Warm Hands / Charles Smith X Reader

Get up lazy pants

It was one of those days which made you wonder why you stayed with the group. Nothing particularly bad or annoying had happened – though Micahs' nasty mouth was running all day long, causing you to wish yourself deaf – but you were far beyond bored and that got you irritated. You were the gangs best con artist and quite skilled when it came to handling and repairing guns. But you were told to lay low, not rob and scam people. Nobody ever noticed they'd been robbed by you. It had literally never happened and yet still Dutch didn't allow you to town. 

Dangling you feet down the cliff, named Horseshoe Overlook, on which the group had set up camp you sighed. What a dreadful fate to be stuck here without anything to do, you'd helped with all the work that there was. You longed for somebody clever you could play tricks on. You longed for riding to town, get some other food than Pearsons' stew and canned goods. Hell, even Herr Strauss was allowed to force his disgusting loans onto poor folk – if that wasn't an criminal act, you didn't know any worse. 

You took an angry drag of your cigarette and exhaled the blue smoke, wondering about how this situation would work out in the end. The lot of you had just managed to escape the freezing cold of the Grizzlies, on the run from the law, Pinkertons and whoever wanted to see you dead. For how long would this camp last? Usually you were quite optimistic with your fate, but after all the happenings in and after Blackwater, you weren't so sure if stoic optimism was your best choice for now. 

"Y/N, get up and do some chores, would ya?" 

So Miss Grimshaw had finally found you. She walked up to you, her face a grim grimace. You flinched at the thought of what was about to follow. 

"Do you think I wouldn't notice you avoiding work? Get up, lazy pants." She grabbed your shirt on the collar and pulled you up – which was quite easy since you didn't put up a fight. Instead you sighed again. 

"Sure... what ya need?", you asked while following the woman into camp. If it wasn't for the fact that she'd just rip off your face you'd probably tried to hoax her. But you liked your face.

"If ya ask Mr. Pearson, that drag, he's always in for fresh food. Or ya could-" She cut herself off as she saw Charles strolling around, smoking; he, too, didn't seem to be all too occupied with something useful. 

That man always caught your eye. So you followed Miss Grimshaws' stare and tried to keep your poker face. Hard enough, Charles was tall and sturdy and muscular and his motherfucking shiny black hair always got your attention, whether you wanted or not. You were gaping. Again. So much for poker face.

"Mister Smith! Are you on holiday?", Miss Grimshaw shouted, causing the man to at least stop his walking around. He turned to face the grim woman and noticed you, too, standing there and suffering. "Why ain't ya huntin'? I will never hear the end of it if Pearson doesn't get some fresh deer to skin and cook."

You rolled your eyes at that. Everyday deer or rabbit or sometimes really chewy meat of animals you didn't want to know it came from. But you got the point. Charles was the most skilled hunter in the group and almost everyday he brought some game to Pearson. He found animals in spots nobody else could. So it was somehow understandable Miss Grimshaw was angry he wasn't hunting.

"Thought we got enough for 'couple o' days", he just said, killing his cigarette. "Why, isn't there?"

"If we got enough, ya could just sell them furs and whatnot. And take Y/N, I can't stand that sour face anymore." With that final blow Miss Grimshaw left the two of you standing around, in the middle of the camp. You could hear her criticizing Mary-Beth for sewing too slowly. 

"Guess we're doomed to sell something. Or else she's gonna decapitate us." You shrugged your shoulders and managed to grin at Charles as you went over to where he stood. "You don't happen to have some of 'em furs or anythin' around?"

"No. You hunt?" He seemed to examine you in the most unobtrusive way, not staring you down or giving you that this-person-seems-too-clumsy-to-hunt look. 

"Only thing I hunt is compliments." The moment you said it, you knew you made a fool of yourself. Not the first time, though. Avoiding his gaze, you cleared your throat. "I mean... no. Never hunted before."

"Well, I can show you. Come."

He sure wasn't a man of many words, but you didn't mind at all. Rather the opposite was the case, you liked how he didn't try to push himself to be the topic of conversations. 

The two of you walked to the horses and you had to restrain yourself from staring at Charles, how gentle he caressed Taimas' head. And that smile as he gave his horse an apple. It was small and sincere and so reassuring. If he ever smiled like that at you, you'd probably just melt away. How you wished he would do so while talking to you. 

It's not that you never talked to Charles – since he was just a part of the gang as you were, you happened to sit by his side at the campfire sometimes, which had led to small conversations about just anything, really. His taste in food, how he found Taima, stuff like that. These nights were always the ones you had fond memories of. Like a warm drink in winter they enlightened every bad day. 

"Y/N, are ya ready?" His soft voice got you back to place and time.
"Uh... sure." You hurried to get onto your horse, which you'd named Horse. Just in case you forgot what kind of animal you were riding. 

While adjusting on the saddle, you felt Charles frowning at you and you wished you could just frown back to mock him. But you were not sure if he'd understand that kind of joke you used to pull with your friends back in the days when you were no outlaw.