inkmonster21

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

Series Masterlist

John Price x Single!Mom

Warnings: swearing, yearning, emotional confessions

6. It’s A Date

Soap’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he caught a whiff of the food in Price's hand.

"What ya got, Price?" he called out, his voice curious.

Price rolled his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Don't you have something better to do than sniff my lunch, Soap?" he replied, continuing down the hallway towards his office.

Soap followed after him, a wide grin plastered across his face. "Nah, I'm just curious, Captain. That smells too good to be takeout. Did you cook something for once?"

Price laughed, shaking his head at his comrades' relentless curiosity. “No. Someone made it for me," he said, continuing into his office and placing the leftovers on the desk.

Soap raised an eyebrow, a sly grin creeping onto his face. "Wouldn't happen to be a little Bonnie, would it?" he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Price rolled his eyes again, shooting Johnny a withering glare. "Mind your own bloody business, MacTavish," he retorted, a hint of irritation in his voice. But there was a glint in his eye that revealed the truth, and Soap’s grin widened.

"Oh, come on now, don't get all huffy. You know you can't keep secrets from us," Soap teased, moving into the office and plopping down in one of the armchairs across from the desk.

Price sighed, resigned to the fact that Soap was not going to let this go. He took his seat, his expression a little weary.

"I'm not keeping secrets," he replied, his tone a little exasperated. "She’s just a friendly woman who made me dinner. And today, I’m having it for lunch, that's all."

Soap quickly found Gaz and Ghost in the rec room, engaged in a game of pool. He sauntered over, a wide grin on his face. "You won't believe what I just found out about our dear Captain," he said, his voice dripping with mischief.

Gaz looked up from his game, a curious expression on his face. "What is it? Something bad?" he asked, setting down his pool cue. Ghost paused in his shot, his gaze fixed on Soap now.

Soap’s smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Captain’s got himself a lady friend. Someone who cooked him dinner," he said, the words dripping with implication.

Gaz's eyebrows shot up, a look of surprise crossing his features. "Didn’t he swear off dating when he divorced his last missus?" he asked, clearly shocked at the revelation.

Soap nodded enthusiastically. "That's what he said, but something smells too good to be true. Literally. I just smelled the food he brought from their dinner," he said, his grin widening even further.

Ghost's eyes narrowed, a hint of suspicion flashing in them. "You sure he's not pulling your leg, Johnny?" he said, his voice gruff yet curious.

Soap shook his head, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh no, mate, I’m sure. He got all cold and defensive when I teased him about it. You know how he is when he’s not telling the truth," he explained, relishing in the gossip.

Gaz chuckled, his expression amused. "Well, it seems our old Captain has finally broken his dry spell," he said, a hint of humor in his tone.

"He wasn't giving much away. He just said she was a friend who made him dinner," Johnny said, clearly irritated that he didn't have more information.

Gaz grinned, clearly relishing the idea of some juicy gossip. "Alright lads, looks like we've got ourselves a mission," he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

You were standing in the kitchen, humming softly to yourself as you prepared dinner. It was a simple meal, nothing fancy, but you were excited nonetheless. You had grown fond of these intimate little dinners with John, the easy conversation, and the comfortable silences.

Your daughter was practically bouncing with anticipation, unable to contain her excitement. She had always enjoyed having John over for dinner, and tonight was no exception. “Where is he?” She kept peering into the kitchen.

"Honey, he'll be here soon. He has to get home from work first," you said, trying to soothe her impatience.

"But I want to see him now," she whined, her eyes wide and pleading.

You couldn't help but chuckle at her eagerness.

"Just a little longer, sweetheart. He'll be here soon enough."

Your daughter let out a dramatic sigh, clearly exasperated by the wait. But just then, there was a knock on the door, and your heart skipped a beat.

"He's here!" your daughter exclaimed, jumping up and down with excitement.

You gave her a warning look. "Calm down, sweetheart. Let me get the door first."

She nodded obediently, trying to contain her excitement. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves, and headed for the door.

You opened it, and there he was, standing on your doorstep, a small smile on his face.

"Hey love," he said softly, his voice sending a flutter through your chest.

You smiled at him, your nerves suddenly replaced by a warm sense of comfort. "Hey," you replied, stepping aside to let him in.

His gaze drifted down to your daughter, who was standing behind you, her expression brimming with excitement. He chuckled, unable to help himself.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft and affectionate.

Your daughter's face lit up with joy, and she rushed forward, throwing her arms around his legs in a tight hug. "John!" she exclaimed, her voice muffled against his trousers.

John laughed, ruffling her hair gently. "You ready for dinner?"

She nodded enthusiastically, her face still buried in his legs. You couldn't help but smile at the sight, your heart swelling with warmth.

"Come on, let’s eat," you said, gesturing for them to follow you into the dining room.

You watched as John took it upon himself to buckle your daughter into her seat, his large hands surprisingly gentle as he buckled the strap securely. Your daughter seemed amused, giggling as he did so, and you couldn't help but feel a warm flutter in your chest.

You couldn't help but notice how easily John fit into this little domestic dinner routine. He seemed completely at ease, chatting with your daughter with a fatherly affection, and it made your heart ache with a strange mixture of longing and affection.

As the night wore on, you found yourself observing him more closely than usual. The way he interacted with your daughter, the way he laughed at her jokes, the way he listened intently to her stories - it was as if he was made for this, and the thought both pleased and troubled you.

You couldn't help the thoughts that ran through your head as you watched him, his every action sending a wave of desire coursing through you. It was wrong, you knew, but the heart wanted what it wanted, and right now, it ached for him.

As you sat there, the silence between you heavy with unspoken desire, you found yourself drawn to him. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, and it was tantalizing. You wanted nothing more than to move closer, to feel his arms around you, to hear his ragged breath in your ear.

“John?”

John looked over at you, his gaze searching your face. ��Yeah, love?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "Can I ask you something?"

John nodded, his expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "Of course, love. What is it?"

Your eyes met his, your heart pounding in your chest. "Why do you do… this? Come over for dinner, hang out with me, and spend time with my kid. Why?"

John hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to his lap. He seemed to be contemplating his words, as if he was weighing whether or not to say something that he knew he couldn’t take back. Finally, he looked back up at you, his eyes a rich, dark brown, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and intensity. "You really want to know?"

You nodded, your heart racing even faster. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need to know."

John sighed, the sound ragged, but he leaned closer to you, his gaze never leaving yours. "Because I’m drawn to you. Because every time I’m with you, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time. Something I didn’t even think I’d entertain again. And I don’t want to let that go. I don’t want to let you go."

His words sent a shiver down your spine. You hadn't expected him to be so openly honest, and the fact that he was pouring out his feelings to you made your heart sing. But there was still a part of you that held back, wary of getting hurt.

"What about my daughter?" you asked softly. "What about her in all this?”

John's expression softened, and he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "She's a part of you, love," he said softly. "And I can't imagine one without the other. She's a package deal, and I wouldn’t have it any other way."

You wanted to fall right into him, but you still held back, precious wounds still healing. “I haven’t even thought of dating since I divorced, John.”

John's expression turned serious, and he nodded, his grip on your hand tightening. "I know, love," he said softly. "And I don't want to rush you. You've been through a lot, and I respect that. But I also want you to know how I feel. I can't help it, and I don't want to hide it any longer."

Your heart ached at his words. You felt the same way, that undeniable pull towards him that you couldn't explain. But you were scared, scared of getting hurt again, scared of disrupting the life you had built for yourself and your daughter. "John," you said quietly, your voice shaky. “I... I don't know what to say..."

John sighed, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand. He seemed to sense your uncertainty, your hesitation. "You don't have to say anything, love," he said softly. "Just...just let me take you out on a proper date."

You looked at him in surprise. “A date?” you echoed, your heart fluttering. “Like a real date?

John nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, a real date. Something fancy, where I pick you up at the door and take you out to dinner.”

You felt your heart skip a beat, a thrill of excitement coursing through you at the thought. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to be courted, taken out, and shown affection. "I..." you faltered, your voice shaky. 'When?"

John let out a soft chuckle, his smile widening. "Tomorrow night, if you're free," he said, his tone hopeful. "I know it's sudden, but I don't want to wait anymore."

You felt a mix of emotions coursing through you. Excitement, nervousness, fear, everything all rolled into one. But beneath it all, there was an undeniable longing. You wanted this, wanted him, in a way that terrified you.

"Tomorrow," you repeated softly, the word barely a whisper. "I'll call my friend. See if she can babysit."

John's smile widened, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "Perfect," he said, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. "It's a date."

“A date” the words felt foreign, surreal on your lips.

“A date?!” Your friend squealed on the other side of the phone call

You chuckled into the phone, your friend's excitement infectious. "Yeah, a date," you confirmed, feeling a mixture of nervousness and excitement. "Can you believe it?"

“Oh my god! I can’t believe this is happening!” Your friend exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement. "Finally, you're going on a real date! With a guy who’s not a complete jerk!"

“Only if you’re able to babysit.”

Your friend let out a dramatic gasp, her voice filled with playfully fake disbelief. "Of course, I can babysit! I wouldn't miss this for the world. Just give me a time, and I’ll be there."

“I definitely need you here at least three hours before. I haven’t been on a date in over 5 years.”

Your friend let out a dramatic sigh, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, the agony of being rusty on a date! Don't worry, I'll be there early to help you pick out an outfit and give you a pep talk."

You chuckled, grateful for your friend's support. "You're the best," you said, feeling a sense of excitement and nervousness building in your chest. "I have no idea what to wear."

"I’m bringing over some options. You’re going to knock his socks off!"

You laughed at your friend's enthusiasm. "Don't go overboard! I don't want to look like I'm trying too hard," you protested, but deep down, you secretly enjoyed the idea of making a good impression.

"Oh, please. We're going to make you look so good, he won’t know what hit him," your friend replied, her voice filled with confidence. "And trust me, he’ll be thanking me later."

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: fishing, guns, threats to children

46. A Wanted Man

Throughout the journey, Arthur pleaded with you to rethink your decision, his concern evident in his voice. "Darlin', this is ridiculous," he implored, suggesting a more enjoyable alternative. "Let’s just turn around. Head back to Valentine, get a hot meal, and I’ll even get us a room. Just us for the night. Let me make it up to you..."

Your response was assertive and unyielding, "Oh no. Absolutely not. You ain’t getting out of this.”

Frustration filled to the brim. Arthur gripped the reins hard. “You’re damn stubborn. Why are you wanting to do this?”

You met his gaze, your expression defiant, "Why do you think?"

He let out a harsh breath, “I don’t know! Don’t you trust me?”

Your expression hardened, "Don’t you think that’s been a little shaken recently?"

Arthur continued to fight, his frustration and concern clear in his voice. "Why do you want us to go and meet her face to face when I could just make it up to you by showing you how much I love you!?"

Your words were firm, "I want her to understand that I won’t be walked over. I want her to see that you're with me, and some little love letter ain’t going to change that!"

As the farm grew closer, your anxiety rose, causing knots to tie themselves in your stomach and a sweat to build on your forehead.

Arthur gave a final attempt to persuade you, "Darlin’," his voice low and gentle, "are we really doing this?"

"We’re doing this," your voice was firm and filled with determination. You took a deep breath and approached the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you knocked.

A woman appeared at the door, her curious gaze fixed on you. "May I help you?" she inquired with polite confusion.

You huffed, your emotions bubbling just beneath the surface, "Looking for a Mary Linton."

Arthur stood behind you, his head bowed, his expression a mixture of guilt and shame.

