➤ Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Micah Bell, Dutch Van der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Josiah Trelawny, Kieran Duffy, Charles Smith, Sean MacGuire, Lenny Summers, Sadie Adler, Karen Jones, Mary-Beth Gaskill, Molly O’Shea x F!Reader
Note: you ever just pull something out of your ass and it… works?
He can’t help it sometimes. The way he handles his jealousy varies, but most of the time, he would want to bottle it up - thinking it’s a silly thing. You weren’t making him jealous, he knows that. He’s making himself, due to the severe lack of self-esteem he has.
At first, the man would watch silently, observing how happy you looked. Sure, he could use some attention, too — he thinks, but there isn’t any harm with you having fun. Although the man can’t help but frown at the sight.
He doesn’t want to confront you. If he ever decides to stop watching you like a hawk — he would stand beside you and flash a raised eyebrow. “Hey, honey.”
“Who… ya talkin’ to?”
It’s pretty obvious, even though he likes to believe it isn’t.
He notices your prolonged attention and time spent with someone, and he doesn’t mind — at first. He convinces himself you’ll stop soon, and you’ll be left alone. But it doesn’t.
He spends the whole day sulking, trying to do other things, but his thoughts still linger. He wishes it was him, why couldn’t it just be him? He was right there.
The man, who tries to talk, is kind of stubborn. “Think that’s enough, talkin’ to my wife.” He states simply. But there’s something deeper within his words.
He has a stupid-looking scowl on his face, whispering to himself and crossing his arms. “I don’t like how he’s lookin’ at ya.”
He won’t admit it — but under that façade of not caring, there’s a sliver of it under his thick skin. But he wouldn’t act on it, no, you could do whatever the hell you wanted.
He’s quiet, like always, but a little bit more this time, looking at you with simple glances occasionally as he sharpens his knife. The man lets out a groan of pain when he accidentally cuts himself. “Great.” And he realizes, he won’t stop thinking about it, will he?
“Who were ya talking to?” He asks. When you ask him why, he avoids the question. “No reason.”
He’ll never admit he gets jealous, however, his tense mood looms over wherever he goes.
When Dutch is jealous, he’s jealous. A marathon of thoughts run in his mind like a train. Why would she be smiling and laughing with another man’s presence, rather than his? No, it’s unacceptable.
The man approaches you immediately. No time for dilly-dallying, and he just can’t take in the sight. “Wat’cha doin’, sweetheart?” There’s something amusing about the way he’s placed a hand on your hip, trying his best to be able to smile, at least.
Dutch who doesn’t really explain why he’s acting this way, but it’s obvious with his actions alone, taking you away for himself and his attention all on you.
He knows and trusts you enough not to get jealous. He knows you love him as much as he does. Although, maybe, in his most vulnerable times, he does — just once.
He looks at you from afar, with an uncertain look in his face. He’s gotten a little uneasy, sipping a cup of coffee that doesn’t even taste like anything. He tries to read newspaper, but the words just look like gibberish. The man shakes his head, how silly of him. He hasn’t felt this in a while.
He waits until the end of the day, trying his best to shake the feeling off. But it doesn’t, and you notice. “Can you believe it? I actually got jealous.”
Just kiss him, and he’ll be alright.
He isn’t jealous, he convinces himself. But there’s something about it. He doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like feeling this way — after all, he knows you were merely talking withs someone else.
Someone else who isn’t him.
He shakes the thought off. You’ll later find Charles oddly pushing himself with hunting and chores, glistening in sweat and heat.
He’ll be quiet, at first, when asked — appearing calm. But his thoughts are the complete opposite. It doesn’t take a genius to realize his inner turmoil.
He’ll tell you the truth, though. He always does. He just needs a little reassurance.
It’s hard to mask his jealousy when his face uncontrollably grimaces. He’s upset, walking around, in a bad mood. He’ll tie his hair messily. He’ll strum the strings of his guitar with irritation. He’ll twist the pegs, completely absent-minded, trying to tune it, as the string snaps directly on his nose bridge.
He curses under his breath. He gets up, holds your hand tightly, and leads you away, without explanation.
“I’m jealous.” He says, blood running down his nose. “And I’ve made it obvious, you know.” Javier looks like a wet cat.
“What was so important with him, anyway?” He asks, with a scoff. He’s trying to act tough, but he’s currently got himself buried in your arms, with a bandage on his nose.
