#cantankerous posts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

photo1030 · 3 months ago

Text

Leather and Lace - Chapter 26: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Summary: You get caught up in town with Micah when running for supplies, and Arthur is none too pleased about it.

*This image is not mine but comes from Pintrest, posted by Duknan

Word Count - 14, 290 (Sorry this is a long one!)

A/N: This one took me awhile and I was about to post it, and then decided to rewrite and reorganize some passages. I know there are strong opinions of Micah Bell out there, but don't hate on me. This will have some sympathies towards our favorite antagonist. Just trying to delve into his character a bit.

Special thank you, as always, to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my cheerleader and beta-reader.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - still in progress but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

The convoy of wagons and horses carefully snakes its way down the narrow mountain path from Colter. The crisp, frigid air is filled with the sounds of creaking wood and squelching mud as the horses plow through melting snow and sludge underfoot. The last remnants of delicate snowflakes dance in the wind, skipping about like crystalline winter fairies before landing on riders and wagons alike.

Dutch has decided that you all have been hiding up in the wicked winds and snow of the Grizzly Mountains for long enough and it is now time to leave due to several factors. The robbery of the train belonging to Leviticus Cornwall was a success, there is a new addition to the group with Mrs. Adler (who is still recovering from the loss of her husband and home), John is slowly on the mend from the wolf attack, but most importantly, there are O’Driscoll’s afoot in the area. While Dutch is not intimidated by Colm O’Driscoll, he is certainly well aware that his own gang is wounded and not up to snuff as they usually are. It’s best to move the group while he can, getting you all to a more temperate area, and regroup with a new plan for the gang’s future.

While Arthur is still a little cantankerous about what happened in Blackwater and, of course, the events after, you and he have at least reconnected to some extent, which has calmed your nerves a bit from the calamity that led to the gang’s abrupt escape to the mountains. It is hard enough to deal with what has happened without having to fret over your still fairly new relationship with a man who has spent years barricading himself off from anyone else.

Sometimes, you can steal Arthur away and get him to relax with you, finding comfort in warm embraces and delicious kisses, to feel warm, strong hands holding each other when it seems like the world around you is about to fall apart. But it doesn’t take much once Arthur is away from you to ignite his vexation once more.

Dutch currently leads the gang through a shallow end of the frigid river and across the rocky riverbed, which wreaks havoc on the wheels of the old wagons. This is probably not the most pleasant path, but it is a more direct route to your destination and the sooner you are off this damn mountainside, the better.

But of course, as luck would have it, the wagon that Arthur and Hosea are driving barely makes it to the other side of the bank before one of the wheels breaks. The vehicle groans and wobbles before the wheel pops off entirely, causing it to lurch, the axle stubbornly planting itself into the gloopy, frigid mud.

“Ah, shit!” Arthur hollers, tossing the reins down in a heap at his feet in frustration.

Upon hearing the loud snapping of wood, and Arthur’s even louder cursing, the convoy stops. “Everything alright back there?” hollers Bill from up ahead, twisting in his saddle to try to get a better view.

“Does everything look alright to you?” Arthur shouts sarcastically, losing his patience by the second.

“Well, what’s going on?” Javier peevishly asks, curious as to how long this will delay them as he’s eager to get out of the cold and on to the new camp.

“I broke the goddamn wheel!” Arthur’s breath huffs sharply out of his nose like a bull as his burly frame jumps down from the wagontop and he lumbers around the side to assess the damage.

A grunt of aged exhaustion bubbles from Hosea’s weathered lips as he too climbs down from the driver seat where he’s been sitting next to Arthur for the last several hours. The old man works the stiffness out of his joints as he moves to stand next to Arthur, blowing warm air into his hands and flexing as he adjusts his gloves. “Well, no sense grumbling about. Let’s get it fixed, then.”

At this point, Charles Smith has sauntered over to see if he can lend a hand. While Arthur, Hosea and Charles toss playful banter at one another while fighting with the unwelcomed repair, you eagerly capitalize on the moment of reprieve to climb out of the back of the wagon to stretch your legs and back. Taking advantage of being in his close proximity, you opted to ride with Arthur rather than riding your own horse or up with the girls in their wagon, but your butt is not thanking you for that decision at the moment.

Rolling your neck as you rub the tired muscles nestled there, you catch sight of the O’Driscoll that Arthur had caught up by Mrs. Adler’s place. Curious about the new arrival, you take a moment to study him as he stands tethered to the chuck wagon. He seems skittish and frail like a baby duckling trying to stay close to its nest. He doesn’t seem to be all that impressive and even though Dutch thinks this young man may have some valuable information, you are more inclined to think he just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Arthur is convinced that this little man is trouble, but you are not so sure. To Arthur, the only good O’Driscoll is dead O’Driscoll. But something in the man’s terrified and untrusting eyes tells you that he hates Colm O’Driscoll more than anything.

While the torture has not ensued just yet, the gang has not exactly been hospitable to this hostage. With the others distracted, you take the opportunity to approach the O’Driscoll yourself. You observe him with a piqued interest as you get closer to him. He doesn’t seem to be that dangerous as he shutters and shakes, nervous of every move around him. The hazel eyes nest in deep sockets, ringed with dark circles, and continually dart all around him. And it dawns on you that he is not looking at the convoy of people who hold him captive, but at the treeline and distant hills. It’s as if he’s more worried about the outside threat from someone else than he is about being left with the Van Der Linde gang.

“Hello,” you say softly, your voice low so as to not startle him. The man doesn’t reply when you catch his attention, but just stares at you with wide, distrustful eyes.

But you meet his uneasiness with your usual gentle smile. “I brought you some bread and water.” He watches your hands float to the canteen around your shoulder and then to the linen napkin in your palm. His eyes widen even more with a spellbound awe, the gurgling sound of his painfully hungry stomach filling the awkward silence as you push the items into his cold hands. “It’s okay. Here.”

His hands are still bound, but at least Bill tied them in front of him and thankfully, he is able to hold the food and canteen on his own without you feeding him. You hand him the items, but quickly step back, mindful that this is still an O’Driscoll in front of you.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, his voice feeble as he swallows the bread down. His eyes are sunken and dark from lack of food and his clothing is tattered and ripped. He is a sad sight, indeed. “This is m-mighty kind of you, ma’am. I know you all don’t have reason to trust me. But I-I appreciate the kindness just the same.”

A chuckle crosses your lips as you watch as the O’Driscoll quickly shoves the bread through his chapped lips. “Well, we may be a group of outlaws, but we’re not heartless. But if you do know something, it would be wise of you to tell them.” His chewing slows as he takes in your warning, nodding slightly in acceptance of his fate. “You’re Kieran, right? That’s your name? I’m Y/N.”

“That’s right. Kieran.” A small smile begins to bloom across his dirty face, a shred of relief fluttering in his chest like a butterfly at the act of mercy. But he is soon distracted from your kind face to the commotion going on behind you.

“That man.” Keiran nods past you, eyebrows raised in apprehension at the individual who is still ranting and cursing while fixing the broken wagon. “That’s Arthur Morgan, isn’t it?”

Your demeanor instantly drops at the idea that this potential enemy knows Arthur’s name, alarmed at the mere thought of Arthur being endangered. Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing! I-I don’t mean nothing by it,” Keiran quickly yammers. “It’s just-”

“Just what?” You take a slow, deliberate step closer to him. He cringes when he sees your fiery eyes darken and your shoulders set defensively.

Kieran casts his fearful eyes downward, afraid he may have offended the one person who has shown him any kindness in this situation. “It’s just…I’ve heard talk of him, is all.”

“What kind of talk?” Your once pleasant and sympathetic tone has turned hard and untrusting now that Arthur is threatened.

“He’s just…an enigma of sorts.” Kieran risks a cautious look up at you again, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he wobbles in the cold air. “I heard talk of how he’s bested men when he was way outnumbered, against the odds. H-how he has what’s been told a “dead eye”. You know, where you can aim your gun and…and kill a man with such accuracy that it’s unreal. I heard he can beat a man to death with his bare hands within five minutes! That he once wrestled a wolverine-”

“It wasn’t a wolverine,” you interrupt Kieran’s nervous rambling with a sigh. ”It was a bobcat.”

“Oh.”

“And yes, he is all of those things.”

Kieran nods at your confirmation of his fears. “It’s just funny to see somethin’ you’ve been warned about in the flesh. Like seein’ the devil in person, you know?”

“Well, let that be a lesson to you, then,” you warn, crossing your arms over your chest, tucking your jacket closer to you. “I wouldn’t piss him off.”

“He seems real kind to you, though.” A shred of hope glimmers in Kieran’s eyes that maybe this demon he’s heard so much of is not so bad. Or, that this angel of mercy standing in front of him may be the key to calm that demon.

“Yeah, well, he likes me. There aren’t too many that can say that.”

“Y/N!” Suddenly, you hear Arthur’s gravelly voice calling out your name. Turning your head in his direction, you see Arthur standing with a look of concern plastered across his weathered features. “Get away from that piece of shit and get back over here. C’mom, time to move!” He sharply waves his arm at you, impatient to have you back at his side. Arthur still doesn’t trust this O’Driscoll, which means he wants you nowhere near him.

“Well, Kieran, it was nice chatting with you.” You give him one last tired smile before collecting the canteen and turn to head back to the wagon.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Kieran calls to you, his fitful eyes following you as you retreat back to where Arthur looms in the not-so-far-off distance as he eyes the prisoner with a cold and hateful gaze. Arthur’s countenance doesn’t waver when you smile up at him, placing a loving hand on his forearm. The only crack in his angry, rugged wall is when he gently places a large gloved hand to the small of your back, ushering you into the back of the wagon once more.

Hosea wants to stay in an area called Horseshoe Overlook and with no other idea readily in mind, Dutch agreed. It’s still a bit of a journey from the base of the mountainside so it is suggested that the gang takes a brief stop while someone heads over to the nearest town on the way to the Overlook. Supplies were low before you even left Blackwater all those weeks ago, and you’ve been scrounging ever since for the duration of your stay in Colter. Pearson needs his food stock replenished, and you need medical supplies as everything you had stockpiled has gone to caring for John after being attacked by the wolves.

Safest to travel in small numbers, you offer to go yourself. You know what to look for on both the food and the medical supplies. But Arthur is not about to let you go anywhere on your own in an area he is unfamiliar with, so without question, he will be escorting you.

“Micah, why don’t you head over there with them?” suggests Dutch, puffing away on a cigar, the smoke encircling his dark curls like a vaporous crown from where he sits perched upon his horse, observing the small group of you that has collected in front of him to discuss what the next move will be. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with around here, best to send backup just in case.”

The mere idea that Micah should ride along with you makes Arthur bristle. “I don’t need any ‘backup’, Dutch. Certainly not from him,” he growls, waving a flippant hand towards Micah.