The woman disappeared inside, leaving you and Arthur waiting awkwardly on the porch. You could hear faint voices from inside, the sound of soft footsteps, and whispers.

Mary Linton stood in the doorway, her slender frame filling the space. Her eyes met yours, and a mix of surprise and confusion registered on her face.

Seeing Mary up close made you suddenly conscious of every imperfection you possessed. Here you were, dressed in dirt-stained clothing, your life filled with the chaos of a wild daughter and the mouth of a sinner.

In comparison to Mary, you felt insignificant, and the sense of inferiority weighed heavily on you.

You stepped back, feeling small in Mary's presence. You struggled to form words, suddenly at a loss for what to say. “I’m… you…”

Mary’s gaze moved beyond you, locking onto Arthur, her expression filled with a nostalgic joy. Her eyes glimmered with memories so fond, her heart filled with a bittersweet sense of longing.

Mary spoke his name softly, her voice filled with a mix of affection and familiarity. "Arthur," she said, his name slipping through her lips like a tender caress.

Arthur looked at you, his eyes tinged with both guilt and pity. He sighed deeply and nodded in Mary's direction, his response a mere acknowledgment. "Mary."

You silently cursed yourself, regretting your decision to come here. This whole situation felt like a colossal mistake. And to make matters even worse, Arthur would have every right to say, I told you so.

Mary gazed at Arthur, her expression filled with a mix of satisfaction and hope. "I see you received my letter.”

"I did," he affirmed. His gaze shifted as he inquired about her husband, "Where is what's-his-name?"

Mary's gaze wandered away, a hint of sorrow appearing in her expression, "Oh, he died."

You crossed your arms, your earlier fire still smoldering within, "So, you become a widow and come around here looking for Arthur?"

Mary's gaze met yours. "No, it ain’t like that," she replied firmly, her eyes narrowing in response to your veiled accusation.

You raised an eyebrow, an air of skepticism in your voice, "Oh? So, then what is it like?"

Mary regarded you with a disapproving gaze, clearly irked by your demeanor. She then turned back to Arthur, her tone filled with a sense of urgency and desperation. "Listen, Arthur," she pleaded, her voice tinged with a mixture of vulnerability and entreaty. "My family... I need your help."

You couldn't help but interject, your words tinged with a mix of frustration and protectiveness, "Oh, you mean the family that always looked down on him?"

Mary turned to you, her eyes wide with surprised curiosity, "Who are you? Why did you come with him?"

Arthur sighed in weary resignation, his hand instinctively moving to the back of his neck in a gesture of frustration. He cast a weary glance in your direction, his eyes reflecting his unspoken plea for restraint.

You clenched your teeth and retorted, "I'm his goddamn wife!"

Mary’s eyes widened, her earlier haughty demeanor replaced by obvious dismay. She hadn’t expected to hear that.

Mary's eyes examined you with a critical eye, her expression turning to one of pity as she addressed her former lover. "Oh, Arthur," she muttered, her voice tinged with sympathy.

“OH, ARTHUR, WHAT?” You huffed and prepared to take a step forward, but Arthur quickly intervened, grabbing you by the middle and holding you back. You seethed with anger, ready to lash out, but Arthur's firm grip held you in place. "You prissy little-" your words were cut off as Arthur's hand clamped down on your mouth.

Watching you stand your ground, Arthur couldn’t help but love you even more. Sure, you were a handful, but he loved you fiercely for it. His affection for you grew with every spiteful word that left your lovely mouth, and the way you declared yourself as his wife filled him with pure pride.

Mary stood there, stunned by the display. Clearly, this was not what she had expected at all.

With a firm voice, Arthur spoke up, his words filled with finality, "As you can see, the old lady didn't appreciate the letter. I suggest you don't send another, Mary."

With a swift move, Arthur lifted you onto the horse effortlessly and gave it a firm slap on the behind, setting it off at a gallop. As the horse galloped away, you and Arthur rode off in silence, leaving Mary standing there, her eyes wide with surprise and disappointment.

Little would you know that the encounter that day would leave a lasting impression on Mary Linton. In the depths of her being, a gnawing feeling of envy would take root, eating away at her. She'd become jealous of you in every sense possible. Especially the way you stood by Arthur's side so effortlessly.

As you rode away, a strange thing happened. A low chuckle escaped from Arthur, the first sound of lightness in miles.

You looked over at Arthur, puzzled by his sudden shift in mood. But as your gaze met his, you couldn't help but smile, and soon the laughter escaped your lips, joining his.

The sound of your combined laughter melded with the rhythmic clopping of hooves against the dry earth, creating a moment of shared catharsis.

He chuckled softly, his voice filled with a mix of affection and bemusement, "You're a damn wild one, darlin’.”

You couldn’t help but notice the hint of admiration in his voice, and a smirk played at the corners of your mouth, "Damn right I am.”

The atmosphere in camp was unusually charged. The children were running amuck, causing chaos left and right. You and Abigail found yourselves desperately in need of a break, seeking solace from this whirlwind of activity.

“Momma, I’m bored,” Grace exclaimed, a whine of impatience evident in her voice.

Frustrated, you sighed as you folded laundry, replying, "Well, Sweetie, go find something to do. Go read, toss some rocks, seek life lessons from Hosea. Just give me ten minutes, alright?"

“But I don’t wanaaa,” Grace whined, the words drawn out like a child’s tantrum.

You huffed and closed your eyes for a moment, struggling to control your frustration.

Jack, not to be outdone, joined in the chorus of complaints, whining to Abigail with equal fervor.

Your gaze shifted towards Arthur as he entered camp, a smirk creeping onto your face at the sight of him.

You turned to Grace and Jack, a playful grin on your face. "How do you two feel about fishing with Arthur?" you suggested.

Grace’s frustration melted away, replaced by excitement. She clapped her hands together and jumped in place. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Abigale looked at you, her brow furrowed with doubt, "Do you think he'll say yes?"

You rolled your eyes and retorted with a confident tone, “Of course he will. He's still paying back for that damn letter."

You made your way over to Arthur, your steps purposefully brisk. You stopped in front of him, a cheeky smile playing on your lips.

He smiled warmly in return, folding his arms. “What?” He asked, noticing your gleeful look.

You gestured to the rowdy children, “Grace and Jack are driving me and Abigale insane. Thinking you’d take them fishing. Get them out of our hair for a bit.”

He chuckled, “I reckon I could do that.” He replied, his eyes falling to the two little kids, bouncing around in a frenzy of pent up energy.

You smiled affectionately, placing your hand on his cheek and gently rubbing your fingertips through his scruff, "Thank you, honey."

He leaned into your touch, a warm and genuine expression on his face. "Anything for you, darlin'," he replied softly, his eyes reflecting the fondness he held for you.

You chuckled and nodded toward the rowdy children. “Well, go on now. Take them before they don’t want to go.”

He planted one last kiss on your head before you made him walk to Grace and Jack with a smile on his face.

Arthur stood next to you before the two kids, his expression warm and inviting. "You two ready to go catch some fish?" he asked, his tone cheerful.

"Yes!" They responded in unison, excitement evident in their voices.

Arthur chuckled, nodding his head and waving for them to collect the necessities, "Alright, then. Go get your poles.”

Once the kids were gone, Arthur pulled you with a gentle yet firm grip on your waist, your body pressed against his. Without warning, he kissed you passionately, his lips capturing yours in a tender yet possessive manner.

You were caught off guard for only a moment before you melted into his kiss, your lips responding with equal fervor. The world around you seemed to fade away as the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of his lips against yours.

With a warm smile, he pulled away and said, "I'd do anything for you and that little girl."

You returned his smile, your heart swelling with affection. "I know you would," you replied softly.

Just a distance away from camp, at the banks of the river, Arthur fished with Grace and Jack. Grace was proving to be a natural at fishing, her cast smooth and accurate as she worked with ease to pull in her first catch. Jack, on the other hand, decided to make a necklace for his mother, using some colorful wildflowers to weave a delicate, if not simple, token of love.

Grace let out a gasp as her fishing line went taut and she began reeling in a sizeable catch. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned to Arthur, shouting, "Look at this one, daddy!"

Arthur's face widened with genuine pride as he saw the size of the fish she had caught. "Dang, look at the size of that thing!"

Jack's eyes widened with wonder as he observed the size of the fish from his spot in the flowers. "It's almost as big as me!" he said, his voice filled with awe, his imagination running wild.

Two strangers appeared, riding on horseback. They halted nearby. They looked at the children and then looked at Arthur. "What fine young children... and in such complex circumstances. Arthur, isn't it? Arthur Morgan?" One asked, his gaze fixed on the outlaw.

Arthur quickly responded, shielding Grace behind him. He directed a sharp question toward the approaching strangers, "Who are you?"

The stranger smirked, his gaze fixed on Arthur. "Yes, Arthur Morgan… Van der Linde’s most trusted associate," he affirmed, a hint of mockery in his tone. He directed his gaze to his associate, adding, "You've read the files. A typical case… an orphaned street kid seduced by that maniac's silver tongue, and later matures into a degenerate murderer." He then offered a dry introduction, "Agent Milton."

Milton gestured to his associate, "Agent Ross. Pinkerton Detective Agency... seconded to the United States Government. It's nice to finally meet you. We know a lot about you." Milton's gaze shifted to Grace, a smirk playing on his lips as he remarked, "But I did not know you had a daughter. Spitting image isn’t she?”

Grace clung to the back of Arthur’s leg, her eyes wide and fearful as she realized the seriousness of the situation.

Arthur fixed the men with a firm glare, his expression hardening as he questioned them, "What business of it is of yours, anyway?"

Milton stated matter-of-factly, his tone grave and serious, "You're a wanted man, Mr. Morgan. There's five thousand dollars for your head alone."

Arthur couldn't help but find the situation absurdly humorous, "Five thousand dollars? Can I turn myself in?"

Milton's expression remained serious, his gaze firm as he made his intention clear. "We want Van der Linde."

Arthur shook his head, his expression one of feigned ignorance. "Old Dutch? I haven't seen him for months," he responded, his voice calm and composed.

Grace clung to Arthur’s jacket, her little hands bunching the fabric in her grip as fear filled her heart, worried that he might be caught in his lie.

Milton’s gaze remained fixed on Arthur, his words laced with accusation. "Because I heard that a guy fitting his description robbed a train... belonging to Leviticus Cornwall up near Granite Pass."

A sense of unease washed over him. He forced a strained chuckle, responding sarcastically, "Oh, ain’t that a little... old fashioned nowadays?"

“Apparently not.” Milton offered his proposal with authority, a firm resolve in his eyes. "Listen... this is my offer, Mr. Morgan. Bring in Van der Linde… and you have my word, you won’t swing."

Grace's grip on Arthur's jacket tightened, knuckles white and eyes welled with tears.

Arthur responded firmly, his voice tinged with defiance, "Oh, I ain’t gonna swing anyways. You see, I haven’t done anything wrong... aside from not playing the game by your rules."

Milton rolled his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "Spare me the philosophy lesson," he retorted with a hint of irritation. "I’ve already heard it... from Mac Callander."

“Mac Callander?” Arthur repeated, the name striking a chord.

Milton chuckled darkly, his expression laced with a sadistic satisfaction as he revealed what had become of Mac. "He was pretty shot up by the time I got to him... so really it was more of a mercy killing. Slow... but merciful."

Grace’s tears silently rolled down her cheeks as fear gripped her heart, her small frame trembling. She silently wondered if these men would harm her father and mother, forcibly taking them from her.

