between yer legs in the next five seconds, I think I’ll die.”

You giggle breathlessly, letting him push up your skirts to the tops of your thighs as he drops to his knees.

With nothing to balance on, you almost topple over when he begins biting your inner thighs, teeth scraping against soft flesh. Sean tugs at your ankle to push your thigh over his shoulder, steadying you while also opening you up to him.

“No underthings?”

“The ones I borrowed got wet.”

He groans, “Yer bloody spectacular.”

You barely have a second to brace yourself before he’s burying his face against your cunt.

Gasping, you grab onto his head, finger nails stretching against his scalp. Your other hand comes up to your mouth, teeth sinking down onto your knuckles as Sean begins devouring you.

Kitten-licks to your clit, digging his tongue into your hole, groans coming from his mouth sending vibrations against you. His hand leaves your ankle to plunge two fingers into you.

It’s too much too quick, your orgasm begins riding close to the surface with startling speed and urgency.

Sean shakes his head like a dog, mouthing at your cunt like it's the only thing keeping him alive.

Biting on your knuckles, you mewl out as you cum against his mouth, shaking and gasping out, murmurs of Sean's name on your lips.

He doesn't let up, sucking on your clit with possibly even more vigour. You whine, trying to move away, but he locks his hands around your thighs, pulling you back.

“Sean- too much.”

He groans, saying something against your pussy, sounding suspiciously like “Nuh uh.”

“Sean…” You laugh breathlessly, squirming.

Reluctantly, he pulls his head back, looking up at you with blown out pupils and mess all over his face.

“Haven't eaten something this good in years.” Sean sighs against you, mouthing at your inner thigh as he catches his own breath, “It’s just mean to take it from me.”

You roll your eyes, but run your fingers through his hair affectionately, “Fine, just… gentler.”

“Whatever the lady wishes.”

He returns to his ministrations, though making an effort to take more care. His tongue runs along your cunt gently, drinking up everything he can find, kissing your clit with his own moans.

Another, smaller orgasm runs through you, making you clench your thighs against his head. He breathes out a quiet, “fuck yes”, as if he wishes you would keep him locked in place forever.

You’re tempted to do just that.

After a moment, he rises to his feet. His hands grasp your hips, kissing your face, “Let me fuck you? Please?”

“Well… seeing as you asked so politely.” You chuckle, nudging your nose against his stubbly cheek.

Sean smiles giddily, like the cat who got the cream. A flash of fear crosses his face, eyebrows furrowing, “Dutch won’t kill me, will he?”

“Nah. He hasn't killed John yet.”

Sean whistles, “You naughty, naughty girl.”

Separating, the both of you begin hastily tearing off your clothes. Your skirt and shirt are in a pile across the room, and you get comfy on the bedroll, hot skin shivering against the cold blankets.

“Knew you were a minx when I saw you in the woods.” Sean says, pulling his shirt off.

“Oh?”

“You’ve got the look.” He smirks, “A siren, you are, luring us sailors in.”

“I hadn't done anything before Dutch.” You laugh, shredding the last of your garments and stretching out on the bedroll.

“No way.”

“Way.” Leaning forward, you tug Sean close by his belt, “I guess something's been awoken in me.”

“And aren't we a bunch of lucky fuckers for gaining your affections.” Sean groans, cupping your cheeks and kissing you deeply.

You lie back as Sean removes his belt, busying your hands by playing with the blanket below.

Sean steps out of his trousers, and clears his throat for your attention, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Your eyes land on his cock. Both Dutch and John had been impressive, and Sean was… less than. Smaller than them both, nestled amongst wiry red curls.

But Sean stands proudly, gesturing to his hard member with a flourish, “Meet MacGuire junior!”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head at him while you cover your face. You’re starting to really like this silly guy.

“Don’t laugh at him, he’ll get shy!” Sean fake pouts.

“I’m sorry.” You apologise, not at all genuinely.

“It ain’t much, but trust me I know how to use it.” He smirks, confidently sauntering over to where you recline.

He climbs on top of you, settling between your thighs with a satisfied sigh. You press your knees to his sides, bringing him close while he nuzzles against your cheek.

“Perfect, just where I’m supposed to be.” He murmurs as he begins peppering kisses along your bare chest.