“Fine with me, I don’t want to be baby-sittin’ you anyway, cowpoke,” sneers Micah in response, his hands instinctively settling upon his gunbelt. The gang hasn’t stopped for more than twenty minutes and the air is already charged with the animosity between the two men.

“That was not a suggestion,” Dutch muses back at the two pouty overgrown children. “Now, get going and be careful. We don’t need any attention right now.”

“We’ll be fine, Dutch,” you quickly interject before either Arthur or Micah can launch another insult. “Come on, you two. Let’s get this done, shall we?” Shaking your head playfully at the two bickering outlaws, you head over to saddle Blue for the quick detour.

The lemon-yellow sun of the late morning dodges between rolling clouds as the three of you head out, riding in silence, with Arthur along your side and Micah trailing behind you. The nearest town is about an hour’s ride and is more of a trading village for those like yourselves, traveling between the mountain pass and down into the more populated territories. Upon arrival, you are quick to notice that there is no flourish or panache here. It is a series of rows made up of simple buildings, each marked with their specialty. The outlying area is littered with small houses and cabins nestled into the hillside for the full-time residents. But the trading post is meant for in-and-out traffic, a quick stop between destinations.

“Huh, seems…’quaint’,” you hum, looking over the dusty little village, watching the people lumber about their tasks.

“That’s one word for it,” mutters Micah, clearly unimpressed with the destination. His mustache twitches as he sucks his teeth in disappointment.

“Let’s just get what we need and get outta here,” reminds Arthur, his gaze skimming over the open area. He sits rigid atop Buck, his worn gambler’s hat pulled down over his crystal-blue eyes and assesses any possible threats. “We don’t need to be lingering too long out in the open.”

“You’re such an old woman, Morgan. What could possibly happen in a shitty little town like this?” complains Micah, waving his hand impatiently at the small expanse of buildings.

Arthur pitches back an equally bitter glare. “This old woman will put her boot right in your ass if you keep running your mouth, Micah.”

“Boys!” you snap sharply, raising your hands up at each of them to halt their childish bickering. “Let’s play nice just for a bit, hmm?”

A mocking grin rolls across Micah’s face as he urges Baylock forward past the two of you, causing Arthur to roll his eyes in annoyance.

“Come on, handsome,” you coo sweetly to Arthur. “Forget about that fool and let’s find ourselves some food.”

He turns towards you, tilting his head up just enough for you to catch a lifted eyebrow from under the brim of his hat. “Should I be offended you use the same pet name for me as you do that damn horse of yours?”

A cheeky grin decorates your face, making your eyes glitter mischievously. “Considering how much I love this damn horse of mine, you should be flattered.” You reach down and pat Blue’s neck, drawing a knicker from his wide chest.

Arthur absolutely adores your playfulness, but the mirth slowly drains from his eyes as his gaze returns to Micah who is heading over to the gunsmith. “It’s a good thing you’re here, Y/N. Otherwise, I’d tear that weasel a new ass the minute I get my hands on him.”

“I know, I know,” you muse as you follow his line of sight. “But like you said, let’s get this done and then you don’t have to deal with him for awhile, yeah?” Arthur only nods in agreement as he nudges Buck to follow you down the narrow street to the nearest hitching post outside of what appears to be the closest thing to a general store.

While you and Arthur go about securing some canned goods and clean bandages, Micah has been busy procuring more ammunition from the smith. Reconvening at the horses, the three of you pack the saddlebags with the new supplies. You casually walk around to the other side of Blue to stuff the last bit of goods into the dusty leather bag and you let your gaze wander, taking in the simplicity of the little town.

As you scan the front of the post office, which sits next to the general store, your eye catches something. You do a double-take as the blood drains from your face, eyes wide as saucers.

“Oh hell,” you whisper under your breath. Your blood runs cold as ice when you see a sketch of your likeness and your alias scrawled upon a browning piece of paper that is nailed to the bulletin board of the post office.

Noticing your change in mood, Arthur follows your sight-line and sees the object of your trepidation. He cautiously walks over and yanks the poster down, reading it over as he returns to the horses where you and Micah are standing. And Arthur is none too happy about this, either. You give Arthur a worried and guilt-ridden look as his lips flatten into a hard, angry line as his hands fist around the parchment, crumpling the edges.

Bounty to be paid of one hundred dollars

By decree of Sheriff Franklin Langston, be on the look out for this woman known as Mrs. Evageline Callahan. Wanted for robbery of the Red Rock Savings and Loan and the assault of a law officer. Wanted alive.

The bounty notice details the robbery in Red Rock where you had planted yourself as a decoy before helping Arthur crack the locks and safes, and the local Sheriff there has targeted you as an accomplice. But what the notice does not go into detail about is how the sheriff tried to play on your supposed vulnerability. He had escorted you to a hotel room under the pretense of “protection”. But it quickly became obvious to you that his protection was the furthest from his mind.

While locked in a room with the scoundrel, you secretly drugged him before he could take advantage of you and you slipped out from under his unconscious nose, walking right out the front door with no one the wiser. No doubt the respected lawman’s pride is hurt that not only was he fooled by a woman, but a woman who got the best of him in the end.

Anger and worry swirl violently within Arthur’s chest, making his heart beating rapidly. He has tried to keep you out of harm's way, but it seems he’s failed. He stupidly thought that he could be an outlaw and still keep you innocently protected from the life that comes with it. You are the one thing that he holds most precious, like a delicate flower in the cold morning frost, to be safeguarded at all costs.

He had asked you not to do that job. Begged you, in fact. But how could you tell Dutch Van Der Linde ‘no’? And with you there to pick the locks of the vault at the bank, Arthur and the others were able to come away with a hell of a lot more cash than they would have without you. And, with no casualties, too. But that has also opened the door for you to be implicated as an accomplice and now on the law’s wanted list.

Micah looks over Arthur’s shoulder at the offending paper being fisted in his gloved hands. “Well, what do ya know, she’s an ’outlaw’ now,” he chuckles. “Shit, this day just keeps getting better and better. Don’t look so glum, there, cowpoke.” He lands a teasing swat along Arthur's arm. “Thought you’d be happy knowing you two really are made for each other.”

“Shut up, Micah!” you and Arthur both yell in unison.

“Arthur? Arthur, I’m sorry,” you mutter sheepishly as you place your hands on his bulging forearms. But your plea only makes his teeth grind in anger at himself even harder.

“What you got to be sorry for?!” His nostrils flare slightly when he turns his flashing eyes to meet your anxious gaze.

“Well…”

“Hey!”

Before you can finish your thought, someone’s sharp voice cuts through the crowd. Whipping your collective heads in that direction, the three of you see an older man standing outside the general store, pointing his bony finger at you, his bespectacled eyes wide with shock.

“That’s her! That woman they’re looking for!”

Your whole body freezes, paralyzed with fear as the man’s voice carries through the dusty street, announcing your presence to everyone. A crowd of curious onlookers descends upon the square at the noise. Arthur quickly places himself in front of you like a shield and you shrink behind him, cowering as your hands come up to grasp at the back of his coat as if you could draw courage from his sheer bulk.

“We don’t want no trouble.” Arthur addresses the crowd, holding one hand up in peace. “But if anyone makes one move towards her, there will be trouble.” Your breath catches in your throat as Arthur draws himself up to his full height, widening his stance and shoulders pushed back to make himself even more massive than already is. His neck tightens as his chiseled jaw clenches painfully. His hand instinctively hovers over his holstered gun, a clear warning to those around him. Likewise, Micah takes a defensive position flanking Arthur’s side to hide you from the crowd, both hands just itching to take hold of the weapons on his hips.

It’s as if time stands still, not even a bird making a sound, as a breeze flits through the street, rolling dead leaves about like discarded paper. Arthur can feel your fingers trembling through the thick material of his coat. Your terrified eyes dart in all directions, waiting for someone to make the next move. The bitter, coppery taste of blood creeps into your mouth as you bite down on your bottom lip in anticipation. But you don’t have long to wait.

A single gunshot rings out, planting an ill-aimed bullet a mere yard from your feet. Gasping in panic, you jump backwards into Blue’s side, causing him to whinny loudly as he rears up in fear. Arthur’s arm immediately spins as if of its own accord to find the source, the offending shooter instantly crumbling in a heap with a red weeping hole in his chest.

A woman’s scream cuts into the tension-charged air as things explode into chaos everywhere. Arthur and Micah pull their weapons, firing in a whirlwind of motion with you placed behind them.

“Move!” Arthur roars, shoving you to your feet as you scramble in frantic movement.

The three of you sprint through the streets, trying to elude the townsfolk. But shots are fired from all around, causing you to constantly change directions. Shots ring out, whizzing past your head, and you let go of Arthur’s jacket to cradle your head, but by doing so, you eventually get separated from him.

You get a glimpse of Arthur as he throws himself behind a stack of barrels seeking shelter from the onslaught while you and Micah tuck yourselves behind a wagon on the opposite side of the street. But every time Arthur tries to make a break to you, a spray of bullets knocks him back, holding him in place.

“We gotta get outta here!” hollers Micah over the deafening pandemonium, grabbing your shoulder and trying to pull you towards himself.

“Not without Arthur!” you scream back, shoving his hand off of you.

But you watch in horror as a group of men descend on your outlaw. With the townsfolk distracted with Arthur, Micah grabs your arm, pulling you to your feet. “We gotta go! Big man can take care of himself!”

But you dig your heels in like an obstinate horse. Your eyes shoot back to Arthur, his keen scrutiny moving between the mob and your petrified face. He lifts his hands and begins to fire at the men coming down the street, trying to keep their attention away from you and Micah.

“Get the hell out of here! Go!” he yells at you, waiving you to move on. Too numb with the fear of leaving Arthur to move of your own accord, you absentmindedly allow Micah to drag you away from the square.

Micah leads you down the narrow street amongst the shouting of everyone around you, keeping along the buildings and firing into the crowds to ward off any following. Shards of glass and wooden splinters cascade into your hair as a rain of bullets from all directions ricochet off of the buildings and fills the air with choking clouds of smoke that burns your throat every time a shriek of panic escapes your lungs. Your feet scramble to keep up, desperately trying not to lose your footing and drag Micah down with you. Your head ducks into Micah’s side, blindly following wherever he leads you as your hands maintain a death-grip on his jacket.

You and Micah bolt in various directions, your worn boots zigzagging in the dirt, trying to elude the mob, but it seems there are guns pointed at you at every turn. This may be a tiny town, but they do not tolerate any trouble here, the whole town arming themselves to protect against any threat. Shop owners, the blacksmith, any able body pops out with a gun in hand and aimed at you. Micah skids to a halt more than once to change directions, seeking out an escape route.