Arthur seethed with rage, his temper flaring as he hurled the fishing rod to the ground. Agent Ross aimed his rifle firmly at him and the children, causing Grace to cower with a shrill cry. Arthur’s voice resonated with disgust, his words filled with contempt as he retorted, "You enjoy being a rich man’s toy, do you?"

Milton spoke with conviction, his words dripping with a sense of superiority. "I enjoy society... flaws and all. You people venerate savagery... and you will die... savagely. All of you."

Arthur’s gaze was fixed, his expression defiant as he responded, "Oh, we’re all gonna die, Agent. Some of us sooner than others."

With a hint of smugness, Milton concluded their encounter, his tone laced with condescension. "Good day, Mr. Morgan."

Arthur’s gaze locked with Milton’s, his expression unyielding. "Goodbye," he said with a hint of defiance.

As the man turned to leave, Ross couldn’t resist a smirk, his gaze flickering toward the children. With a hint of menace, he said, "You two kids enjoy your fishing... while you still can."

Grace was a mess as the two men left, her eyes puffy, cheeks wet with fresh tears, her breath hitching occasionally as she tried to hold back the flood of emotions.

Arthur knelt down and gently scooped Grace into his arms, cradling her fragile form against his chest.

“Can’t lose you,” she managed to say while clinging to him. Her emotions were too much for words, but a lot of her hurt came across in the way she clung to his shirt.

Arthur held her closer, rubbing her back soothingly, his own heart heavy with worry. "Oh, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice filled with concern. "I've got you. I've got you."

Jack’s voice broke the silence, his innocent curiosity evident in his small voice, "Who were they?"

Arthur replied calmly while still holding Grace close, his tone firm but reassuring. "No one to worry about... no one at all," he assured them. "Come on now, let’s pick up our things and head home. It’s getting late."

The three of them returned to camp, Grace still uncharacteristically quiet and shaken by the encounter with the men.

Your face lit up as you caught sight of them coming up the trail. "There you are," you exclaimed, a warm smile on your face as you welcomed them back. "Did you have a good time?"

Grace’s teary eyes met yours, and she wordlessly shook her head. Your heart shattered within your chest as Grace fell into your frame, tears streaming down her face. Your gaze met Arthur's, silently seeking an explanation.

Arthur let out a weary sigh, his voice barely audible as he whispered to you. "We met some folk," he explained. "I ought to go speak with Dutch."

You turned your attention to Grace, your concern and worry etched on your face. "Come on, honey," you said gently, guiding her gently into the sanctuary of your tent.

Arthur, feeling the weight of urgency, wasted no time entering Dutch’s tent. His voice was resolute as he announced, "We got a problem."

Dutch’s brow furrowed as he inquired, his curiosity piqued. “What?”

Arthur paused for a moment, searching his mind for the names he had heard just moments before. "I just met some guys out by the river... a feller named,... Milton and, uh.... Ross," he recounted, his expression grave.

Dutch’s demeanor remained unfazed, his response tinged with a sense of indifference. "And?..." he echoed, waiting for a more substantial explanation.

Arthur's voice grew heavy with gravity as he unveiled the full extent of the situation. "And...they are employees of the Pinkerton Detective Agency," he stated, emphasizing the gravity of the situation. "And they know about the train... and I’m damn near sure they know we’re here," he added, his tone tinged with frustration and concern.

Dutch stood up, his expression growing more serious as he asked, "Were you followed back here?"

Arthur shook his head in response, his expression solemn as he replied, "No, they know we're near here... and they want you, Dutch." He leaned against one of the tent poles, his arms crossed as he continued, "They offered me my freedom in exchange for you."

Dutch scoffed, a hint of disdain in his voice, "Why didn’t you take it? Could’ve gotten your family outta here. God knows that’s what your woman wants."

Arthur shook his head in defiance, his loyalty steadfast. "Very funny," he retorted sarcastically, his response tinged with a hint of defiance.

"But what do we do now?" Arthur inquired, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Dutch’s voice held a sense of composure as he spoke, "I say we do nothing just yet," he declared. "They’re just trying to scare us into doing something stupid. We’ve made it past the mountains. We just need to remain calm."

Arthur nodded. “Yeah… I guess you’re right.”

Arthur bid farewell to Dutch and made his way back to his tent, finding you and Grace deep in conversation inside.

Dutch’s gaze followed Arthur, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of you. A smoldering ember of suspicion and distrust began to smolder within him, and just like all those years ago, he found himself fixating on you, silently evaluating your intentions.

[inkmonster21]

Falling In Faith

Series Masterlist

Gideon Gemstone x Fem!Reader

Warnings: toxic ex arrival

13. Debts to Collect

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a soft, warm glow over the landscape, while a few birds chirped softly, adding to the tranquility of the morning. The atmosphere was peaceful, and it seemed as if the world was awakening slowly, stirring from the slumber of the night.

Your two friends, Ashley and Sarah, were struggling to keep pace with you. While you reveled in the early morning run, they were struggling to keep up, their complaints escaping their lips.

"Why are we out here this early?" asked one, gasping for breath.

The other groaned, "I've never even broken a sweat before 8 a.m.!"

You turned around, jogging backwards effortlessly to face them, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. "Oh come on, you two!" you exclaimed, enjoying their struggle to keep up.

Ashley huffed, resting her hands on her knees as she walked, clearly struggling to catch her breath. "You're killing us!" she managed to say through labored breaths, her words tinged with exhaustion and resignation.

You couldn't help but laugh at their predicament, their exhaustion and weary expressions adding to the hilarity of the situation.

"It's not funny," Sarah panted, a mixture of annoyance and amusement glinting in her eyes.

"Yeah, it kind of is," you replied playfully, unable to contain your amusement any longer.

Ashley rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile creeping across her face despite her exhaustion. "You're insane," she retorted, her voice filled with feigned irritation.

Despite their exhaustion and complaints, your two friends persevered, determined to push through the challenging run.

As you reached the end of the run, you placed your hands on your hips, taking a moment to catch your breath. Meanwhile, Ashley sank to the ground, completely spent, while Sarah dumped her water bottle over her head, attempting to cool herself off.

"I don't think I'll ever run again," Sarah groaned melodramatically, collapsing onto the ground next to Ashley.

"I'm dead. Literally fucking dead," Ashley agreed, her voice barely audible between gasps for air.

You chuckled, looking at your friends with a bemused grin, their exhaustion on full display. "How about some shaved ice for sticking with me?" you asked, suggesting a reward for their perseverance.

"Yes! Fuck yes... I'll take mango," Sarah managed to gasp, still trying to catch her breath.

"Peach for me," Ashley added, her words sounding more like a plea for mercy.

You nodded and chuckled, amused by their choices, "Alright, one mango and one peach coming up."

They both let out an exhausted, "Thank you," lying on the ground in pure exhaustion.

As you approached the small blue stand, you positioned yourself in line, joining the few people waiting patiently to satisfy their cravings for a cold, refreshing shaved ice.

The hair on the nape of your neck stood on end as a familiar voice reached your ears, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Shit. Look at you, babe.”

Ian stood behind you, his familiar face bringing back a rush of memories that stirred a mix of emotions within you, and not good ones.

You stood there, frozen for a moment, staring at Ian with a mixture of surprise and unease. Your mind was flooded with thoughts and questions about what he was doing here.

"Ian… What are you...doing here?" you managed to ask, your voice betraying a hint of tension.

Ian smirked, his eyes locking onto yours with a glimmer of mischief. "What, I can't enjoy a shaved ice like everyone else?" he replied, his tone nonchalant as if running into you was just a mere coincidence.

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your composure despite the surge of emotions inside you. "It's just unexpected. Did you… move here or something," you said curtly, your voice betraying a subtle hint of annoyance.

Ian stepped closer, “Nah, nah. Still got my spot back in Motown,” his signature cocky smirk lingering on his face. "I guess fate has a way of bringing people together." His words were laced with a familiar tone of sarcasm.

Your gaze locked onto him, your expression a mixture of disgust and disbelief. How could fate bring you back to this moment, face to face with someone who had caused you so much pain in the past?

Ian chuckled, noticing your reaction, "Oh, come on, don't look so fucking pissed, damn." His words came out as taunting, as if he enjoyed seeing you upset.

"Why shouldn't I be?" you retorted, your voice rising slightly. “You show up out of nowhere and expect me to be all smiles?”

Ian chuckled again, taking a step closer, his eyes studying your face. "You look hot when you're all fired up. Get me going." He licked his lips, a habit that never failed to irritate you.

You clenched your fists, your patience rapidly evaporating. "What the fuck do you want?" you snapped, your frustration seeping through your words.

Ian shrugged, his smirk widening. "Just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing," His words were laced with a hint of condescension, as if he found your irritation amusing.

You scoffed, your eye roll expressing your disbelief in his fake concern. "Doing better than I ever have," you sarcastically replied, your words dripping with disdain.

"Good to hear," Ian retorted, his smirk unfazed. He leaned in closer, invading your personal space in a way that was all too familiar. "You still owe me, you know?"

Your blood ran cold at his menacing words. "What?” your voice laced with defiance.

"Don't play fucking dumb," Ian's smirk only widened, his words dripping with arrogance. "You know what I'm talking about."

You shook your head, "I don't owe you anything," you insisted, your voice firm.

Ian let out a scoff, his gaze narrowing. "Oh, but you do, princess." His words oozed with condescension, a subtle threat hidden beneath, “and I’ll be coming to collect soon.”

Ian's smirk remained as he pinched your cheek, the gesture a condescending display of familiarity. With a confident strut, he walked off, leaving you standing there with a mix of anger and anxiety coursing through your veins.

Your mind raced with questions and anxiety as Ian walked away, leaving you grappling with uncertainty.

The employee at the ice stand brought you back to reality, their voice interrupting your thoughts. "Can I take your order?" they asked, their tone friendly and patient.

You shook your head, attempting to push away the lingering thoughts of Ian as you focused on the menu. "Uh, two mango and one peach, please," you responded, trying to sound composed.

The employee nodded, their smile still remaining professional and warm. "Coming right up." They began preparing the shavings, the sound of the machine breaking the silence momentarily.

As you waited, your mind wandered back to Ian's presence. Why had he showed up out of nowhere, causing a whirlwind of emotions? Did he really think you owed him something, and if so, what?

Your thoughts were consumed by Ian's unexpected appearance for the longevity of the day. The revelation that he was the one who called from the unknown number and now his sudden presence in your location had you on edge, your mind racing with questions and uncertainty.

Gideon, perceptive as ever, noticed the tension radiating from you as he cuddled you on the couch. His concern grew, his brows furrowing slightly as he gently asked, "Everything okay?"

You let out a sigh, the weight of your worries evident in your expression. "Yeah... I’m just… a little bored I guess," you replied, attempting to downplay the turmoil in your mind, not wanting to burden him with your concerns.

Gideon could sense that there was more on your mind than just fatigue, but he didn't push you to talk about it. Instead, he pulled you closer, his touch a subtle reassurance. "Yeah? What do you want to do, baby?" he asked softly, his voice filled with tenderness.

You leaned into his embrace, finding comfort in his presence. "I'm not sure," you replied, your voice a bit quieter than before. But the tension remained, lingering in the air like a heavy shadow.

Gideon continued to hold you close, his warmth seeping into your skin. He remained silent for a moment, seemingly contemplating whether to press the issue or give you space. Finally, he spoke gently, "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Your voice grew even softer, "Yeah, I know..." You did know, deep down.

As you nestled against him, the weight of your past seemed to lighten. Gideon's gentle presence and his acceptance of all that you were created a safe space for you to be vulnerable.

The thought of Ian resurfacing, potentially ruining everything you had built, filled you with fear and anger. You couldn't let him jeopardize your newfound peace and happiness with Gideon.