There’s no one more dramatic than him. A day without interaction would, and does drive him crazy — if he already isn’t. A jealous Sean jokes around, teases you, tries to get your attention. This trick usually works.
But it doesn’t, today. He’s walking, following you around, watching you talk to everyone except him. Times are busy, he’s afraid, you’ll find someone else who’s better than him.
For once, he’s a little serious. Nervous, on his toes. He’s murmuring, and laughing awkwardly as he stands there. “Me? Jealous? No, no. I don’t get jealous, hah.”
“I am…”
He’s had his hands tucked in his pockets for a while now, trying to understand what he was feeling, exactly. He waited around, kicking some rocks. He didn’t want to seem upset, but he was. No doubt.
Poor boy. Lenny doesn’t want to say anything, he doesn’t want to talk to you about it. He didn’t want to seem selfish, or come off in that way. But he couldn’t stop stealing glances at your figure, his thoughts may as well eating him up alive.
His actions are off — uncoordinated, distracted, thinking endlessly. He can’t help it. “Are you busy?”
His jealousy is silent, but not towards you, specifically. He’ll open up, when he’s holding your hands tenderly, but won’t reveal the thoughts of uncertainty that once skipped in his mind.
It’d be hard for him to accept the fact that he’s jealous. He’ll deny himself most of the time. But he was, and he knew it. He’d been brushing Branwen’s mane for about fifteen minutes now, unable to tear his eyes away.
He’s not sure what he’s doing, exactly, when he coughs behind you and looks at whoever you were with. “Hey, ah… Who’s this?”
For now, he’ll have to push away his own needs, and he understands that. But he’ll be beside you, curling his fingers between yours, interlocking it tightly.
There’s enough confidence in him to reassure himself and let you be, most of the time. Although that doesn’t mean he’s not needy. That, he will be.
There’s a loneliness that creeps up his chest when he isn’t with you, when he’s away. He’ll think about you. Trelawny squints his eyes at the person in front of you, taking a bit too much of your time for his liking. As he says, it ‘pains him not being near you.’
“My dear, why don’t we go ahead now?” He coos sweetly. He’s trying his hard, and his best, to be cute. He grins when he wins, celebrating like a child and taking your hand in his.
It’s not often she’ll get envious, while it is easy to provoke her. She’ll say a word, or two, or a few sentences — when it’s needed.
She’ll cock a brow, place a hand on her hip as she watches for a moment. Maybe she’ll wait a staggering one minute before she goes and joins the conversation. The woman smiles at you, and asks. “Hey, honey. Who’re you talking to?” And look at the man in front of you with a now neutral expression. She has no interest, whatsoever, only to you.
“Well, we really have to go now, sir. Surely ya won’t mind if I take her back, right? I know ya won’t. ‘Cause she ain’t yours.” It’s hard to prevent whatever spews out of her mouth.
“So yer gonna talk to her the whole night, that it?” You hear from behind you, Karen says to who you’re talking to. It’s not common for her to get jealous, but she’ll let you know. It’s a little scary, really, the way she can be so blunt.
Expect her to be, initially, in a not so bright mood.
Maybe she’ll even drink a bottle or two, in nights without you beside her. Jealousy’s a nasty thing, and she tries to keep in check. Her tongue is loose, though, she can’t do much about it.
She’s been peeking, looking around who you were with the past hour. The book in her hands, suddenly becomes a little harder to read. She wants to talk to you, be with you — but that apparently can’t be done.
She’ll come to you, a little shy, smiling a little. “Who’re you talking to, [Reader]?” Pretty please will you go and talk to me instead? It’s written all over her face. She doesn’t really understand why not, you see.
It’s not along before you’re eventually dragged away. Sometimes you don’t even notice. She’s sneaky like that, has a penchant for averting your attention to her. Although with good intention.
She understands, you’re a busy person. And that means you lend a lot of time to other people, and talk to them, and go with them. Your attention, love, and care has always been enough for her. But she always thinks, and thinks.
Molly notices the little things. The way your body is close, the way your elbows and hands slightly brush against some people. It upsets her to an extent where you’ll find her huddled away, just waiting for you to visit her.
“It’s nothing.” But she’ll crack the next moment and tell you all about how she’s been lonely, and how she missed you. “Do you still love me? I do.”
Tell her you do. All she needs is a little reassurance.