The spray of bullets pushes you down yet another alley between the saloon and the small hotel, dodging between smaller barrels and crates that litter the ground. You lost the mob by ducking down this corridor, but dread freezes your breath when you find yourselves at a dead-end. You pause gasping for air with your hands on your knees as your head swivels, scouring the alley for a way out. Off in the distance, you can hear the shouts of your pursuers all around you. And they are getting closer by the minute.

Micah’s back rounds like a cat getting ready to pounce, his shoulders hunched and coiled tight like a spring. His eyes narrow and dart, assessing his surroundings.

And then the damnedest thing happens. Surprisingly, Micah pushes you behind him, holding his arm protectively over you and places himself between you and the oncoming crowd.

“Get ready.” His voice is low and serious, not carrying the usual arrogance and tasteless jokes that spill from his filthy mouth. “Here.” And he pulls another gun from his belt, shoving it in your direction. You stand there staring at the piece in your hand as if it is a foreign object, its cold metal almost burning your skin, before looking to him once more for more explanation.

Micah holds his two guns, both hands angled upwards and ready to fire at the first person to breach the corner, expecting a full-on shootout to erupt in the narrow alley at any moment.

“When they come, bullets will fly and you gotta be ready to move,” he says over his shoulder to you. “You shoot the first thing you see comin’ round that corner and don’t stop. We’ll push our way out. We need to cut a path and make a run for the horses.”

But being separated from Arthur, you suddenly become dizzy and short of breath. “Wait, there’s got to be another way!” Your voice elevates in pitch and volume with a vehement shake of your pounding head. “We’ll get gunned down for sure if we go out there!”

“No time. I gotta get you out of here, princess.” Micah’s sudden concern for your safety confuses the hell out of you, silencing your protests. “Unless you know how to hide in plain sight?”

In a split second, his comment causes an idea to form in your mind. A crazy idea. How do you hide in plain sight? And before he can even comprehend what is happening, you wrap both hands around Micah’s face, drawing him to you and crash your mouth into his. You pull him along with you as you backpedal towards the side of the building.

Taken off guard, Micah stumbles a bit as you pull him overtop of yourself when your back hits the hard wood-siding of the saloon. His eyes shoot wide open with shock, but he quickly reciprocates your actions. Micah doesn’t question your plan or motives in the slightest despite the danger you find yourselves in and, taking full advantage of the close proximity to you, he thrusts his tongue into your mouth. You whimper at the sudden intrusion as the stale tobacco scent that carries on his mustache fills your nostrils. You can taste his foul breath as his saliva mixes with your own and you try not to gag.

Almost immediately, you begin to second guess your little scheme and your trembling hands land on his shoulders about to push him off of you, but the sounds of the encroaching crowd right outside the alley halts your decision. Your eyes split open and look past Micah’s shoulder toward the street and you begin to see the blur of running men, the sunlight glinting off of the guns in hand in their attempt to hunt you down. So instead of pushing him off of you, your fingers quickly fumble as they pull Micah’s jacket and hat off him, tossing them to the ground at your feet, for he’d be recognized for sure if anyone sees that white hat and coat of his.

The hollering and commotion of your pursuers gets louder and louder. Your heart pounds in your ears, sweat beading at your temples. While you are in a panic about being found and gunned down like dogs in the alley, Micah seems to have completely forgotten about the mob on his heels. Having dropped his own guns at his feet once you were pressed against the building, his rough hands are now free to grasp and pinch at your hips as he pushes his pelvis into yours, grinding into you.

The crowd of people are at the end of the alley now and in desperation to sell the facade, you lift your leg up over Micah’s hip, pulling him in tighter to you and cover his face with your hands to shield him from the hoard of men that run past the alley entrance. Thankfully, the mob surges past you without so much as an afterthought, thinking that the two of you are just another drunken lot behind the bar who are too impatient to get a room.

The wave of commotion eventually recedes, the shouting and hollering slowly getting more faint as the mob moves down the street. As soon as you feel you are in the clear, you instantly try to push the disgusting outlaw off of you.

“Stop.” The muffled demand pushes past your lips which are being devoured, Micah’s tongue swirling around your mouth. You shove his shoulders, but he doesn't move, his face still smashed against yours.

You try to turn your face away from him in an attempt to break the sloppy kissing that Micah is desperately trying to prolong. “Stop it.” You push at him again, but his greedy hands clamp down painfully on your hips, refusing to give you up.

“Okay, that’s enough!” you holler, using your anger to summon all of your strength and roughly shove him from you. Heat flushes throughout your whole body as you try to draw slow, calming breaths into your lungs. Micah stumbles backwards a bit at the change of direction, with a huge, smug grin plastered on his dirty face.

Just the mere sight of the greasy man makes your skin bristle with goosebumps. A hateful, contemptuous scowl spreads across your heated cheeks as you spit into the dirt. “You’re a bit of a lunatic, you know that?”

Micah licks his lips as if he’s just tasted a most delectable dinner, his tongue dragging along that repulsive mouth of his as he rocks back on his heels. “I prefer the term ‘eccentric’. Besides, that little performance was all your idea, Y/N”. He waves his finger accusingly at you.

“Ugh, what the hell is wrong with you?” you groan, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as a choking sound erupts from the back of your throat.

“So many things, sweetheart...so many things.”

“Let’s just get the hell out of here, please. We need to find Arthur.” Micah’s conceited grin instantly drops from his face at the sound of Arthur’s name, his sullen eyes following you as you shove past him and stomp your way back towards the street.

Sticking close to the shadows and hugging the storefronts, you carefully make your way out of the village, scanning for Arthur or any of your pursuers.

“There! Over there! There’s two of ‘em!” Your blood runs cold and your heart nearly stops when the shouts of one of the townsfolk alerts anyone within earshot to your and Micah’s location.

“Fuck!” Micah immediately clamps down your hand and sprints, dragging you to your horses which are only a few yards out of your reach now. Upon reaching the hitching posts, Micah hurls you in front of him towards Baylock who is nervously pawing at the ground. The horse tosses his head in agitation, his haunting blue eyes rolled and ears pinned back.

Suddenly Micah lets out a stifled grunt, lurching forward when a bullet bites into the flesh of his shoulder. Like a bear that has been provoked, he angrily spins around, roaring at the top of his lungs and rapidly firing into the oncoming cluster of men, mowing them down in a spray of red to buy you time as you frantically climb into Baylock’s saddle.

With one last defiant shot into an unlucky local’s skull, Micah swings himself up behind you and you take off, heading for the obscurity of the woods and leaving the dirty little town behind.

Your heart thunders loudly in your ears as Micah’s horse pushes hard through the woods to head back to camp. The sunlight peppering through the trees is like a kaleidoscope of color, blurring and swirling and making you nauseous as Baylock races through the brush, snorting heavily as he carries his burden. Your hands are white-knuckled as your fingernails dig into the leather of the saddle horn.

In your adrenaline haze, you vaguely feel Micah pressed against your back. Your body begins to go limp and Micah wraps an arm around your waist to secure you from falling and getting trampled under the horse’s hooves while his other extends in front of you, hand fisted around the reins and urging the horse on.

You’ve been riding for thirty minutes with no other riders on your heels when you finally pull your mind together. “Stop! Micah, please stop!”

“Can’t stop now, princess!” He shouts from behind you.

“Please!” You grasp his hand in yours, squeezing desperately. “I have to stop!”

Your touch instantly resonates with Micah, the feeling of your fingers along his skin radiating through his arm like electricity, and he immediately pulls back on the reins. The horse skids to a halt, dancing in agitation at the abrupt cease of motion. “Woa, boy, woa”, Micah snaps sharply.

You desperately try to catch your breath, your chest heaving for the brisk air as you fold over the saddlehorn. For once in his life, Micah mercifully sits quietly behind you, waiting for you to regain control of your breathing and taking notice of how your body moves pressed against his.

“We have to go back,” you finally manage to breathe out.

“What?” he snaps. “Have you lost your mind?! Ain’t no way in hell we’re goin’ back there!”

“But we left Arthur back there!” A mixture of fear and pleading infuses your voice, matching your tear-rimmed eyes that shine in the fractured sunlight of the trees as you look over your shoulder at Micah.

“He can take care of himself!”

“But what if-“

“Look, you want to go back there, Y/N, be my guest.” He waves his arms back in the direction that you just escaped from to emphasize his point. “But you’re goin’ on your own! I already got my ass shot getting you out! Or did you forget that?”

You bite your lip at his statement, guilt flooding your chest.

“Best thing to do is head back to camp and wait for Morgan there.”

You hate to admit it, but Micah is right. Arthur had a crowd on his tail but nothing worse than what he’s had before. With you out of the way, that leaves him free to worry about his own ass. You know Micah won’t help you find Arthur, and you will be of little use to Arthur now, anyway. And to his point, Micah does have a bullet in his shoulder right now because of you. You both need to get back to camp safely so you can assess the damage. That is where you will be the most useful.

“Alright. You’re right,” you brokenly whisper, casting your eyes to the forest floor in defeat. “Let’s head home.”

“Now, you’re making some sense,” he smirks, his dirty blonde locks swaying over his shoulders as he nods in victory. Micah digs his heels into Baylock’s side and the horse spurs forward once more, heading into the thick of the woods.

The idea of leaving without Arthur is like a knife in your chest and feels so horribly wrong to you, like a betrayal. The trees begin to blur again and seem to be almost suffocating as they surround you, offering you coverage, but also yet another obstacle to your heart's desire.

You twist your neck to look past Micah and back towards the town. There is no sign of the townsfolk, but no sign of Arthur, either. Your heart sinks as you slowly turn to face forward again, a silent prayer on your lips.

—--------------------------------------------

*This image is not mine, but was posted on Pintrest by Len

You and Micah ride into the makeshift camp, quickly dismounting and make your way into the circle of wagons. You are met with looks of confusion and a cacophony of questions from your fellow gang members when they note your frazzled state and Micah’s bleeding shoulder, not to mention that Arthur is not with you. But before you can even string coherent thoughts to answer your friends, the sound of hoof-beats fills the air. Your head snaps back to the tree line and you see Arthur barreling through the trees at full speed with your horse in tow. His eyes, bright and shining, dart in every direction, scanning the group of people, hoping to find your face.

Trembling hands cover your mouth as your eyes flutter with the wave of relief to see him safe. Letting out a huge breath, your wobbly legs sprint towards Arthur. Buck hasn’t even come to a full stop yet before Arthur springs from the saddle, his worn boots barely touching the mud-packed earth before he strides in your direction.

As soon as you are close enough, you hurl yourself into his large frame and throw your arms around his shoulders, your face buried in the crevice of his neck with a choked sob, his heady scent of sweat and leather engulfing your senses. His arms immediately wrap tightly around you, lifting you clean off the ground, relishing the feeling of your warm, able body against his once more.

“Y/N! Are you alright?!” Arthur finally puts you down and leans back, holding you at arm’s length to get a good look at you, his keen eyes skipping around and taking in every inch of you from head to toe.