Frustration surged through you as you pondered what you might possibly owe to him. Did it involve money or favors? Was it because he had taken you home after reviving you with narcan? No matter the reason, the thought of owing him anything made your blood boil.

“Can we go somewhere? Like for a walk?” You asked as you began to feel your frustrations buzz through you.

Gideon, sensing your need for a change of scenery, nodded with understanding. "Yeah, we can definitely go for a walk." He gently detangled himself from the couch, standing up and extending a hand to help you.

As you took his hand and stood up, the crisp evening air greeted you, offering a refreshing contrast to the thoughts swirling in your mind. The compound was relatively quiet this time of night, providing a sense of tranquility.

Gideon remained silently supportive, allowing you the space to collect your thoughts as you walked side by side.

You both walked along a secluded path, the sound of crickets and rustling leaves creating a peaceful atmosphere. As the silence lingered, the words you wanted to say seemed to catch in your throat, the weight of your thoughts holding you back.

Suddenly Eli's voice broke the peaceful vibe, his golf cart pulling up next to you and Gideon. He looked at you both curiously, his tone filled with intrigue. "What are you two up to?"

Gideon smiled, “Hey grandpa, we’re just taking a walk.”

Eli chuckled at Gideon's greeting, his expression amused. "Taking a walk, huh?" he replied, a hint of jest in his voice.

Eli's gaze shifted to you, a warm smile on his face as he inquired, "Is this the girlfriend I've been hearing about?"

Your cheeks tinted a soft pink, feeling both surprised and touched by the mention of your relationship with Gideon. "That would be me. Hello, Mr. Gemstone. it’s a pleasure to finally meet you," you replied, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Eli chuckled, amused by the formality. "Please, call me Eli. No need for formalities around here." He gave you a warm smile.

You nodded, a small smile on your lips. "Alright, Eli," you said, feeling more comfortable.

Eli leaned forward in his golf cart, his smile still present. "You coming to service tomorrow morning?" he inquired, curious about your plans.

You nodded, giving a small gesture of assent. "Of course. Unless something unexpected happens, I should be there."

Eli's grin widened as he made a suggestion, his tone friendly and inclusive. "Come sit with Gideon during service," he offered. Then, with a playful smirk, he added, "Heck, you might as well come to lunch with us after too."

Your cheeks tinted even pinker at the mention of Gideon talking about you frequently. "I...uh, I'd love that," you replied, a mixture of surprise and happiness in your voice.

Eli chuckled, clearly pleased with your eagerness. "Great, we'd be happy to have you."

Gideon watched Eli drive off, a mix of affection and nervousness present in his eyes. As you stood beside him, you can't help but notice the subtle nerves visible in his demeanor. The thought of introducing you to his entire family seemed to hang heavily on his mind.

You noticed his nerves right away. “Do you… want me to skip?” You asked.

Gideon turned to look at you, a mix of surprise and concern in his gaze. "Skip?" he echoed, his brow furrowed with confusion.

You shrug, “if you like… don’t want me to go to lunch with you. I get it.”

Gideon's expression softened as he realized the subtext of your words. He gently touched your arm, his voice filled with reassurance. "Of course, I want you to come to lunch. I didn't mean to give you the impression otherwise."

Gideon's sigh revealed a mix of anticipation and a hint of nerves. "It's just... my family can be overwhelming," he admitted, his voice filled with a touch of anxiety.

You furrow your brow, “you said the same thing about your parents, and they practically said they’d trade you for me.”

Gideon rolled his eyes, a mix of exasperation and affection in his expression. "Did you have to bring that up?" he chuckled, his tone tinged with mock annoyance.

You couldn't help but smirk, amused by his reaction. "Well, I just thought you should be reminded how they already consider me a valuable addition to the family," you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

You nudged him. Your own nerves welling up as you speak, “I want to come. I… I really like you, Gideon. I’m sure I’ll like the rest of your family.”

Gideon's expression softened as you spoke, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "I really like you too," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "And I trust that you'll win them over. They've already heard so much about you, after all."

Gideon chuckled warmly at your affectionate gesture and playful comment. "Guilty as charged," he admitted with a sheepish smile, his cheeks tinged with a hint of pink.

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

Series Masterlist

John Price x Single!Mom

Warnings: yearning, fluff!

5. Dinner Time

You and your daughter were taking a walk. It was a beautiful evening, the sun was still out, and the air was pleasantly warm. You were chatting idly, enjoying the sound of her little voice. It was then that you noticed John pulling into his drive, returning from work.

John's gaze locked onto you and you watched as he broke into a soft smile. Your heart skipped a beat, a mixture of nervousness and excitement coursing through your veins. Your daughter, always quick to act, quickly ran up to him. "Mr. John! You're home!" she exclaimed, her small voice filled with childlike enthusiasm.

John knelt to her level, a warm smile playing on his lips. "Hello, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft and soothing, “how’s your day been? Keeping your mum busy?”

Your daughter giggled, nodding eagerly. "Yeah," she replied, a cheeky grin on her face. "We were playing princesses and we had a tea party and I got to paint."

John chuckled, amused by her enthusiasm. "Sounds like you’ve had quite the day," he commented, his eyes briefly flickering towards you.

He stood up, his gaze shifting from your daughter to you, his eyes locking onto yours. "She’s quite a talker," he commented, his voice holding a hint of amusement.

You nodded in agreement, "More and more each day," you confirmed, a mix of pride and exhaustion in your voice.

You bit your lip, a mix of hesitation and vulnerability in your expression. But curiosity got the better of you and you asked, “I was planning to make shepherd's pie tonight. Would you like to come over?”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Shepherd's pie?" he teased, the hint of a challenge in his tone. "Are you trying to impress me, love?"

You smiled, a hint of shyness in your gaze as you responded, "Maybe just a little." Your honesty filled the air, and his reaction was unreadable, only the smirk on his lips hinted at satisfaction.

He took a step closer, and spoke in a low, gravelly voice, his proximity causing your heart to race. "What time should I come over?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on you as if he couldn't look away.

You swallowed, feeling the intensity of your body's reaction to his proximity. "Um, around eight?" you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "Eight it is." There was a subtle huskiness in his tone, sending a shiver down your spine.

His presence was overwhelming, his intense gaze making you feel exposed and vulnerable. He was so close, his body almost touching yours. You could feel the heat emanating from him, his muscular frame imposing and powerful.

You felt yourself compelled to step back, space suddenly very much needed between you. Your daughter, oblivious of the tension, followed you, her energy and cheerfulness a welcome distraction from the intensity that radiated from him.

As you hurried through the kitchen, anxiety, and excitement buzzed through your system. The thought of having him over for dinner filled you with anticipation, and you couldn't help but pour all your energy into creating the best meal possible.

You pondered whether you should change for a moment, but ultimately decided not to. After all, it wasn't a date, just dinner with the neighbor. A neighbor you had been lusting after for weeks. You brushed those thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand, trying to ignore the way your body reacted to the thought of him so close.

As you finished preparing the food, the perfect timing of the knock on the door made your heart skip a beat. Taking a deep breath, you made your way to the door, your hand trembling slightly as you reached for the knob.

When you opened the door, your daughter's excitement took center stage, her cheerful greeting echoing through the air. "Mr. John! Hey!" She exclaimed, her little steps bringing her closer to him, an innocent eagerness radiating from her.

John chuckled, his stern expression softening at the sight of your daughter's enthusiasm. He knelt, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Hey there. How are you?"

Your daughter grinned, her small hand reaching out to grab his. "I'm good," she replied, her voice filled with joy. She looked up at him with curious eyes, "I missed you."

John's heart melted at her words, a gentleness crossing his features. "I missed you too, sweetheart," he said, his voice gruff but gentle.

His interaction with your daughter was endearing, and you found yourself melting even more, wondering if he could possibly get any more attractive. Seeing him with your daughter, his gentle demeanor and tender affection, had your heart fluttering with admiration.

Despite being casually dressed, he still managed to look incredibly handsome, his muscular frame evident even beneath his jeans and the simple grey T-shirt. The combination of his rugged appearance and soft demeanor was incredibly attractive.

Despite your growing awareness of your attraction to him, you managed to maintain a calm demeanor, gesturing towards the kitchen. "It's ready if you are," you informed him, your voice betraying only a hint of the nervousness you felt inside.

He took a seat at the table, his gaze flicking up at you briefly before focusing on the food before him. "This looks amazing," he commented, his voice tinged with genuine appreciation.

You blushed, a mix of embarrassment and pleasure washing over you as his compliment filled the air. His words, simple as they were, held a weight that left you feeling both flustered and appreciated. "Thank you," you murmured, a shy smile touching your lips.

You called out to your daughter, "Sweetheart, come on. Time to eat." And like a whirlwind, your daughter zipped into the room and jumped into her chair at the table. She flashed a wide smile at John, her innocence and youthful energy filling the room. After buckling her into her seat, you quickly set a plate in front of her, the food warm and enticing.

You reach over the table to make a plate for John. He gently stopped you, a firm hand on your wrist. "Let me, love," he said quietly, his voice husky, sending a shiver down your spine.

As you took your seat, a small smile graced your features, and an unfamiliar feeling of being cared for washed over you. You weren't accustomed to someone doing things for you, and the gesture made you feel both vulnerable and special.

John even skillfully crafted your plate, his movements precise and fluid, as if he were doing what came naturally. He placed the plate in front of you, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he began to make his own. The act seemed so simple, yet it held a certain significance, like a silent promise of care and attention.

You blushed, your voice a shy whisper, "Thank you." Gratitude mixed with a hint of shyness tinged your words, your cheeks warming under the weight of his actions.

John returned your gratitude with a soft smile, his words carrying a sense of appreciation. "Thank you," he replied, his voice low and gruff. "You cooked. It's only fair that I fill your plate."

As you took your seat, a small smile graced your features, an unfamiliar feeling of being cared for washing over you. You weren't accustomed to someone doing things for you, and the gesture made you feel both vulnerable and... special.

The conversation danced easily between you and John, punctuated by your daughter's occasional contributions. Her unfiltered comments added a sprinkle of charm, her words a refreshing contrast to the undercurrent of tension between you and John.

He picked up one of the coasters on the table, a smile playing on his lips as he examined the photos embedded within. "Did you make this?" he inquired, his voice soft and filled with a hint of curiosity.

You smiled, feeling a mix of pride and nervousness as he admired the coasters. "Yeah. Just messing around," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

He gently ran his thumb over the coaster, his touch gentle as if handling something delicate and precious. "They're beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low timber that seemed to reverberate through you, hitting you deep in your core.

Your cheeks flushed, your heart thumping in your chest. His words were simple, yet they held a weight that sent tingling down your spine. "Thank you," you murmured, your voice soft and breathy, a mixture of gratitude and something more.

"I've got a whole box of them actually in my little workspace," you explained, a hint of pride in your tone. "Different months, celebrations, themes." Your words carried an undercurrent of excitement, as if you were sharing a secret. "It's a pretty big market. People love this type of stuff."

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the pure excitement hidden in your words. "And what else do people love?"

You chuckled softly, feeling the weight of his gaze. "Oh, all sorts of things," you replied, the words tinged with a subtle playfulness. "People love handmade things. Coasters, jewelry, magnets, ashtrays, paperweights. Anything unique, anything that feels like it has a story behind it."

He took a moment to consider your words, his eyes never leaving your face. The corners of his mouth twitched upward into a subtle smirk. "People crave authenticity," he responded, his voice low and gravelly.