Sean reaches down, one hand gripping your thigh while the other lines himself up with your entrance. It takes a few seconds of fumbling, while you press your lips together to avoid laughing again.

You feel him press against you, before Sean thrusts forward until he’s buried to the hilt. The both of you let out groans, relief filling you at being filled.

Sean sighs, shutting his eyes as he begins fucking into you, humming to himself as he increases the pace, wasting no time before he begins pounding into you.

“Oh… oh, yes…” Sean moans, “That’s the ticket.”

He’s about to start monologging, you sigh internally.

You silence him with a kiss, which he hungrily receives. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you urge him to keep going.

Sean is greedy as he takes you, hands running over every inch of skin he can find, hips slamming against yours, desperate for the warmth and pleasure of your cunt.

His pace is quick, hard, and uneven. He clearly had less experience than he likes to lead on, and he’s working with less equipment than most men.

Given all of those facts, you would have thought sex with Sean would be sorely disappointing

You’re pleasantly surprised.

Something about the feral way he fucks you hits perfectly, and you have to separate from the kiss to moan out. His hand travels down to your clit, running it vigorously and making you cry out and clench down on him.

Nothing about this is slow, it’s fast like the steam trains you watched from a safe distance.

Sean chokes out a high pitched moan, shuddering on top of you. He only gets louder with every pump of his cock within you, and he tries to silence himself by sucking on your chest.

You keen, arching against him as he sucks on one of your pebbled nipples, teeth nipping and sending jolts of electricity through your spine.

Sean adjusts his position. He sits back on his haunches and grabs your hips, pulling you up and down his cock. Sean’s pelvis catches your clit, and you arch against him, letting him use you as he desires.

You’re surrounded by a cacophony of moans and slick sounds, the tent echoing all the delicious noises produced by your writhing bodies.

It’s filthy, it’s messy, it’s ravenous, like you’re both animals in the wild.

Sean damn near sounds like an animal, in any case. His volume increases as he gets closer, crying out and moaning.

“Oh god, oh yes- almost there-!” Sean whines, body shaking as he jackhammers into you, head thrown back.

Another jolting thrust hits your clit just right, and you shake as your third orgasm erupts through you.

Sean grins when he feels it, prideful of making you peak again. His face twists into an ecstatic grimace as he twitches and begins cumming.

“Oh, oh, oh!” He howls out, his hips flush against yours, warmth spreading through your insides.

He collapses on top of you, keeping himself nestled deep within you as he huffs out warm breath against your neck.

Something about the situation, and what just happened, makes you begin giggling, cackling like a mad woman while Sean huffs.

“Can’t believe- you're laughing again.” Sean groans between taking panting breaths, “Like I didn't just fuck the shit outta you.”

You huff, “Don't know about all that.”

He lifts himself up to rest his chin on your sternum, adjusting his hips to get into a comfortable position while keeping his softening cock inside of you.

“How’s MacGuire junior feelin’ now, love?” Sean asks teasingly.

“Shut up.” You scoff, tucking a piece of his hair behind his ear, “How’s that wrist feeling?”

“Better.” He sighs, “Still need that magic kiss, though.”

You laugh, shaking your head. Taking his hand in yours, you press your lips to his inner wrist, nuzzling against the skin.

He gives you a sleepy smile, kissing your cheek. For a moment, it's just you and Silly MacGuire, and the world outside has ceased to exist-

The moment is cut short when someone dangerously close to the tent yells out, “Who left this crate here?!”

It’s Hosea.

Sean’s eyes widen, panicked as he looks out into the horizon, visualising his own imminent demise. You press your face to his chest to muffle the laugh threatening to escape you.

“...Oh he’s gonna kill me.” Sean sighs.

AN/ i don't care about canon, MY sean macguire would eat pussy until he suffocated. he'd literally get lost in the sauce. literally those videos of those cats who shove their whole face into their food until their owner has to pull them back by the scruff of their necks.

wrote the smut on my break while listening to chase icon and smoking a cheeky fag hope it hits xoxo

fic taglist: @warmsideofthepillow03 @sammymcsamerson @m1stea @iamaunknownsecret @love-you-louise @vanpan8 @6esi @idcmannn @pumpkin-toffee @littlebirdgot @ripvanwinkleee @straows @bixjan

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