“Yes, I’m fine, Arthur,” you laugh incredulously. “Are you alright? What happened? How did you get out of there?”

But Arthur just shakes his head, waving off your question. Because it doesn’t matter to him if he is alright. It is you that is his sole focus. “‘Bout lost my mind leaving you with this idiot.“ He throws a nonchalant wave in Micah’s direction.

Your lips press together in a slight grimace. “Well, to be honest, Micah saved my life. If it wasn’t for him, I would be in jail or gunned down in an alley right now.”

Arthur’s body freezes, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he didn’t hear you correctly. “Come again?” He turns to look at Micah who just grins, arms crossed over his puffed-out chest.

“Don’t look so surprised, Arthur,” Micah gloats. “Although, a little gratitude for saving your woman’s life would be nice. But, don’t worry.” He holds his hand up as if to halt any further argument on Arthur’s part. “Y/N thanked me enough already.” He shakes his eyebrows suggestively with a knowing curl of his lip.

Micah's hungry gaze sweeps over you and you feel Arthur's entire body tense. “What the hell is he talkin’ ‘bout?” He spins on you now, eyes flashing and demanding an explanation.

You can feel your cheeks burn red-hot and your chin drops to your chest to avoid looking at either Arthur or Micah. And with a deep, regretful sigh, you relate the story of your escape to Arthur, including how you had to kiss and paw at Micah in hopes of blending into the background behind the saloon to evade the town’s attention.

Arthur stands there listening to your story without a word. His whole body radiates like lightning in a bottle, his nostrils flaring slightly as he breathes deeply, the muscles in his jaw twitching. You watch him carefully as he processes this unwelcome information, his fists clenching open and closed like a pump.

You can see Arthur’s thoughts flashing like a roaring wildfire across his face. You're not sure if he’s going to punch Micah in the face, or tear into you for pulling such an outlandish stunt. He can’t be jealous, as that was certainly not the intent of your actions. But then again, Arthur doesn’t want anyone else even looking at you, let alone touching you. Least of all Micah goddamn Bell.

Seeing Arthur’s clearly visible disdain for the situation, Micah cannot help himself but to twist the imaginary knife in the outlaw’s gut right now. “What’s a-matter, Morgan? Jealous?” His beady eyes twinkle with a sinister mirth that would make the devil himself blush.

Arthur shoots a death-stare back to Micah. “What the hell do I have to be jealous of you for?”

Micah simply shrugs, the smugness just oozing from his very being. “Maybe ‘cause your woman kissed me? Maybe she liked it more than she’s letting on?” And his vulgar eyes flick to you, causing you to gasp at the audacity of his statement.

And that is the last straw.

Finally, the stress of the day causes Arthur to snap like the tension of a high-strung bow and in a second he lunges at Micah with a speed that belies someone of his stature. The other men of the camp are quick to intervene, prying the two outlaws apart as arms and fists grapple at each other in a blur of force. You try to wedge yourself between them once Bill and Javier carve an ample enough gap for you to squeeze into. You plant your wide-open palms on Arthur’s chest, pushing back against him with all your might. But it is like holding back a waterfall, too powerful and too full of chaotic energy to contain.

“Stop it! Knock it off, both of you!” You come up on your toes, trying to catch Arthur’s burning gaze and distract him from Micah. “Arthur, please!” His chest heaves, but the moment his eyes land on you again, it's like a switch has been pulled. You center him as always, rationality starting to return to his fractured mind.

With Arthur calmed to an extent, you turn your ire onto Micah. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” But the scheming outlaw can only stare back at you, an argument sitting on his tongue, and yet nothing comes out as if weighing his next words carefully.

“I ain't dealin’ with this bullshit,” Arthur seethes, staring down Micah as his arm wraps around your shoulder, curling you into himself and turning you towards your shared wagon.

But Micah Bell just cannot help but throw oil on the fire.

“You’re not even gonna stitch me up after savin’ your pretty ass, Y/N? Typical. You don’t give a shit about anyone else, but Arthur. Mighty ungrateful.” He waves you off dismissively, shaking his head in disappointment.

Before you can even stop him, Arthur spins out of your grasp, closing the distance between himself and Micah in a mere few steps and grabs ahold of a fistful of Micah’s shirt. The weasel can say what he wants about him, but Arthur will not abide any derogatory comments towards you.

“You’re as stupid as you are ugly, you know that?!” hollers Hosea to Micah, his weathered fingers clamped around Arthur’s shoulder, trying to push him back once more.

Arthur’s arm shoots up, about to land a fist into Micah’s mocking face, but it’s halted in place as both of your arms encircle his bicep to keep the dangerous limb at bay.

“He’s right, Arthur. It’s the least I could do.”

Your shaky, yet definitive voice stills Arthur as he turns to look at you in confusion. “What?!”

An apprehensive sort of smile floats across your lips as you cup your soft, warm hands around his face. “Why don’t you get something to eat, head over to our wagon and calm down a bit. Your head is out of sorts right now. In the meantime, I’ll deal with Micah, yeah?”

But Arthur isn’t having any of it. He just shakes his head at the very notion of it. “I just need some time alone with you, is all,” he says sharply, starting to pull you away from the others. But you can’t let things end here like this.

“I know.” You stop your feet from moving to prevent him from dragging you off. “But can you give me a minute, please? Let me get Micah patched up first,” you plead.

“Now, wait a minute,” growls Arthur, his brow drawn in frustration. “I thought you’d be coming with me?”

“I am and I will.” You nervously shift your weight from hip to hip under Arthur’s intense gaze, trying to keep your voice low and calm to mask the rapid beating of your own heart. “Let me take care of Micah first and then I’ll come with you.”

Arthur’s sapphire eyes dart past your shoulder to see Micah standing there in surprising silence, loving the delicious tension he’s created and anxiously waiting to see the results.

“No, he can handle things by himself. He's a big boy,” huffs Arthur. “Or let Ms. Grimshaw do it. C’mon now,” he insists, harshly pulling at your arm.

“Arthur, just wait a second, will you?” you push, starting to get a little annoyed at the possessiveness. “Let me finish what I’m doing then I’m all yours.”

“You know what, forget it!” he hollers, throwing his hands up in frustration as he steps back from you.

“Arthur, please, just give me a damn second, will you?!” Your hands try to grasp his forearm, but he’s quick to yank himself out of your reach, as if the very idea of you is detestable right now.

“Nevermind!” And Arthur storms off, throwing his hands in the air in surrender, leaving you standing there staring after him. You watch his broad shoulders lumber quickly towards the wagon, his whole body radiating an angry energy that is dangerous for anyone to be pulled into.

You should go after him. But then again, he is so angry right now, maybe it’s best to let him cool off, first. He’s probably right, you should just let Ms. Grimshaw handle Micah’s wound. But you do owe Micah a debt. He did save you from that mob. And in a gang, debts need to be paid.

With a deep, regretful sigh, you tilt your head back and close your eyes, knowing you’ve just made a grave error in judgement. Arthur isn’t the only one who has a hard time navigating matters of the heart. Like your own father, you tend to be more pragmatic than sentimental sometimes. But you are only trying to keep the peace.

“Well?”

Micah’s voice cuts into your temple like a nail hammered through a board, pulling you back to the matter at hand. You open your now-throbbing eyes to look over at the smug man, who is standing with an expectant look on his face.

“Come on,” you mutter with an eye roll. “Get yourself over to the table and let’s get this over with, please.”

—--------------------------------------

*This is not my image, but posted on Pintrest by Clem

Unfortunately, since the gang has yet to make a permanent camp, your med tent is not fully set up. You pull out a table and a few crates of the meager medical supplies that you have and whatever you were able to shove into Blue’s saddle bag while in town. Digging through what is available, you pull out your needles and thread and a bottle of whisky you keep for sterilization.

You’ve chosen to set up this makeshift operation far enough away from Arthur, lest he and Micah get into it yet again. But it’s close enough where Arthur can keep an eye on what you’re up to. And simply seeing you in such close proximity to Micah makes Arthur’s skin crawl.

“Alright, let’s see what the damage is,” you sigh with the weight of resignation heavy in your tone. “Unbutton your shirt, please.” You toss the instruction over your shoulder as you pour fresh water into a bowl and shake out a clean rag. You can hear the shuffling of fabric and Micah’s pained grunting behind you. When you turn around, you freeze, eyebrows shooting to your hairline, to see that instead of just pulling back his shirt, Micah has stripped himself of the garment altogether, sitting there topless in just his trousers and a satisfied grin.

You simply stand there, knuckles turning white as you grip the cloth in your hand, staring at him with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance. “Really?”

He innocently shrugs. “Just want to make sure you can get to what you need, Y/N”, he says, motioning to himself, a wicked grin creeping along his mustached lips.

A measured sigh and eyeroll leave you as you slowly make your way over to him, careful to leave a gap between the two of you as you move behind him.

You have to give him credit, Micah tries not to flinch when your fingertips dance along the open wound on his left shoulder, assessing the depth of the bullet hole. The cool rag must send lightning through his entire body as you clean the ugly gash embedded into his skin when he shudders under your careful touch. But the fact that you work gingerly is not lost on him. Ever so vigilant to his surroundings, Micah can feel how you delicately touch him, trying not to inflict further damage. His head tilts back slightly, those usually distrustful eyes closing for just a brief moment in silent gratitude.

You keep your discerning eyes focused on the minute work, and therefore you do not notice Micah watching you, his gaze skipping over your face and down to your fingers, small and unmarred unlike his own. He watches you out of the corner of his eye as you work the thread through the needle, the lips of your perfect mouth pulled taught in concentration.

But soon enough, you push the needle through his flesh, pulling the thread through the pulpy meat of his shoulder and proceed to stitch the wound closed. You work efficiently, but quickly, desperate to get this chore done so you can then deal with Arthur who’s stare you can feel burning a hole into you from where he is vigilantly watching like a hawk from your shared wagon.

Sensing when the deed is almost complete, Micah clears his throat and begins with awkward chit chat, trying to prolong your attention by asking about your horse, talking about how it must be better to be out of the cold of the Grizzly Mountains, anything that springs to his mind. His fingers drum along his thighs as his knee begins to bounce.

At first, you just dismiss the odd behavior, trying to focus on the final stitching of the wound. Micah winces slightly, biting his lower lip, as the stitches get pulled a little tighter than they probably should in your frustration at his incessant babbling. Micah Bell has rambled more to you in the last fifteen minutes than he has spoken to you in the entire time you’ve known him.

With your task now complete, you clip the thread with your scissors, tucking the needle into the water bowl to be cleaned properly. You walk around to stand in front of him, wiping your hands with the wet cloth in exasperation.

You narrow your eyes at him, suddenly very suspicious of his good nature. “What do you want, Micah?”