"Yeah, something personal. Something they feel connected to," you agreed, your voice a touch quieter as you leaned in just a bit closer. The intensity of his gaze made your heart flutter, and you suddenly wondered if the conversation was still about coasters. Maybe you were reading too much into it...

Your daughter suddenly piped up, her innocent voice cutting through the air. "Can I show John my drawings, Mommy?”

Your daughter's innocent request filled the air, but before she could protest, you softly interjected, a slight smile on your lips. "Honey, I'm sure John doesn't want to look at drawings at the dinner table," Your voice was gentle as you explained, knowing the young girl just wanted to show off her latest masterpiece.

John chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Oh, on the contrary, love,” he replied, a glimmer in his eyes. He turned to address your daughter, a warm smile playing on his lips. “I’d love to see your drawings, sweetheart.”

You watched as your daughter's face lit up, a beaming smile spreading across her features. She jumped excitedly unbuckled herself from her seat and ran towards the living room to get her drawings. John took a sip of his drink, a curious gleam in his eye as his gaze shifted back to you.

You chuckled, amused by your daughter's enthusiasm. "You don't have to agree to every one of her requests, you know?" you replied, your voice laced with a mix of teasing and affection.

He chuckled, his gaze flickering towards the living room, where your daughter had disappeared. "I know I don't have to, but it's a little difficult to say no to a face like that," he said, a hint of a smirk on his face.



You couldn't help but smile at his words. "Ah, so you're just a pushover, then?" you joked, a gentle teasing lilt to your voice.

He leaned back in his seat, a lazy smile playing on his lips. "No, love, I just have a soft spot for the two of you," he replied, his gaze locking onto yours.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't deny the warmth spreading through your chest. "You're a charmer, aren't you?" you teased, your voice betraying a hint of affection.

He chuckled softly, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver down your spine. "Just being honest, love," he replied, his gaze never leaving your face.

Your daughter bounded back into the room, a stack of drawings clutched in her small hands. She looked eager to share her creations, her excitement palpable. She climbed back onto her seat and beamed at John, gesturing for him to look at her drawings.

John couldn't help but smile, genuinely interested in her artwork. "Alright, let's take a look," he said, his voice warm and eager. He scooted his chair closer, positioning himself so that he could better see the drawings your daughter was holding up.

There was something so endearing about the way he engaged with her, so natural and affectionate. It warmed your chest and made your heart beat a little faster. Your daughter and John connected so naturally. It was a sight to behold, the way this man, the epitome of masculine strength, became tender and gentle around your daughter.

As the meal slowly came to an end, you began to tidy up. You carefully boxed up the leftovers, packing them into a small container for John to take home.

You turned to your daughter, your voice soft and loving, "Okay, sweetheart. It's time to get ready for bed. Say goodnight to Mr. John."

She didn't like being interrupted from her fun, her lips turning into a cute pout, "No, I don't want to go to bed, " she whined.

You chuckled, a mix of fondness and exasperation with her antics. "Well, sweetheart, you need to. It's late."

She sighed, realizing there was no way she was getting out of this. "But I don't want to..." she protested, glancing at John for support.

John chuckled, his laughter deep and melodic. "You heard your Mum, sweetheart," he chimed in, "It's time for bed."

Her face fell. She couldn't argue with you both. She slowly slid off the chair, defeated. "Fine," she said, her voice still with that sweet pout. She slowly made her way to you, her small shoulders slumped in defeat. You gathered her into a hug, placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"We need our rest. The faster you go to sleep tonight the faster you can wake up and have a fun day tomorrow," you reassured her soothingly, your words soft and understanding.

You tucked her into bed, gently rubbing her back and whispering sweet words until her eyes finally fluttered shut. She drifted off to sleep, a peaceful look on her face, her small chest rising and falling with each breath.

You reentered the dining area to find John still in his seat, his gaze lingering on the empty chair where your daughter had just been sitting. He looked up as you approached, his expression thoughtful and a little distant.

Price's eyes met yours as you entered the room, "She go down alright?" he asked kindly, his voice a low rumble that was both soothing and grounding.

You nodded in response to his question, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah, out like a light," you replied, taking your seat. "Thanks for entertaining her. She was excited about you having dinner with us."

Price chuckled softly, the gesture a mix of warmth and genuine affection. "She's a good kid," he said, his eyes taking on a soft expression full of warmth.

The low tones of Price's voice seemed to resonate within the quiet room, his words laced with sincerity. "She's lucky to have a good mother like you," he murmurs, his gaze lingering on your face.

You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you at his words, the simple compliment warming your chest. "Thank you," you replied, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. "I'm doing the best I can."

Price nodded, understanding glimmering in his eyes. "I can see that," he affirmed. "You're doing a great job. She's a happy kid."

The conversation continued, the wine flowing between the two of you as the evening wore on. With each glass, the barrier between you and Price seemed to dissolve, the atmosphere becoming comfortable and relaxed.

By the time the bottle was empty, the two of you had migrated over to the couch, the soft cushioning beneath your bodies a stark contrast to the hardness of the chair.

John’s voice lowered slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he recounted a tale. You could hear the hint of humor in his voice, and the sound sent shivers down your spine. "And so there we were, pinned down by enemy fire, and Soap decides to start singing at the top of his lungs," he said, shaking his head with a chuckle. "I thought I was going to lose it."

You couldn't help but laugh at the mental image of this individual, Soap, singing while under fire. The sound of your laughter seemed to spur John on, and he continued with more stories, each one more outrageous than the last.

As he spoke, you found yourself drawn further in by the sound of his voice, the way he told each story with animated gestures and a glint in his eyes. The atmosphere was electric, the space between you seemingly shrinking with each passing moment.

John felt a vibration of his phone in his pocket, and he pulled it out with a small curse under his breath. His health app was flashing, reminding him of his scheduled bedtime which was supposed to be in 30 minutes. Old man he was.

"Damn," he murmured, looking up at you apologetically. "I didn't realize it was so late. I’m sorry, love."

You shook your head, dismissing his concern. "No, no. Really it's fine, I... I enjoyed this."

Price's features softened, warmth radiating from his gaze as he looked at you. He pushed his phone back into his pocket, his attention fully back on you. "I enjoyed it too, love," he admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

With a warm smile, you stood up and quietly took his empty glass to the sink. Returning with a box of leftover food, you spoke softly, "You don't mind taking the leftovers, do you?"

“Never,” he reached out and took it from you, his fingers lingering against yours, sending a wave of electricity through your body.

You feel a pang in your chest at the thought of him leaving, leaving you with the silence of the house, with your daughter sleeping soundly in her room.

There was a beat of silence between you, the quiet only broken by the distant sound of crickets outside. John took a step closer to you, his body now standing a mere few inches away.

He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek softly. His touch sent a shiver up your spine, and you found yourself leaning into the warmth of his touch. "Let’s do this again, yeah?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, the touch of his hand against you igniting something deep within you. "I'd like that," you murmured in response, your voice laced with a hint of longing.

John’s hand lingered on your cheek for a moment longer before he reluctantly dropped it, taking a small step back. There was a hint of reluctance in his eyes, as if he didn't want to let go.

"I should go," he said softly, his voice a little gruff. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that seemed to betray his inner conflict.

You felt a pang of disappointment as he stepped back, the sudden absence of his touch making your body feel cold. But you knew he was right, it was late, and he had to leave. "Yeah," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "What time do you need to be in tomorrow?”

John’s expression turned serious for a moment, and he checked his watch before answering. "Early," he replied, his tone a little gruff. He ran a hand over his beard, his gaze still fixed on you.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. You could see the tension in his body, the way his shoulders were squared, as if he were restraining himself. "Get some rest, John," you murmured, your voice soft yet filled with sincerity.

Price nodded, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer before he turned towards the door. He reached for the knob, his fingers pausing for a moment as if he was hesitating, as if he didn’t want to leave yet.

He pulled open the door, the cool night air flooding in and causing a chill to run up your spine. He looked back at you once more, a small smile on his face. "I'll see you soon, love," he said softly.

You nodded, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "See you, John," you replied, your voice a little shaky. You couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, knowing that you'd be seeing him again soon.

With one last lingering look, he stepped out into the night and closed the door behind him. You were left standing in the foyer, feeling a strange mix of longing and excitement.

You stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading as he walked across the lawns. Soon couldn't come fast enough.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: arguing, collecting the Downes debt

45. Collecting at Death’s Door

Arthur paced the camp, his frustration evident in the heavy stomps of his boots. He wasn't just angry; he was livid, torn between his irritation at you and deep disappointment in himself. Why had he carried that damn letter around? He knew he didn't care about Mary, not like he cared about you.

He cursed under his breath, grappling with the weight of his own mistakes and the consequences they had set into motion. He couldn't even imagine what he could do to fix this mess.

Time ticked by, and the uncertainty weighed heavily on Arthur’s mind. Two days had passed, and he found himself at a crossroads, torn between approaching you and giving you space to cool down. The fear of making things worse and the longing to make amends battled within him.

Arthur channeled his anger into his duties, using the physical outlet to expel his frustrations. He was ruthless when confronting debtors, taking out his pent-up emotions by resorting to violence and intimidation. The violent encounters provided a temporary outlet for the tumultuous emotions boiling within him.

His final mark for the day was a man named Charles Downes.

You were seething with anger, anger fueled by Arthur's absence. It had been two entire days, two days without so much as a word from him or an attempt to make amends. To add insult to injury, he hadn't even mustered up enough courage to spend time with Grace.

Gracie’s innocent question hung in the air, tugging at your heartstrings. “When will daddy be back?" she asked, her voice filled with a childlike curiosity. Your fingers were weaving through her unruly locks, braiding her hair with practiced ease.

You fought to maintain composure, concealing the anger that simmered beneath the surface. With a gentle smile, you responded to her question, "Soon, sweetheart. He can't stay away for long. You know he loves you."

Grace nodded, “I know… I just miss him.” She replied with a sweet pout.

You smiled sympathetically, "I know, darling. But sometimes grown-ups have things they need to do," you murmured, your voice soft and soothing as you continued to braid her hair.

Her pout deepened, a frown creasing her forehead. "Is he with his friend?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity. "I read his letter."

You paused, surprise momentarily flickering across your face. "You read his letter?" you asked gently, resuming your braiding as you spoke.

"Yeah," she said with a mischievous smirk. "I didn't mean to, honest. It was just there."

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of surprise and concern. "Oh, sweet pea," you responded gently, your fingers continuing to work. "You shouldn't go around reading letters that aren't meant for you."

Gracie was smarter than her age might suggest. Perceptive, even, with a knack for putting two and two together. She spoke up suddenly, her voice filled with a mix of curiosity and astute observation, "But you read it, didn't you? That's why you're mad at Daddy?"

You stopped braiding, momentarily taken aback by her astute observation.

You met her gaze in the mirror, "That's not for you to worry about, Gracie," you uttered softly, the words carrying a hint of resignation and a firm determination to protect her innocence.

You resumed braiding her hair, your fingers deftly twisting the locks as your mind weighed the delicate balance between shielding her from adult troubles and addressing your own emotions.

With a satisfied smile, you patted her shoulders gently to indicate you were done. "There you go. Pretty as a peach," you remarked, appreciating her adorable appearance in the mirror.

"Thank you, Mama," she responded, turning around and admiring her hair.

The sight of her appreciation warmed your heart, and you chuckled softly, replying, "You're welcome, sweetheart."

With Gracie occupied at the house, you decided to venture to the Downes farm for another piano lesson with their daughter. The ride to the ranch was a quiet and contemplative one, the scenery of the countryside passing by as you rode through the area.