The outlaw looks at you a moment, his head tilts slightly to the side considering your question carefully as he pulls his shirt back over his shoulders. “I’d like you to sit and talk to me.”

His answer floors you, so simple a request with no foul comments to follow. But there has to be more to it than that. “Sit? That’s it?“ you ask in disbelief.

“MmmHmm, and talk to me. You seem to enjoy everyone else’s company, yet we never talk.” He leans back a bit, hands resting on his knees.

A humorless chuckle escapes your lips before you can even try to stifle it, accompanied by a skeptical lift of your eyebrow. “There’s a reason for that.”

He just shrugs, frustratingly quiet to your answer.

“What on earth would we ever talk about?”

“What do you and Morgan talk about?”

“That’s none of your business”, you snap sharply.

That familiar, annoyingly smug grin crosses his face once again as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Do you talk about me?” he needles, shaking his eyebrows.

“Only about what a pain in the ass you are,” you respond flatly.

“Ahhh, so you do talk about me.”

You shake your head, crossing your arms in frustration at the absurdity of this whole conversation, confused as to what he’s getting at. “Arthur and I talk about everything and nothing.”

“Alright,” he concedes, pointing at you. “Let's do that, then.”

“What is this, Micah?“

He holds his hands up in surrender, a feigned innocence. “This is me trying to be the better man.”

“Better than who?” you challenge.

“Don’t worry Y/N,” he chuckles at your defensive reluctance to his parley. “I won’t jump ya. Unless you want me to.”

For the life of you, you can’t figure this man out. One minute, he’s a disgusting pig. The next, he’s trying to be your best friend. Either way, Micah Bell makes your skin crawl as he’s just as creepy when he’s trying to be nice as he is when he’s an ass.

“Fine. I’ve seen the way you treat your horse. A man who loves up on his horse can’t be 100% bad.” You give him the slightest of grins before you can even stop yourself.

“That's the spirit!” He smiles triumphantly and waves a finger smartly at you. “I can't be 100% bad.”

Assuredly, what you do not realize is that to Micah, you could’ve just given him the world. A kind word or gesture, even just the smallest inkling that you don't completely hate him, makes his black heart race just a bit more.

To you, you see the effort of this conversation as a way to get past the ugliness with Micah. To him, he sees this as a window of opportunity, a moment of weakness in your armor where he can sneak his way in.

But as you stand there motionless, unsure of what to even say next, your hesitancy at Micah’s peace offering is more than enough of an answer for him right now. A defeated chuckle ripples from his tobacco-stained teeth with a slight shake of his blonde head to go with it.

“You know what, Y/N? Forget it. Forget I even asked.” The furrowed line between his eyebrows relents a bit as his eyes soften just ever so slightly as he concedes to what you suspect that he already knows deep down. He pulls his lips inward as if debating on what to say next, leaving an awkward and pregnant silence between you. Your gaze skips about, looking for any reprieve other than staring into Micah’s cold and unreadable expression that can unnerve you like a mouse caught by a viper. “Go on, then. Scoot on back to your beloved,” he says with sarcasm and just a hint of disappointment.

After cleaning up the needle and thread, you head back to your shared space with Arthur to find him brooding, leaning against the side of his wagon as he cleans his gun. He says nothing at first, but you can sense his hostility. You smartly don’t say a word, but set about getting yourself ready for the evening.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” you finally ask.

But Arthur won’t look at you. Like a silent, stoney mountain, he remains stoic and ominous, his rough fingers still working over the weapon in his hands. Cursing under your breath, you reach over and snatch the gun out of his hand to get his attention. Those steel-blue eyes instantly snap to your own. Brows furrowed with elevated agitation, his hand shoots out to grab for the piece, but you pull your hand back to keep the object of his distraction out of reach. He stares you down, lips pulled tightly with a sharp snort escaping his nose.

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” His voice carries low and rumbles deep within his chest.

“Of course I’m on your side. I’m always on your side, Arthur.”

“That so?”

“Of course it is! How can you even question that?” you ask, shaking your head, taken aback by his doubt.

“You’re mine,” he says darkly, his blue eyes settling with the piercing, glowing quality of a stormy sea.

Arthur’s possessiveness is not something new, often rearing its ugly head, but his ire is usually directed at others, not you. And while the idea of being wanted by someone is endearing, you also resent his distrust. “I am not some horse that you own, Arthur,” you warn.

“I should come first with you.” He points at your heart. “I shouldn’t have to share you with anybody.”

“Are you really going to stand there and lecture me about sharing my time with other people? Really, Arthur?” Your eyebrows shoot to your hairline, suddenly incensed by his accusation. “Let’s talk about you, then! How many nights am I going to our tent alone and lonely? All because you’re running around for god knows what?”

Arthur’s lips pinch together in an instant, eyes burning at your audacity to throw such a thing in his face. “Hey! That’s different! I am providing!” He shoves his thumb sharply back into his rising chest.

“And I’m not?” you counter defiantly, with a snapping shake of your head, a flush of heat blossoming across your face.

Arthur bites his lip before he says something really stupid, the argument right there on his tongue, dangerously close to exploding like a powder keg. His hands plant on his hips as he paces around the small area in front of you, the nervous energy clearly tearing throughout his body and unable to contain it. “What, you two are all friendly now?” Arthur retorts bitterly, waving off in Micah’s direction.

“Sweet Jesus, Arthur you can’t seriously be jealous?” Your fingers come up to pinch the bridge of your nose before dropping to your side with a deflated slap, your face turned to his in earnest. “No, we are not ’friendly’ but I don’t want to fight with him all the time, nor do I want to endure the disgusting comments anymore.”

You begin to fidget with the pendant of your mother’s necklace you always wear and Arthur’s anger shifts in a new direction. “Has he been messin’ with you? I told you I’d take care of it if he hassles you.”

A deep sigh escapes your chest as your gaze raises to meet his once again. “I don’t want to cause a problem around here, Arthur.”

“You are not the problem,” he hisses. He steps up closer to you now, standing only a foot from you, so close that you can feel his hot breath blow across your chilled cheeks.

“Why are you so riled up about this?”

“Why? That snake has his mouth all over you and you’re asking me why I’m riled up about it?! Why are you not riled up about this?” Arthur's eyes suddenly narrow at you, his head tilting just a fraction, as he looks you over like you were a mark. “Unless he’s right and you did like it.” The very idea of it causes your eyes to shoot open and your chest tighten as the air gets sucked out of your lungs.

“Don’t you even start with that!” you hiss sharply at such an insinuation. “Now, you listen to me, Arthur Morgan. There is nothing, NOTHING, between myself and Micah Bell. You got that?”

Arthur’s silence pulls the escalating argument to a screeching halt. He stops and takes a moment to really look at you, your chest rising and falling with panting breaths, your eyes shimmering with offended, hurt-filled tears. Arthur closes his eyes, hanging his head shamefully, clearly realizing he crossed a line. “I’m sorry.”

“Arthur, why are you so upset about this?” you push softly, setting your hand on his forearm.

“Because there ain’t much difference between him and me, that’s why!” he hollers, finally reaching his breaking point. The revelation sets you on your heels. Your large, love-filled eyes blink rapidly as you attempt to process this new level of self-doubt in him.

“You can’t honestly think that?“ you breathe in wonderment. “What, you think I’m going to leave you for him?”

“No,” his tone lowering with a flat and unsettling calm. “I think you’re gonna leave me because you realize I’m just like him.”

The anger within you from moments ago immediately dissipates like ether as this boulder is dropped. “Arthur, you are nothing like Micah.”

“Really? What makes you say that? Huh? What is really all that different between us?” He stands in front of you, hands on his hips as he towers over you, demanding an answer.

You cross your arms, holding Arthur’s hard gaze. “Well, now that you mention it, you’re both a couple of asses.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” he bites back with sharp sarcasm. “I’m serious, Y/N. What makes us all that different?”

“Well, for starters I’m not in love with Micah. Arthur, I can’t keep having this same conversation with you.” You press closer to him, placing your hand over his heart. “This. This right here is what I want.” You can feel the rapid fluttering under his ribcage, the heat of his skin through the worn fabric of his shirt as your fingers splay open like a dove’s wingspan. “The way you make me feel when I look at you, Arthur, is why I won’t look at another man.”

His brows furrow as his eyes fall to your hand, noting how your fingers lay against his chest as if they have always belonged there. Slowly his gaze meets yours, as if searching for the shred of doubt that he is always afraid of finding there.

“You are a good man who does bad things, Arthur. That doesn’t make you a bad person,” you confirm with a calm and enchanting tone. Your hand floats from his chest to cup his face, the curls of his beard prickling the skin as his strong jaw sets upon your palm.

“Oh, well that’s convenient, isn’t it? You got an answer for everything, don’t you?” Arthur sighs as he shifts his weight. “I guarantee anyone else outside this gang will beg to differ on that one,” he pouts, giving a dismissive flick of his hand in the air.

“I thought I’ve made it very clear that I don’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks. Stop worrying about what could go so wrong and start thinking about what could go so right, Arthur. We need to work on that.” You reach your arms around his shoulders and hug him tightly to you. His hard body presses to your own pliable one and you can feel the hard line of his chest and torso, his thick thighs. His coat, which is like a second skin, carries notes of forest pine and leather, a comforting aroma that instantly feels like home to you. Your fingers curl through Arthur’s hair as you cradle his head, your nose buried in his honey locks that will forever smell of woodsmoke, bringing your soft lips to his ear. “I would die without you, Arthur.”

Slowly, Arthur’s body relaxes and melts into yours as you whisper in his ear, your warm breath catching against his skin. His rigid chest softens as he presses you against him, desperate to keep you close as if he’d fold you up into his rib cage to wrap you around his very own heart. Sometimes, for Arthur, the worst place for him to be is inside his own head.

A smile cracks at the corner of Arthur’s mouth at your previous statement. Suddenly, the monster of self loathing within him goes silent once more, retreating back into the dark caverns of his heart, as he dips his head into the crook of your neck and wraps his arms tightly around your waist, squeezing with just enough pressure. Once again, you have calmed and centered him, quieted his swirling storm of self-sabotaging thoughts that continue to plague him.

You turn your face into him, placing a multitude of gentle kisses along his neck, drawing a faint groan from him. “It was either kiss Micah or die,” you whisper in Arthur’s ear before placing your lips to the cuff.

Arthur huffs out a grunt that rumbles in his chest and tickles your own as you still stand pressed together so tight that not even air could seep between you. “Still not seeing the choice.”

You giggle at his understated playfulness. “It will haunt my dreams, now. Literally the stuff of nightmares.” You pull back from him to gaze into his troubled blue eyes, your thumbs drawing across his cheekbones before your fingertips roll gently through his beard.