As you arrived at the ranch, you were greeted with warm smiles from the family. Noticing Mr. Downes in the garden, you offered a compliment, your tone sincere, "You're looking better today, Mr. Downes."

He smiled up at you, his clammy fingers standing out against the greenery of the growing life. "Thank ya' Miss. It’s a good day today." He replied, his voice warm with gratitude.

You nodded in agreement, your smile warm and sincere. "God is good," you affirmed, your words echoing a sentiment of gratitude and faith.

He hummed softly, his attention shifting to some of the corn, “that he is.”

As you entered the house, you proceeded to the designated area for the piano lesson with Maggie. The interior of the home was cozy and inviting, reflecting their simple yet contented lifestyle.

The piano lesson proceeded calmly, your attention focused on Maggie as she diligently practiced her scales and chords. The music filled the air, creating a serene atmosphere in the quaint little room.

Just as the lesson was in full swing, the tranquility was disrupted by a familiar voice from outside the house, "Come here, you maggot." Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized that familiar, commanding voice.

Arthur's voice pierced through the property, and you instinctively turned your gaze towards the window.

Through the window, you caught a glimpse of a tense scene unfolding between Arthur and Thomas. Anger coursed through Arthur's veins as he pushed Thomas roughly, his voice laced with frustration. "You owe me money," he repeated firmly, his voice booming with intensity.

Fueled by a mix of anger and concern, you sprang to your feet, the piano lesson abruptly concluded. Without hesitation, you marched towards the door, determined to confront the unfolding situation.

Thomas recoiled in fear, his face contorted with pain as Arthur landed a powerful blow upon his face. "Please... sir. I- I’m doing my best," Thomas pleaded, his voice quivering with desperation.

Arthur's frustration and disappointment fueled his words, his voice carrying a hint of judgment. "Why’d it have to come to this, huh? You ain’t such a do-gooder, are you?" he said, shoving Thomas backward. "If you’re running out on debts."

Thomas, clearly struggling, tried to defend himself, "I’m not running anywhere. I… I… I’m doing my best." His voice was a weak protest, his words tinged with fear and desperation.

Frustration surged within Arthur as he kicked Thomas down into the dirt, his anger spilling out. "How’s that debt look now?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "You borrowed money from my business partner Herr Strauss. You owe him. You took the money. He wants it back. What’s not to understand?"

Arthur was about to lift Thomas off the dirt, preparing to have a bloody face to face confrontation, but the sound of your voice pierced the air, halting him mid-action.

You were fuming with anger, "Don’t you dare hit that man one more time!" Your hands balled into angry fists, your eyes filled with a mixture of anger, concern, and protectiveness for the Downes family.

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, his grip instinctively loosening from Thomas' shirt as he stared at you, completely dumbfounded by your presence and sudden outburst.

Arthur placed his hands on his hips, his expression shifting from surprise to irritation. "This feller owes us money, darlin’."

Undeterred by his tone, you continued to glare at him, "How much?" you reiterated firmly, your gaze locked on him.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, sensing the intensity of your gaze and the determination in your voice. "$50," he responded matter-of-factly.

"Well, I’m paying it," you declared resolutely, your words leaving no room for negotiation.

Arthur's expression hardened, his voice filled with frustration, "It ain’t yours to pay."

You stood sternly, shaking your head. Your glare intensified, your silent expression conveying your determination and disapproval. Arthur stepped back from Thomas, his gaze shifting towards you, his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief.

Edith and her son quickly attended to Thomas, their concern evident as they rushed to his side, their focus solely on his well-being.

You shook your head, your voice filled with sincerity and concern, "I… I’m very sorry. You won’t see us again."

You forcibly pushed Arthur forward, your determination fueling your actions as you directed him towards where his horse was hitched nearby.

You mounted your own horse with swift grace, urging it forward. Arthur got onto his own and followed you, the animal's hooves kicking up dirt behind him as he kept pace with you.

Arthur's frustration became evident as he rode alongside you, his voice tinged with irritation. "Why’d you go and do that?" he scolded, his words laced with disbelief. "You ain’t gotta pay that debt."

You locked your gaze on him, your question sharp and filled with disapproval. "And what?" you shot back, your voice tinged with both anger and disbelief. "You were just going to beat $50 out of a dying man?"

Your frustration flared, your body tense as you countered, your voice tinged with irritation. "I could’ve saved your life right there. He’s sick, Arthur. He is dying."

He gritted his teeth, “I don’t need you saving me, darlin’.” His reply was firm, his tone filled with a mixture of irritation and stubbornness.

Your irritation grew further at his words, your response tinged with a hint of condescension. "Is that so, huh? So, I suppose you think you’re invincible, do you?"

His eyebrows furrowed at you, “I never been a sickly one. So yeah. I do think I’m doing just fine ” He retorted, his voice firm, filled with a hint of arrogance.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at his arrogance. "Oh yeah, big strong man you are," you muttered sarcastically, your irritation mounting.

He caught the tone of your voice and scoffed at you, “Don’t use that tone with me.”

You let out an amused scoff, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "Oh, why? Not used to it, are you? Let me guess, Mary was all sweet and kind, wasn't she?"

He clenched his jaw at the mention of Mary, trying to remain composed, “No. She don’t have that fire you do.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your words tinged with mockery. "How sweet of you to say."

He let out a heavy sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "Don’t do that," he repeated, his tone calmer.

“Why not?” you shot back, your voice filled with defiance.

He maneuvered his steed in front of yours, forcing the animal to come to a halt.

He averted his gaze, his voice tinged with regret and vulnerability. "Because I'm a damn fool, and a sorry son of a bitch."

You looked at him, his vulnerability apparent as he avoided eye contact. The raw honesty in his words took you by surprise, softening the edges of your irritation.

Your response was straightforward and firm, leaving no room for doubt. "Yes, you are," you affirmed, your gaze locked onto him.

His gaze softened as he locked eyes with you, his voice tinged with sincerity and vulnerability. "I love you. You and Grace are my life now. I wouldn’t do nothing to risk it. I just.. I was curious."

You understood the human tendency for curiosity, but the doubt lingered in your mind. Could you really trust him not to seek her out behind your back?

He was determined to make things right, "What do you want, darlin’?" he asked, his eyes fixed on yours. "I’ll do anything."

Your mind raced with thoughts, and a wild idea formed, something that even Elizabeth might disapprove of, but perhaps Harper would be on board. You inhaled deeply before uttering the words that slipped from your mouth. "You want to prove you love me?"

He squared his shoulders, his determination evident in his expression. "Yes. I’ll prove it right here and now."

You locked eyes with him, your gaze sharp as you stated, "I want you to tell her."

He paused, caught off guard by your request. "You want me to what?" he repeated, his voice tinged with surprise.

“You heard me.” You replied calmly, “And I’m coming with you.”

[inkmonster21]

I am innocent stop (just send me money 😔☝️) (I’m joking)

[inkmonster21]

A Cowboys Love

Ryan x OC!Dutton

Series Masterlist

Chapter 11

🤠

It went on for what felt like an eternity, the cycle of Hattie's hot-and-cold behavior only intensifying Ryan's desire for her. The days turned into a series of confusing encounters, leaving his heart torn between frustration and undeniable attraction.

Ryan's grip seized Hattie's sleeve, a sudden movement meant to stop her from leaving. The touch of his hand on her sleeve was subtle yet firm, an attempt to capture her attention amidst her hurried walk. She halted in her tracks, surprise and curiosity etched across her face as she turned to meet his gaze.

“Stop avoiding me,” Ryan’s voice was laced with a mixture of frustration and a hint of desperation. His expression, although irritated, was edged with a hint of vulnerability, reflecting the emotional turmoil he was experiencing.

Hattie's eyes widened, caught off guard by Ryan's directness. A smirk played at the corner of her lips, the flicker of amusement in her eyes. She had been expecting this confrontation, savoring the thrill of keeping him on edge.

She leaned lightly against the door frame, her arms crossing over her chest in a confident stance. “And who says I’ve been avoiding you?” Her voice carried a hint of playful defiance, a subtle challenge.

"Don't play dumb, Hatts," Ryan retorted, his voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and fascination. His grip on her sleeve softened, but his gaze remained fixed, a silent plea for her to acknowledge the undeniable chemistry between them. “I miss you,” he admitted softly.

A hint of surprise flickered across Hattie's face at Ryan's unexpected confession. Despite the facade she had been trying to maintain, his words struck a deep chord within her. "Aw, you miss me?" she mused, her voice betraying a sliver of vulnerability.

Ryan sighed, the weight of his emotions evident in his expression. "Yes. I miss you," he admitted, his tone tinged with a mixture of frustration and sincerity. The ache for her presence had become an unwanted constant, gnawing at him from the inside out.

In a swift motion, Hattie pushed Ryan back against the wall, the unexpected action catching him off guard. Her lips crashed against his, a surge of suppressed desires and conflicting emotions unleashed in that unexpected kiss.

Ryan reciprocated with fervor, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer, the kiss growing more intense with each passing second. His frustration melted away, replaced by an ardent longing for her touch.

The kiss intensified, fueled by their pent-up emotions and unspoken desires. Ryan’s fingers traced along the curves of Hattie’s waist, his touch both desperate and tender, as if trying to memorize every contour of her body through that singular sensation.

Hattie, her mind consumed by jealousy and uncertainty, bit at Ryan with a hint of sarcasm in her voice as she spoke. "You sure you’re over that stripper?” Her words carried an underlying tone of skepticism, a subtle jab at Ryan's past encounters.

Ryan rolled his eyes, a hint of annoyance creeping into his expression. "Seriously, again? I could ask you the same about Travis," he retorted, the words tinged with a mix of frustration and amusement.

Hattie smirked, undeterred by Ryan's annoyance, her snarky demeanor unfazed. "Oh please. Like he’d ever have a fucking chance. My question though is valid," she retorted, her tone playful as she raised an eyebrow, challenging him to prove otherwise.

In a swift motion, Ryan spun Hattie around, pinning her against the wall with a mix of dominance and desire. His hands gripped onto her waist, keeping her in place as he leaned in close, his eyes locked with hers.

“Do you honestly think I’d want anyone else but you?” Ryan whispered, his voice a mere breath against her skin, each word sending a shiver down her spine. His grip tightened, his touch both possessive and reassuring, leaving no doubt in her mind regarding his true desires.

Hattie's smirk faltered, just slightly, the sincerity in his words and the intensity of his gaze making her defenses stumble. Her eyes locked with his, searching for any hint of deception, but only finding raw truth.

Ryan sighed softly, his grip on her waist loosening as he continued, "It's always been you, Hattie." The confession hung in the air, both a reminder and a plea. He leaned his forehead against hers, his eyes never leaving her gaze.

Hattie's resolve wavered, the weight of Ryan's words sinking in. She knew deep down that he was speaking the truth, his sincerity impossible to ignore. She closed her eyes, her breath hitching, and whispered, "Always?"

Ryan nodded softly, his grip turning into a gentle caress, his touch tender yet insistent. "Always," he affirmed, his voice gentle but firm. "Even when we're not together, even when we're fighting, the thought of you is always there."

Hattie inhaled sharply, her heart fluttering at Ryan's words. She had been trying to resist the pull of their connection, but his unwavering certainty was melting her resolve. She sighed, her defenses crumbling, and replied, with a hint of vulnerability, "Even when I drive you crazy?"

Ryan chuckled softly, a mix of amusement and fondness in his expression. "Especially when you drive me crazy," he admitted, his tone affectionate. "Because it's part of what makes you, you."