“I love you, Arthur. Don’t you ever doubt that.” Your smile carries a warmth and love for him in this moment that is larger than the very universe itself, like he can see the stars themselves in your sparkling eyes. Arthur gives you a feeling of being safe. And in turn, you offer him that feeling of being cherished. For all we ever want in this world is to be healed, to find that other half that speaks to your soul. To be with that person who will hold your vulnerabilities in their hands and breathe life back into you when you feel lost.

But a dark cloud dusts his features once more. “I gotta admit, Y/N, I’m scared of the kinda love I feel for you.” Arthur’s voice drops to almost a whisper, as if he’s afraid to admit it outloud, the syllables caught in his throat.

“Why is that?”

“Because I know it will ruin me.” He brushes his large hand over your hair before tenderly holding your face. “And I know I’ll let it.”

The emotion overtakes you and you drop your gaze before he sees the tears gathering in your lashes. Because it occurs to you that you’re not sure if he wants this relationship or not. You can clearly see the turmoil in his eyes from it. His new life with you could cost him his old one with his gang.

Arthur is a soul torn between two worlds. He wants you, but he also wants “the outlaw life”. You are not making him choose, but he feels that he needs to. For you. To keep you safe. And you are not sure if you want to broach this subject again with him, afraid that if you push it, you may not like the answer you get.

You wish Arthur could see how wonderful he is in your eyes, how happy he makes you. Arthur may not be perfect, but he’s perfect for you. Those blue-green eyes light up your whole day. You don’t just see a man standing in front of you. You see your whole world.

Arthur is the one who is the most special to you. The one you will lose sleep over. The one you will never tire of talking to. He is constantly on your mind. He makes you smile without even trying. Arthur is the only one you do not want to lose and to always have in your life.

The world may view Arthur as nothing but a despicable outlaw, one forged in lawlessness and brutality. But they do not see what you see. He is a man born out of conflict, a product of his environment. He is stiff and frightening in the eyes of others, an unyielding and merciless force to be reckoned with. But to you, he is vulnerable and tender. Arthur carries the brunt of the ugliness in this world, and yet still claws at the hope of finding a shred of happiness for himself.

You gently press your forehead to his, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck. “I wish I could make you understand, Arthur.” You hold him to you for a brief moment before looking up into his face, your eyes wide and searching. “You have stolen my heart. You are worth so much more than you think. You are the very reason I keep going. You crossed my path when I needed you the most, after I lost everything. I couldn’t do this without you. You are everything I need. And I don’t ever want this to end.”

Arthur softly draws the cool evening air into his lungs as his tired eyes float across your face, mapping every line, every radiant detail that he has come to covet so dearly. The setting sun shines its copper light down upon you, casting your frame in a warm and almost unearthly glow, as if you are a spirit from another realm altogether, not even meant for this world let alone for the likes of him.

“I really had no idea what I needed ‘til you showed up in my life with every bit of it in one package,” he laments. “One day, there you were, shining brightly like the sun.” He smiles despite himself at the memory of it, lifting a thick, calloused finger to gently pull a wisp of your hair from your eye before settling his hand along your graceful neck. “And for the first time in a really, really long time, I had hope that I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life in the dark.”

Arthur is not a man of many words, but when he does speak in those private, hushed tones with you, it makes your eyelids flutter like butterfly wings. “Please, Arthur. Let me be the temptation that you never deny yourself. I can be your safe place where your darkness can shine without judgement. Without fear.

“I know this is hard for you, Arthur. And I’m not trying to make it any harder. If anything, I’m trying to make it easier for you. I don’t care that we sleep outside on a cot in a tent. That just means I get to hold you closer to me to keep warm. And I don’t care that you’re an outlaw. Because, if anything, that means you will do anything to protect me. But I need you to trust me, Arthur. Just as I have learned to trust you.”

Arthur brings his fingers up to pinch at his temples as if trying to keep his head from exploding. “Why do you put up with me?”

“I thought I just went over that.” You smile at him. “Because Arthur, I may be yours. But that means that you are mine. Remember? I told you that in Colter.”

“Hmmm, that’s right. You did mention something about that,” he grins, his cheeks running pink as he remembers that wonderful night up in your little ramshackle cabin in the mountains. “I guess you were pretty adamant about that.”

“When it comes to you, Arthur, I am always adamant.” Your fingers lace behind his head, woven into his thick hair again as you gently pull him down to your velvety lips for a deep and passionate kiss. When you separate for a staggered breath, you begin to whisper sweet nothings to him, peppering strategic kisses along his chin and neck, along his cheeks and nose and along those plump lips again. “You are mine to kiss…to hold…to yell at…to whisper to…to worry over…to trust…to be angry with… and to love beyond measure.”

—-----------------------------------

Later, the evening has draped its dark blanket around the earth once more. The crisp air fills with the sounds of the first signs of the frogs coming out for the Spring, their chirping so loud, yet seamlessly melded into the landscape at the same time. There is a humid thickness that settles over everything, bathing everything in a dewy layer that carries the smell of yet-to-fall rain.

This is just a quick layover before you reach Horseshoe Overlook in the morning. No sense in setting up a fixed camp, so everyone has a bedroll on the damp ground and congregates around multiple fires, huddled for warmth under their blankets. Everyone is blissfully asleep before the day begins anew again with another set of challenges.

You and Arthur have set up your little nest against his wagon, his bedroll laid out with blankets and a little fire going in front of you to keep you warm overnight. The two of you lay intertwined, perfectly content to be together and away from everyone else. You have finally drifted off to sleep, curled up against Arthur, his bulk and warmth a calming presence. He sits with his back propped up a bit, watching you doze so contentedly as you lay across his torso. His left arm cradles you protectively to him, his fingertips dragging lazily along your arm and shoulder.

The fire is still stoked fairly well at this late hour, casting its soft golden hues across your sleeping form as the heat of the flames envelopes you both. Arthur stares into the fire, watching the hypnotic flames lick up and around the wood, its coals flaring crimson and pulsating like a heartbeat.

He reaches over to his satchel, careful not to move too much and disturb your slumber, and pulls his journal out, lying it upon his thigh and opening the precious pages to write. His thoughts are still swirling from earlier: seeing your image on a wanted poster, leaving you with Micah, and then later fighting with that idiot. But it was seeing you with Micah afterwards that has set his nerves ablaze. But Arthur doesn’t want to burden you with it any more than he has already. You are stressed enough as it is, he doesn’t want to add to it. Losing Jenny and Mac was hard for you, causing you to doubt your abilities as a doctor. You’ve been terrified of losing John to his injuries. You almost drowned trying to save Lenny from the icy waters in Colter. And now, you are hunted, just like the rest of the gang. It burns Arthur from the inside out to see such pain and turmoil behind those serene eyes of yours, always a window to your very soul. So as usual, he opts to pour his thoughts into that leather-bound book of his like it is a church confessional.

We came down the mountain pass today. Sure glad to get out of that awful cold. But, of course nothing is ever easy for us. Maybe rightfully so. The wagon busted a wheel and had to get that fixed. The gang needs things so Dutch sent Y/N to the nearest trading post before the closest town to see if she could round up some food and medical supplies. She’d know better than anyone what we need. Of course I took her, but for some damn reason Micah was sent along with us. That man just irritates me to no end. I don’t know why Dutch keeps him around, but who am I to say anything?

But unfortunately one of my worst fears came true. We was in that village and there on the post wall was a wanted poster of Y/N. That damn bank robbery back in Red Rock. I was hoping to keep her safe from all this ugliness, but looks like I failed at that. Now she’s bound to a life of looking over her shoulder, same as the rest of us. I never wanted that life for her. Seems like everyone who gets near me gets pulled into my kind of trouble.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. Y/N got pulled from me and had to rely on Micah to get her out because I wasn’t able to do it. In the midst of trying to escape, she had to kiss that ugly bastard. He had his hands all over her. Makes me see red just thinking about it again. But the worst part is that she had to tend to him once they got back to camp. He wasn’t ugly to her, which is a surprise, but in fact made me even more uneasy. I don’t know what’s going on in that twisted mind of his, but I fear he may have Y/N in his sights. That worries me because I can’t be around all the time to protect her and I have no idea to what lengths he’d go to get what he wants. Things are bad enough after Blackwater, I can only hope I can keep Y/N safe from Micah as well. I do love her so. I think I had to live through what love is not to really understand what it is. She’s a damn fool for loving a man like me, but I’m too selfish to let her go. And I’d die a thousand times if I lost her. I pray Dutch has a plan to get us all out of this mess once and for all. And then maybe, just maybe, Y/N and I can start a real life together.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Several yards away, across the make-shift camp, Micah sits cross legged on the cold, damp ground, poking at his fire with a stick. Half-heartedly satisfied with the glowing embers, he reclines back against his saddle and rotates his arm in the air, trying to stretch the stiffness from his newly-repaired shoulder. A sharp pain cuts through his nerves when his skin pulls taught at your carefully-placed stitches. Micah stifles a yelp as his hand shoots to the wound, his face wincing until the radiating wave of pain finally subsides. The pain is a stark reminder to the tumultuous thoughts that plague his mind that he’s been desperately trying to bury since this afternoon.

With a long, tired sigh, Micah lifts his weary eyes across his campfire and instinctively seeks out your sleeping form that is currently tucked into Arthur’s side. He observes how your face carries such peace and tranquility as you slumber under your lover’s protective arms. Micah shifts uncomfortably as if he can’t be contained within his own skin as the day’s events roll about in his mind, replaying over and over again like that goddamn gramophone of Dutch’s.

He hates you. At least that’s what Micah tells himself. But he doesn’t really. You just make him feel things that he claims don’t exist. Or at least, tries to. It is that lingering taste of you on Micah’s lips that has innocently seduced his cravings for you to run wild in his soul. And now that he’s tasted you, he realizes how starved he really is.

It is becoming clear in Micah’s mind that he is quickly becoming consumed by you, just as Arthur has, attracted to you in ways that he can’t explain and long forgot. He craves your attention like a man in the desert craves water. And he thinks about you more than you realize.

You are both the first and last thing on Micah’s mind each day. You are becoming his weakness, just as you are Arthur’s. He aches for the feeling of your fingertips along his dry, scarred skin. The reality of it is, his heart breaks a little more every time he hears your name. And a piece of his soul dies when he hears Arthur’s, and not his, on your perfect lips. It is a whole different kind of pain when one’s heart cries, but their eyes don’t. But Micah will stare into the blinding sun before he looks into the mirror to see what can be done to fix that.

Micah has always known that the two of you are like oil and water. But he was hoping that deep down, maybe you were just looking for an opportunity to hate him a little less. But he sees now that will never be the case. And that is the thing about it. Not only do you despise his very guts, but you are also that enamored with Morgan. And there are few things Micah can do about that.

Micah would often watch you with Arthur when he thought no one was looking. It is much more than love you have for Arthur. You take care of him, you look after him. You make sure he is fed and clean. You mend his clothing with such precision and care. You rub his shoulders when he aches and your soft fingers dance along his forearms when he’s returned after a bad job.

It is like a knife in Micah’s heart to know that you would never do these things for him. You could cruelly break his heart of stone without even realizing it. But that’s all he has to give to you, as he has never given it to anyone else. In fact he’s not sure any woman ever would accept it. But he’s come to terms with that because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But what infuriates Micah is that he’s sure that Arthur doesn’t either.

Micah pulls his bitter gaze back to the flames in front of him, his lips twisted in a pinched and frustrated expression. He flings the stick he used to stoke the fire into the heated bed of coals with a huff before bringing his clenched fist to his lips. If he had any presence of mind, he’d swipe the unshed tears from his hardened eyes before anyone sees. But Micah Bell hasn’t cried in years, not since he was a kid. It’s such a foreign concept that he isn’t even aware that it's happening.

His vision begins to blur as he watches the burning wisps of red and orange engulf the jagged wood, noticing how they elegantly wrap themselves around the ugly, charred wooden scales like silk, offering warmth and consuming it until the fire and wood are one.

And that is when Micah realizes that you are the fire. And he has been cold his whole life.

*This is not my image, but posted on Pintrest by Lee

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4 @bimbo-dollz @pine4pple-b0i @redwritr @kuri-chans-blog @queer-sadie-adler @joelmillerswifey @gimmethosedaddymilkers @pcotarelo @delilah-grimes @maemortem @wistfulwisteriawitch @lilacxxdreams @mentallyillfrogs @absolutegeek @spurz @sophiaj650 @uniqueclodzinevoid @lookingformaurice @pawoui @randomidk-123 @yyiikes @eddiemetalheadmunson @twola @kmartkiddieisle @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic @rhehr241 @earwen-x @akariver75 @djennty @nervousmumbling @xliliths @unbotheredbeeeee @onnetonprinsessa @kittiowolf210 @ezrynn @suhiss @arthurmargon @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler @alice-vanderlinde @sweetandstoned21 @j4llyf7sh @spooky631 @m0r4rx @ilovrxats @i-69-urmom @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck @julialoopeezz @a-court-of-valkyries @oziozzioslo @stargazer-88 @lunawolfclaw @rita-the-outlaw @sixgunluvr @soupiemeowmeow @gohans-fan @mayadodofarts

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people.

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #photo1030 #micah bell #leather and lace

93 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 1 year ago

Text

In The Mood For...

June 22nd

~*~

1. Hi, i really like your blog, it is very helpful, i was wondering if you could find a wangxian fanfics that are completely fluff, just wangxian living their post-canon, domestic lives, as husbands. humor is preferred.

Thank you, if you have already replied to a request similar to mine, please just link that blog in the answer. @honestlyewww

As You Like It by cosmicmilktea (T, 8k, wangxian, post-canon, food as a metaphor for love, tea, light angst, fluff)

The (Several) Convenient Kidnappings of the Chief Cultivator by the Yiling Patriarch by misscam (M, 3k, WangXian, Humor, Spoilers, mush of series and novel, some adult action, Switching)

Wei Wuxian, God of Fertility by tired (T, 19k, WangXian, Family Feels, Crack Treated Seriously, Crack, the juniors get REAL drunk, Gossip, POV Multiple, surprisingly not an mpreg fic, Kissing, Self-Esteem Issues, Discussion of Porn and Sex, Post-Canon, SOFT SOFT SOFT, married wangxian, Fluff and Humor)

The Grandmaster of Demonic Reproduction by likeafox (E, 7k, WangXian, Kid Fic, not mpreg, but not-not mpreg?, Pregnancy Kink, Come play, LSZ deserves a sibling)

~*~

2. Hi, I'm itmf Wei Ying with split personality (Preferably canon era) Thank you!

~*~

3. For the next ITMF, I wanna see travelling with Li'l Apple! Gimme your fics that talk about our fave cantankerous donkey. @mreisse

Wearing Down Every Bone by CSHfic, VSfic (E, 30k, WangXian, Groundhog Day, Time Loop, Temporary Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Case Fic, Curses, Pining, Getting Together, Time Travel, Night Hunts, Hurt wwx, Mystery, Angst with a Happy Ending, Use Your Words, Mutual Pining, Depression and Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, gratuitous use of empathy)

lost my fear of falling by thefireplanet (E, 30k, WangXian, HuaLIan, Bodyswap, Wei "My Intrusive Thoughts Are Totally Not Winning" Wuxian, Hua "My Husband Said I Had to Help You" Cheng, YLLZ WWX, WWX-centric, WangXian-centric, Post-Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Canon-Typical Wangxian Sex Things, One (1) Obscure War Movie Reference, mawage, Mawage is what brings us togeder tooday)

~*~

4. ITMF where JYL and JWY reliazed that WWX is in danger if he stay in Lotus Pier. That threats can come from YZY or JFM or the cultivation world. Just that i want to read a fic where JYL and JWY try to protect WWX @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

🧡 To have and to hold by Moominmammashandbag (M, 78k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Major character injury, CQL verse, Happy Ending)

The Hate and Love of family by Moonlit_dewdrops (T, 20k, WangXian, WIP, Abuse, Near Death, Bad Parent YZY, YZY's A+ Parenting, Protective JC, Protective JYL, Recovery, Trauma, Protective LWJ, Twin Prides of Yunmeng Dynamics, Good Uncle LQR, Not YZY Friendly, Hurt WWX, Panic Attacks)

I Have Arranged to Tie You to Me by xxxMiaHikarixxx (G, 59k, WIP, WangXian, Lan protective team, Time Travel, Past, LWJ oriented, Arranged Marriage, Boys In Love, Soulmates, Fix-It, Jiang siblings, not jiang parents friendly, Soft LWJ, Protective LWJ, Genius WWX)

a life without sun by thankgodforpandas (T, 30k, WangXian, JC & LXC, JC & WWX, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives, Mutual Pining) which is a bit different but features a protective Jiang Cheng who works to help Wei Wuxian find happiness.

What If..... Jiang Cheng Understood? by ToxicAngel13 (M, 66k, WIP, WangXian, Ribbons, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, WangXian Get Married in the Cold Springs Cave, Protective JC, Confused WWX, Angry LWJ, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Uncle LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, POV LQR, YZY Bashing, POV JFM, Not JFM Friendly, Hurt/Comfort, Protective NHS)

~*~

5. Hi!!! I couldn't find a tag for wwx with short hair, so I was wondering if anyone had any recs? I would prefer for it to not be a modern au tho, thank you!

Mud on Your Feet by AvoOwO (Not Rated, 59k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Nightmares, Sentient Burial Mounds, Burial Mounds, Possession, Panic Attacks, Night Terrors, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Good Sibling JC, Hurt WWX, Soft WangXian, Feels, Blood and Injury, Hallucinations, Delusions, JC Loves WWX, Insomnia, Good Sibling WWX, Sleepwalking, Sleeptalking, LWJ just wants to sleep with his husband, Protective JC, WWX Sees Dead People, LJY pulls through, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses, PTSD, Post-Canon, YLLZ WWX, resentful energy, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, WWX is tired, LWJ literally just wants to sleep with WWX again is that too much to ask for??, Soft JC, Yunmeng Siblings Feels) wwx gets short hair near the end

Cloudy Memories Recessed by FirefliesNLightningBugs (M, 7k, WIP, JC & JYL & WWX, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Sunshot Campaign, Good Person JZX, Good Sibling JC, Good Sibling JYL, Amnesia, (kind of), Weird Magic, Demonic Cultivation, post wwx disappearing during sunshot campaign, POV Alternating, POV JC, POV JYL, POV WWX) wwx short hair request, there is a ao3 wip called "cloudy memories recessed" by FirefliesNLightningBugs that's set during sunshot post-escape from bm and his hair is so damaged it had to be cut off

~*~

6. Worlds most random in the mood for request… but is there any fic that features Transformers? The idea spawned in my brain and it’s haunting me. Autobots, Decepticons and Wangxian, I can’t be the first person to have thought of that. @cullen-blue23

~*~

7. recs of wwx sad or crying bc of lwj, and lwj feels guilty? thanks for all your hard work!

Honesty is the Best Policy (Except if You’re an Asshole) by piecrust (E, 22k, WangXian, Porn with Feelings, College/University)

🔒 Life is Like a Stranger by through_shadows_falling (T, 69k, wangxian, Kid Fic, Child LWJ, Child WWX, First Meetings, Canon Divergence, Cute Kids, Orphan WWX, Autism Spectrum, Fix-It, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Canon, POV LWJ, Growing Up Together, WWX raised at Cloud Recesses, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Puberty, Growing Up, Coming Out, teenage angst, Wet Dream, Pining, This fic gets a little raunchier as the kids become teens, But it won’t get too explicit, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Spanish Translation, Brief mentions/moments of WWX kissing others in chapter 22 but only on the cheek, also characters kiss WWX on the cheek in chapter 23, but his real first kiss is with LWJ, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian) Not sure if this is what 7 is looking for because both Wei Wuxian & Lan Wangji are children when Lan Wangji makes Wie Wuxian cry but Life is Like a Stranger. The crying and guilt take place in chapter 4.

Reconnaissance by TomatenMark (M, 2k, WangXian, POV LWJ, Post-Sunshot Campaign, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Arguing, Head Injury, LWJ loses his temper, Then instantly regrets it, WWX Whump, WWX Needs a Break, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Where are we? In what point of the timeline? Don't know, there are only vibes here)

~*~

8. itmf fics where there is no war, but wwx eventually leaves the jiang sect anyway--bonus points if it's an unavoidable result of wwx & jc's conflicting values. doesn't need to be bashing--i just want to explore a timeline where wwx can make the choice for himself to walk away, rather than being pushed into a hundred corners by canon

Dispersing Clouds by dreamingofcake (E, 258k, WangXian, WIP, Canon Divergence, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Abusive YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (Background Character), Background Character Deaths, child deaths, Canon JC, Good Uncle LQR, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Cultivation Sect Politics, Homophobia, Heteronormativity, Feelings Realization, WWX is Not Oblivious) Pretty much exactly as requested. No war as the Wens are distracted by infighting, WWX leaves LP due to value conflicts

Debts of a Child Part 2 by Hauntcats (M, 111k, WangXian, YZY Bashing, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Angst and Feels, lots of anger, JC Bashing, not Jiang friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, Content warning for icky spiders in later chapters., hurt no comfort for Jiang siblings.)

~*~

9. heyyy admins! any soulmate au's? thanks!