Hattie couldn't help but smile at his response, her defenses continuing to crumble. There was something undeniably attractive about Ryan's unflappability in the face of her sharp edges. She whispered, "You know I was just testing you, right?"

Ryan chuckled, his gaze softening as he recognized the vulnerability behind her words. "Oh yeah," he said, his tone gently teasing. "You can't resist trying to push me away, can you?"

Hattie shrugged, a playful smirk creeping onto her face. "It's instinctual," she admitted, a hint of resignation in her voice. "It's easier to push you away than to admit I have feelings for you."

Ryan's grip on your waist tightened slightly, his gaze locking with yours. "Easier for you, maybe. Not for me," he murmured, the raw honesty in his tone betraying the impact her words had on him.

She rolled her eyes lightly, her smirk fading into an expression of uncertainty. "You really should just get over me," she uttered, the words tinged with a hint of self-deprecation.

Ryan's expression hardened at her words, his frustration palpable. "Get over you?" he repeated, his tone tinged with disbelief. "You think it's that simple? Damn it, Hattie, I want to be with you."

Hattie's defenses flared up again, her eyes averting his gaze. "Why?" she asked, her voice a combination of defiance and vulnerability. "Why would you want to be with someone who treats you like crap half the time?"

Ryan laughed, a hint of bittersweet acceptance in his tone. "That's the thing, Hattie," he said, his voice firm yet tender. "I don't want the 'perfect' Hattie. I want the real you, the flawed version, the one who pushes me away and gets on my nerves. Because that's the Hattie I fell for."

Hattie's defenses crumbled further, her heart fluttering at his words. She wanted to protest, to argue against his logic, but the sincerity in his gaze made it difficult. "You always see right through me," she whispered, a mixture of frustration and affection in her voice.

Ryan's grip on your waist loosened, his touch transforming into a gentle caress. He leaned in closer, his gaze locked onto yours as he whispered, "Because I know you, Hattie. And despite everything, I still want you. The grumpy, sarcastic, stubborn, and fiercely independent parts of you are the parts I adore most."

Hattie's breath hitched at his words, her heart swelling with a mixture of emotions. "You're infuriating, you know that?" she retorted, her tone a blend of annoyance and affection.

Ryan chuckled softly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I've been told several times," he admitted, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement.

Jimmy and Avery approached the vet. Hattie was at her side helping. Avery's gaze was fixed on Hattie with a hint of skepticism. Her scrutiny was evident, her expression hinting at a mixture of curiosity and possible dislike.

Avery leaned towards her husband Jimmy and whispered, a hint of snark in her tone, "She really some kind of 'rhinestone cowgirl'?" Her words carried a subtle hint of derision, as she assessed Hattie's attire and demeanor with a critical eye.

Jimmy was taken aback by Avery's remark, surprised by the snarky tone in her voice. He shot her a quick glance, a hint of disbelief in his eyes, “That’s Mr. Dutton’s daughter.”

Avery raised an eyebrow in surprise, "She's Mr. Dutton's daughter?"

Hattie's ears flicked up, sensing the conversation veering towards her. She picked up on the mention of her father, and without hesitation, she interjected, "Yeah, I am." Her tone was matter-of-fact, her eyes flashing with a mix of defensiveness and defiance, “Do you have something to say?”

Avery smiled, “Nope,” she replied with a shrug, her smile dripping with sarcasm.

Hattie's nostrils flared, her irritation rising with each passing moment. She couldn't help but bristle at the snide undertone in Avery's reply, her arms instinctively crossing over her chest in a defensive gesture.

The veterinarian issued instructions to Jimmy, passing him a box of veterinary utensils. "You can take these over to the squeeze shoot," the vet instructed, gesturing towards a specific location.

The vet handed the next item to Avery, explaining, "This is the Lane Pulsator IV Electronic Bull Ejaculator for Artificial Insemination." The words hung in the air, an amusing description that seemed almost unreal.

Avery's curious gaze fixed on the item, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you gonna do with it?" she asked, her tone filled with genuine intrigue.

Avery's curious gaze fixed on the item, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What are you gonna do with it?" she asked, her tone filled with genuine intrigue.

The vet chuckled, his playful demeanor evident in his words. "I'm not doing anything with it. One of you is." Her smirk widened, fully aware of the reactions the statement would elicit.

Hattie couldn't help but crack a smile and let out a laugh. She turned to Avery, eyes glimmering with jest, and quipped, "That's low man work. That's just for you."

Avery's reaction was immediate, a scoff escaping her lips as she retorted, "Bullshit!" Her face was twisted in a mix of disbelief and annoyance, her hands resting on her hips.

Hattie sauntered past, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she added, “Yeah, you'll be covered in that too." Her words were tinged with a hint of satisfaction, reveling in the discomfort her comment had caused.

Hattie, as she neared Rip, noticed him raising his brow, asking a question with a hint of concern. "Is there going to be a problem between you two?" Rip's words reflected a mixture of caution and concern, his eyes flickering between Hattie and Avery.

Hattie shrugged, feigning nonchalance, "Nah. Just a bit of friendly banter." Her response was casual, though her expression belied a hint of satisfaction at having gotten under Avery's skin.

Rip couldn't help but scoff and shake his head. He had a sneaking suspicion that tensions between you and Avery would boil over. With a mix of anticipation and dread, he mentally prepared himself for the possibility of having to physically intervene to prevent things from getting out of hand.

The melodic sound of the dinner bell rang out, filling the air with a familiar call. People began to file outside towards the tables and benches, taking their places for the evening meal.

But as Ryan started to move towards the table, you gently gripped his collar, pulling him back with a soft tug. “Come with me.”

The look in your eyes was enough to tell Ryan that whatever request you had for him, it was nonnegotiable. Ryan nodded in silent understanding, his gaze meeting yours as he wordlessly acknowledged your unspoken command. He knew better than to argue.

He followed you away from the table, falling in step beside you. The dinner bell rang out again, but Ryan and you moved away from his fellow wranglers.

You gently guided Ryan into the bunkhouse, closing the door behind you. The sounds of the festivities happening outside faded into the background as you were now secluded from the others.

Ryan's heart thundered in his chest, the intimate atmosphere inside the bunkhouse intensifying the palpable tension between you. The air was thick with anticipation and unspoken words as he waited for your next move.

You couldn't help but smirk at Ryan, your eyes twinkling with mischief and excitement. The anticipation crackled between you like electricity, each unspoken word weighted with anticipation and desire.

With every step you took towards his bunk, each movement was slow and intentional, your gaze never leaving his. Each article of clothing you removed added a layer of sensuality to the moment, heightening the intensity between you.

Ryan's eyes locked onto your every move, his breath catching in his throat as he watched you stripping. He ached to reach out, to touch you and take things further, but he held himself back, allowing you to lead the way.

Ryan's gaze momentarily flicked to the outside, the reminder that everyone was just outside the bunkhouse bringing his attention back to reality. "Everyone's just outside, Hatts. They could come in here at any moment" he murmured, his voice tinged with both caution and desire.

Hattie kept her gaze locked on him, her eyes smoldering with a mixture of intensity and desire. She slowly unhooked her bra, removing it completely before continuing her slow walk towards the bunk. “Do you really care?”

He shook his head, his voice a low murmur, “No.” He knew that in this moment, the consequence of discovery paled in comparison to the overwhelming desire to have you close.

Ryan's restraint snapped, and he practically tackled you into his twin bunk with a primal hunger in his eyes. There was no holding back now as he pressed his body against yours, the space between you collapsing.

Later that night in the bunkhouse, the atmosphere was boisterous and animated. Poker games were being played, and clips of bull riding were blasting on the TV screen. With a cold beer in hand, the group was having a great time and enjoying each other's company.

A grizzled old cowboy, sitting on a stool in the corner, raised his voice over the noise, a hint of disdain in his tone as he interjected, "Is this all we're going to do?" His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the lively scene of poker games and bull riding on the TV. Despite the boisterous merriment, the old cowboy seemed dissatisfied, his expression betraying his craving for more excitement beyond the conventional activities.

Jimmy, responding to the old cowboy's disdain, raised a brow, "It's Saturday night," he replied, his words tinged with a hint of sarcasm.

Avery leaned into Ryan, a hint of boredom in her tone. "What else can we do?" Her question hung in the air, seeking a suggestion to spice up this evening's entertainment.

Hattie, watching from the fridge, observed the situation with narrowed eyes, silently assessing. She continued sipping her drink and leaned against the fridge. Her gaze remained on the group, silently awaiting what would unfold next.

Ryan deliberately shifted his body away from Avery, creating distance between them. He stood up, making it clear that he wouldn't be drawn into any misunderstanding or misinterpretation of his intentions. His movement spoke volumes about his desire to set the record straight and to avoid any misinterpretation.

Cowboy, with a hint of nostalgia in his voice, shared his memory, contrasting the current scene with their youthful days. "When I was your age, we were out in the arena playing real poker. 'Cowboy poker,' we called it." His words painted a picture of a different era, where the concept of cowboy poker held a significance and a mystique that the current generation lacked.

Hattie couldn't help smirking as she piped in, her interest piqued by the mention of cowboy poker. "Now we're talking," she agreed, her eyes flickering with anticipation.

Ryan's curiosity got the better of him, and he asked, "Sorry, what's cowboy poker?" His question hung in the air, seeking an explanation of this unfamiliar variant of poker.

Lloyd shook his head and responded with a nonchalant tone, "We're not gonna do it, so don't worry about it." His words were dismissive, shutting down any further inquiries or interest in the idea of cowboy poker.

Hattie's smirk widened, a challenge in her tone as she goaded him. "Come on, old man! Chicken?" The provocation in her voice was deliberate, daring Lloyd to respond.

Avery scoffed, firing back sarcastically, a hint of mockery in her tone, "You couldn't even make it ten seconds, rinestone." Avery's comment was an attempt to belittle Hattie, using the term "rinestone" in a derisive way, suggesting a lack of authentic toughness or grit.

The room filled with a collective sound of "oohs" from the wranglers, adding fuel to the escalating tension between the two women.

Despite Ryan's attempt to restrain Hattie, placing a hand on her waist, Hattie didn't falter. She took a defiant step forward, fixing her gaze on Avery, her determination evident. "Really?" she shot back, challenging Avery with her intense gaze.

The room held its breath, anticipation hanging in the air as the tension grew between the two women, the room filled with a palpable sense of anticipation as the situation reached a crux.

Hattie's smirk widened as she declared, "Let's get in that arena!" Her eyes locked on Avery's, refusing to back down. The determination and the hint of challenge in her voice fueled the intensity of the moment.

And so, Jimmy, Coldy, Ryan, Hattie, and Avery found themselves sitting at a white fold-out table in the middle of the bullpen. The air thickened with tension, the bull behind the gate grunted and huffed, its presence adding an element of intensity to the makeshift game of cowboy poker.

Jimmy, seated at the table in the middle of the bullpen, couldn't help but express his concern, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Y'all sure about this?!" His question hung in the air, reflecting the underlying uncertainty and the weight of what was about to unfold.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixing on Hattie as he voiced his question. "Does someone want to explain the rules?" His words carried a hint of curiosity and a touch of anticipation, as he waited for Hattie to take the lead and explain the intricacies of cowboy poker.

Hattie smirked, a glint in her eyes as she laid out the rules. "Last one at the table keeps the pot," she explained, her gaze flitting to Avery across the table. An edge of competition laced her words, emphasizing the high stakes and the potential for bragging rights.

Colby held up the bottle of liquid courage in his hand, his tone suggesting an invitation. "You want some courage?" He offered.