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, Music, Orchestra, [Podfic] Leading Tone by silencemostofall by Beria1021)

pastel by antebunny (G, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Soulmates, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Unrequited Love, but not actually, no courtesy names)

Bleachwhite Linen by MonocerosRex (T, 44k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & WWX, JYL & WWX, JC & WWX, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Modern, Soulmates, not the traditional kind of soulmates exactly, Hospitals, Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Touch-Starved, lwj and wwx are the softest husbands and they aren't even together yet, Getting Together, Marriage Proposal, Sibling Bonding, handwaving medical procedure and magical systems, worldbuilding is for chumps i'm here for the sugar, Sickfic, or more like convalescence fic but that isn't a tag, POV Multiple, Family Feels, Family Fluff, lxc is a troll and he ships wangxian so hard, wwx deserves and gets gets hugs, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sleepy Cuddles, Hugs, JYL is a queen)

it goes like this by moonsteps (T, 15k, WangXian, College/University, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Timers, Humor, Fluff, Oblivious WWX, in which wwx is jealous… of himself, some drunken LWJ shenanigans, someone pls save JC, two idiots in love)

💖 nothing you confess by PorcupineGirl (T, 31k, WangXian, Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, POV Alternating, Golden Core Reveal, Depressed WWX, WWX Has PTSD, JC & LWJ Friendship, friendship may be too strong a word more like allies who are gonna love the shit outta post-burial-mounds WWX whether he likes it or not, Hurt/Comfort, Recovery)

💖 The Cruelty of Fate by Procrastination_Sensation (T, 15k, WangXian, Major Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending)

💖 What if you're making me all I was meant to be by WishingStar (T, 12k, WangXian, LSZ & LJY, Angst with a Happy Ending, Soulmates, Time Travel)

🔒💖 No Matter What I Do I Feel The Pain (With or Without Goose) by Trickster_Angel (T, 3k, WangXian, Soulmates, The Soulmate Goose of Enforcement, Crack, Not tagging animal abuse but they have to fight off the geese, Not Serious, Humor, First Kiss)

🔒💖 to hold the wind by androids_fighting93, artbysongs (E, 62k, WangXian, JYL/MM, Soulmates, Modern, Reincarnation, College/University, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Disownment, LWJ Loves Rabbits, Touch-Starved LWJ)

the heartlines on our hands by occultings (microcomets) (E, 47k, wangxian, Soulmates AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Mutual Pining, First Time, Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death)

the river and the sea by sasamelons (T, 7k, WangXian, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Misunderstandings, Angst with a Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Falling In Love, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Mutual Pining)

🔒 Bright the Day We Met by ereshai (G, 1k, WangXian, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, POV Outsider, Fluff, Supportive LXC, Soulmates)

~*~

10. any fics where A) lwj is afraid of losing a-yuan/sizhui? not exactly afraid but like sad, scared etc? maybe something bad happened, or to the wens/wwx, or someone claims a-yuan is theirs, along those lines.

B) same thing but a-yuan is scared of losing lwj instead?

thank you for your work!

~*~

11. Itmf: (long fics only please)

A) lwj looooves carrying wwx in his arms. Doesn't matter whoever sees. It's his love y'all.

B) idol wwx or actor wwx or wangxian in showbiz

11B)

life, drama and action by Akai__hana (G, 13k, WangXian, XuanLi, singer!lwj, actor!wwx, Social Media AU, Fluff and Humor, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack)

Some of You by tangerinechar (M, 60k, WangXian, Modern AU, Social Media, Actor AU, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Fluff, Love Confessions, Matchmaking, Light Angst)

The Fault in Our Stars by Vamillepudding (T, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Romantic Comedy, Comedy of Errors, Misunderstandings, the title makes it sound like a cancer story, it’s not a cancer story)

Ornaments Under the Stars by trippednfell (M, 62k, wangxian, Modern, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, the wangxian Hallmark Movie AU no one asked for, plot and title were randomly generated, Kidfic, Disabled Character, debilitating injury as substitute for missing golden core, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Angst with a Happy Ending, Guest starring Lan Zhan’s sky blue coat, The Coat deserves its own tag, disordered eating habits - not a major plot point, WIP)

All My Songs I Wrote to Find You by Winxhelina (T, 8k, WangXian, Social Media, Bullying, Immortal LWJ & WWX, Scheming NHS, Musicians, Explicit Language, Kissing, Making Out)

~*~

12. Can i ask for a recommendation for Time Travel like the Four Juniors (Lan Shizui, Jin Ling, Lan Jinyi and Ozouyang) (i'm so sorry if i spell there names wrong) went to the past and met there parents

Or the past went to the future

Time, Time, Time by skeletonofaplant (G, 44k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, LSZ & WWX, JYL & JL & JZX, LJY & LSZ, Time Travel Fix-It, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Angst, Fluff, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Time Travelling Junior Ensemble, Junior Ensemble Shenanigans, Humor)

Time Travel, Obviously by nirejseki (Not Rated, 1k, Time Travel, Crack)

❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

~*~

13. Hey guys! Any fanfic recommendations with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji fighting and arguing, but with a happy ending? Especially if they are in an established relationship @livesformitski

KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, wangxian, modern, sex work, fiber arts, 2nd in series) this one has a substantial Wangxian fight that ends well

~*~

14. Hi!!! I have something for the next ITMF.

I'm feeling kinda angsty today, so are there any fics where Lan Zhan sacrifices himself for Wei Ying's happiness?

It could be any kind of sacrificial method and Wei Ying doesn't know of Lan Zhan's sacrifice until it's too late. Wei Ying could try getting him back through any means (time travel, necromancy, etc) except for sacrificing himself :D

Thank you and keep up the good work!

~*~

15. Hello! If you accept nsfw asks, I am looking for WangXian fics where dragonJi has *ahem* dragonly endowments downstairs. The classic antlers and tail is good too, but I am particularly looking for lemons where non-human anatomy comes into play. There is a bit of this in Paths Of Light And Darkness Converge, if anyone wants an example. Thank you! 🐉

🔒 dragons white to ride by RoseThorne (E, <1k, WangXian, Dragon LWJ, LWJ Has Two Penises, Multiple Orgasms, Implied Future Mpreg, First Time, Wedding Night, POV Third Person, POV WWX, Overstimulation, Podfic Welcome, Crack Treated Seriously)

~*~

16. For ITMF, I'm wondering if there are fics out there where LWJ & WWX can wield each others' swords. I've read something where WWX can use Bichen due to a partial core transplant from LWJ, but I'm interested in anything where the swords recognise their owner's soulmate? @thispatternismine

Lost and Found by dea_liberty (M, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, SL/XXC, Post-Canon, Found Families, a lot of feelings, Epilogue, Marriage, so many feelings, Some angst, Canon-Compliant, Brotherly Love, angst with happy ending, Much-needed reconciliations, outsider pov, Fix-It, WWX has some PTSD to deal with, Minor Violence) it's not the focus but it comes up in the first part of "Lost and Found" and is revisited near the end of the fifth part (LWJ can unsheathe and wield Suibian)

~*~

17. Hi, I have a request for itmf. Is there any wangxian fic where

a) Lan Zhan likes to take care of Wei Ying or in the simple thing,he has caretaking kink(is this the right word?) . Like The Second Jade of Lan's late but incendiary sexual awakening by KizuKatana

b) Any fic like A matter of time by mrcformoso. Where Lan Zhan keep wei ying for himself and wei ying like it. Or a time travel where lan zhan just, "you're mine" Or the friendship between Lan Zhan and Nie Huaisang to protect Wei Ying. Or anything that the 3 of them have dark personality(yandere)

Thank you for all your hardwork. Love you guys😘 @chibiizzy

17A)

The Dragon's Bride by jaws_3 (T, 34k, WangXian, Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Arranged Marriage elements, Slow Burn, sometimes ya get sent off to atone for ur villages misgivings and u just gotta deal, Dragon LWJ, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Spanish Translation Available)

Continuation by thefaceofno (T, 14k, WangXian, Canon Continuation, WWX builds a lotus pond in cloud recesses, Hair Brushing, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Pining, gay disaster LWJ, Post-Canon Fix-It)

🔒 The Promises We Make by Mayarenerose (G, 34k, WangXian, LSZ & LWJ, LXC & LWJ, LWJ & WN, LWJ & JC, Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Fluff, Angst, Everybody Lives, Canon Divergence, Gratuitous Bed Sharing, LWJ: moves into the Burial Mounds, WWX: ??? wtf??? are you??? doing??, Rabbits, there are so many rabbits in this fic guys i cant even)

💙 this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending)

❤️ the best of you by sysrae (E, 41k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, slightly undernegotiated kink, but in a very soft and consensual way, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JFM and Madam Yu's A+ parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues therapy is good actually, the most tender of railings, Reference to animal attacks/animal cruelty, descriptions of past violence)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Work-Life Balance is Not A Thing by catbrainedschemes (E, 17k, WangXian, Modern AU, Workplace Relationship, Romantic Comedy, Idiots in Love, Oblivious WWX, Oblivious LWJ, Sexual Tension, Eventual Smut, but not that eventual, Pining, Dirty Talk)

17B)

Like stones on an unseen board by Vir_Abelasan (Not rated, 11k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Dark LWJ, Older LWJ, Teacher LWJ, dark twin jades, Age Difference, Manipulation, Protective LWJ, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Corporal Punishment, Relatively canon-typical abusive Jiangs, WWX Get a Happy Ending, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Not Jiang Clan Friendly)

🔒 At heart by apathyinreverie (M, 36k, WangXian, WIP, Dark LWJ(Ish), Amnesia, WWX gets to be Not Okay after the BM, Hurt WWX, Recovery, Caring, Protective LWJ, Possessive LWJ, some definite manipulation, but not everything is as it seems, not nearly as dark as the tags make it sound, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Revea, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, kind of, Domestic WangXian, Fluff, WWX Goes to Gusu, Possessive WWX, WWX happily atticwifing away, Sunshot Campaign, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ)

~*~

18. Hi so I tried to find any fic that has this idea myself but I couldn't find any so I am here to ask this oh great finder to find me a fic that has wei ying dual wielding like he wheels two swords maybe one of them is Suibian and the other is like one of his parents blade or something I just want a fic that has him dual wielding it will be so cool

Take My Hand, Hold Me Tight by ThyNameIsAeschylus30 (M, 58k, WIP, HanXian, One-sided WangXian, Canon Divergence, Transmigration into MDZS, But WWX from his world transmigration to cannon WWX's world, BAMF WWX, Immortal WWX, Healer!WWX, Age Difference, Donghua WRH, Pining WWX, Minor WWX/OMC, Past Relationship(s), YZY Bashing, Bad Parents JFM and YZY, Canonical Child Abuse, Unrequited love for LWJ, Potentially OOC!WWX and others, JFM isn't getting bashed he's being gaslighted by WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition) It's a WWX/WRH fanfic where WWX an immortal healer from another realm transmigrated because this version of him died. He uses both his old and his current sword if I remember correctly

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #wangxianficfinder #mdzs #the untamed #long post #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #wangxian fic search

148 notes · View notes