Ryan, without hesitation, reached out and took the bottle, gripping the neck firmly as he answered, “Fuсk, yeah.”

Hattie let out a playful giggle and exclaimed, "Here we go, ladies!"

The atmosphere intensifies as Lloyd nods and replies, "Okay. Let it rip."

The sound of the gate being released reverberated through the air, signaling the bull's release. The large animal charged towards the table, its movements adding a layer of excitement and danger to the game.

The bull thundered past the table, its powerful body narrowly missing the makeshift table in its path. A collective gasp escaped the participants' mouths, their hearts racing at the thrilling near-miss.

The bull, displaying its unpredictability, charged towards Jimmy, its massive frame passing in a blur behind him. The adrenaline surge as the bull raced by heightened the tension and anticipation among the players.

As the game continued, the tension continued to escalate. Jimmy, seeking refuge from the bull's path, made a mad dash for the fence, his heart pounding with adrenaline.

Colby, in turn, bolted out of his chair in a swift motion, evading the charging bull.

With a playful tone, Ryan called out, "Sorry, baby!" as he sprinted away from his seat, narrowly avoiding the bull's charge.

Just Hattie and Avery. The game was on, and the intensity was building with every passing moment.

The charged atmosphere heightens, and the tension in the air intensifies. The bull charges the foldable table, its massive weight plowing into it. The impact reverberates through the scene, sending chairs clattering to the ground in an instant. The participants' hearts race, adrenaline coursing through their veins as they react to the unexpected collision.

Amid the chaos, Avery swiftly reacts, her words betraying a hint of panic, "Oh, shit!" With a burst of speed, she darts away from the splintered remains of the table, narrowly escaping the bull's path. Her heart pounds with the rush of fear and exhilaration.

As the others evacuate the chaotic scene, leaving only Hattie, Ryan can't help but chuckle at her fearless defiance. Hattie stares down the charging bull, her laugh echoing through the air as she calls out to the animal.

"That’s my wild cowgirl!" Ryan exclaims, his laughter tinged with admiration and disbelief at Hattie’s audacious display.

In a split second, Hattie jumps over the railing, her agility and timing impeccable. The bull charges forward, crashing into the railing with a powerful impact, pulverizing the wood into splinters. Ryan's eyes widen in amazement, his admiration for Hattie growing as he witnesses her daredevil move. Hattie, her adrenaline still at its peak, lands on the other side of the railing just in time, her heart pounding with exhilaration.

Ryan, caught up in the whirlwind of excitement and surprise, holds Hattie up as she laughs heartily. His grip on her is firm but gentle, his own heart racing from witnessing her daring escape. "You're crazy," he chuckles, his voice tinged with amazement and admiration.

“Yeah but it’s a good crazy,” she said in between breaths, still shaking from the adrenaline coursing through her body. She turned to look at him, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and a glimmer of affection.

Avery's expression changed into one of grudging admiration, her voice conceding, "Okay, I'll admit when I'm wrong. That was fuсking wild." She extended the bottle toward Hattie, acknowledging her prowess with a hint of reluctant respect.

Hattie accepted the bottle, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, and took a swig. "Told you so. Now, since I won, stop trying to steal my cowboy," she retorted, her voice tinged with a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion.

“What are you dipshit’s doing?” Rip's stern voice shattered the tension of the moment, his yell cutting through the chaos like a knife. Startled, everyone turned their attention toward him, and the adrenaline-fueled game of cowboy poker abruptly halted.

Jimmy couldn't help but burst out laughing, his voice full of amusement as he replied, "It's a Saturday!"

Rip's stern voice held a hint of irritation as he retorted, "I know what fuсking day it is, Jimmy. Don’t none of you go messing around with that bull." His tone was filled with sternness and a hint of warning.

Rip's irritation was evident, his tone firm and resolute. "If you all want to get drunk, go down to the goddamn bar. Get out of here. Go on." His annoyance was palpable, his expression reflecting the urgency in his words.

Rip leaned against the fence alongside Lloyd, his eyes scanning the group as they left. "So," he inquired, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and annoyance, "who won?" He waited patiently for the inevitable response.

Lloyd, a sly smile playing on his lips, couldn’t help but chime in. "Hattie Mae," he said, a glimmer of satisfaction in his voice.

Rip let out a sigh, “Why am I not surprised,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead in mild amusement and exhaustion.

The wranglers made their way to the bar, their adrenaline still coursing through their veins. The night was still young, and the energy in the air was palpable.

Ryan's hand rested gently on Hattie's waist as she leaned against the bar, their proximity subtle yet intimate. The atmosphere at the bar was buzzing with excitement, the aftermath of the adrenaline-fueled event still lingering in the air.

Ryan leaned in closer to Hattie, his voice a whisper as he spoke into her ear, "You're crazy." The words were tinged with admiration and a hint of affection, his breath warm against her skin.

Hattie chuckled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and satisfaction. "You told me." Her reply was filled with playful defiance, reminiscent of their earlier banter.

Ryan rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He couldn't help but be drawn to her carefree and spirited demeanor. "And I'll say it again," he teased, his grip on her waist remaining subtle as he leaned closer.

As the pair engaged in their banter, someone calling out to Hattie disrupted the moment. "Hey, sweetheart," called out a male voice, seeking her attention.

Hattie, completely unconcerned with the stranger's attempt to get her attention, continued her exchange with Ryan, her focus entirely on their conversation. She sipped her drink, her gaze flickering between him and the stranger with dismissive nonchalance, as if oblivious to the stranger's presence altogether.

The persistent man, seemingly undeterred by Hattie's lack of response, persisted in his efforts to gain her attention. He inched closer, his voice growing more insistent, "Hey, sweetheart, I'm talking to you."

Hattie finally deigned to acknowledge the man's presence, her response sharp and laced with irritation. "I'm already speaking to someone," she said firmly, her gaze cool and dismissive.

The man's expression faltered, clearly taken aback by Hattie’s blunt response. He seemed lost for words, as if he had never been rejected before. He tried to regain his composure, clearing his throat and mustering a weak response. "Oh come on now, don't be like that."

Ryan, sensing the growing tension, decided to intervene, his protective instincts kicking into gear. He stepped forward, his tone firm and assertive. "She said she's not interested. Take a hint."

The man bristled at Ryan's intervention, his ego bruised. He shot Ryan a glare, clearly annoyed by his interference. "Mind your own business, dude. I'm talking to her."

Ryan's response was firm and assertive, his words laced with a hint of territoriality. "She's my girlfriend. So you need to mind your own damn business."

The man smirked, his audacity clear in his actions. He patted Hattie's backside, his arrogance evident as he shot her a cocky grin. "Come find me when you want a real man," he said, his words dripping with a sense of misplaced superiority.

Hattie bristled in outrage, her face reddening with anger. She couldn't believe the audacity of this man, to touch her like that and make such a ridiculous remark. Before she could respond, however, Ryan took a bold step forward, his eyes flashing with anger.

Ryan didn't need words. His actions spoke volumes. He quickly stepped forward and threw a powerful punch, connecting squarely with the man's face. The impact was palpable, the sound of flesh connecting with flesh reverberating through the room.

The atmosphere in the bar escalated in an instant as a full-blown brawl broke out. Fists flew, glasses shattered, and bodies crashed to the ground. Chaos and violence reigned as the room devolved into a scene of complete pandemonium.

Back at the bunkhouse, the wranglers clutched bags of frozen vegetables to their faces, weary from the drama of the night. Each of them nursed bruises and minor cuts from the fight, the aftermath of the brawl evident on their weary expressions.

Hattie's gaze fell upon Ryan's face, her eyes locking onto his injured eye as she held the bag to his face. Concern flickered across her features, mixed with a trace of guilt and a hint of admiration.

"You're an idiot," Hattie said softly, her voice tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. She reached out gently, her fingers lightly brushing against the swollen skin around his eye, as if to assess the extent of the damage.

Ryan winced at her touch, his expression a mix of pain and amusement. "I'm an idiot, huh?" he quipped, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his lips despite the discomfort.

Hattie rolled her eyes, a mix of annoyance and affection in her gaze. "Yes, you are," she retorted, her hand lingering on his face, the touch both gentle and reproving.

Ryan's words were tinged with determination as he spoke, his gaze holding a mixture of defiance and protectiveness. "I wasn't just going to let him do that to you." The protective instinct flared in him as he spoke, his desire to defend her evident in his voice.

Hattie raised an eyebrow, her smirk growing at Ryan's possessive claim. "Not to your girlfriend," she corrected him, her tone playful yet firm. Despite her independence, she had to admit it was oddly endearing to hear him declare her his girlfriend.

Rip entered the room, taken aback by the sight of the wranglers' battered faces. His eyes widened with concern as he took in the scene, his voice filled with surprise. "What the hell happened?"

Hattie explained the situation to Rip, her tone matter-of-fact yet tinged with affection for Ryan. "Some jerk got too hands-on with me at the bar. Ryan put him in his place, but the guy's friends weren't too happy about it. So, here we are, all banged up."

Rip stormed back into the bunkhouse with Kacey this time, stern expression signaling the urgency to act. "Alright, with me. Let's go," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

Hattie was about to follow suit when Kacey abruptly stopped her, his words firm and resolute. "Hell no. You're going back up to the house." The order was clear, leaving no room for argument.

Hattie bristled with frustration at being denied, her voice rising with defiance. "What are you gonna do? Tell Dad?" she retorted, her words carrying a mix of defiance and irritation.

Kacey replied with a stern tone, his words leaving no room for rebuttal. "Yeah. I will," he repeated, his meaning clear and firm.

Hattie rolled her eyes in response, relenting to Rip's demand with an irked expression. She started walking away, mumbling under her breath.

Rip, turning his gaze to Ryan, muttered just loud enough for them to hear, "We have horrible taste in women." The statement was tinged with a mix of resigned acceptance and weary amusement.

At the bar, the boys release a bull inside, forcing each patron out.

Rip gestured towards Jimmy and issued a command, "Call them out." Jimmy nodded, stepping up to the challenge. As Jimmy followed through with Rip's command, each man involved in the earlier fight found himself getting their comeuppance.

Walker, refusing to swing his bat, defiantly tossed it to the ground, his actions a clear message that he wouldn’t fight.

Rip grabbed Walker by the shirt, his voice stern and resolute. "You're going to live up to the brand or I'm gonna fucking take it back, do you hear me?" his words were a clear warning.

Walker scoffed, his defiance evident as he stormed off, not looking back.

The boys successfully corralled the bull back into its cage, their efforts finally bringing the chaos to an end, for now.

The bar owner emerged from the premises, surveying the damage done. "What the fuck, Rip?" he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

Rip's reply was sharp and resolute, "Maybe next time someone puts their hands on someone from the Yellowstone, you'll think to give me a fucking call. Or your bouncers break it up. Or both." His words were a mix of sarcasm and a threat.

Kacey took a step forward, his eyes flashing with anger as he issued a sinister threat. "Or maybe next time, I'll burn it down," he said, his voice low and menacing.

As they made their way back to the ranch, Kacey couldn't help but cast a questioning gaze in Ryan's direction.

It wasn’t hard to miss. The fight was over her.

Kacey's inquiry was direct, his eyes focused on Ryan. "Something going on between you and my sister, Ryan?" he asked, curiosity and protectiveness lacing his tone.

Ryan felt caught off guard, his expression flickering momentarily before he composed himself. "What do you mean?" he muttered, his voice tinged with a hint of defensiveness.

Kacey's gaze never wavered, his eyes narrowing as he picked up on Ryan's slight defensiveness. "You know what I mean," he pressed, his tone still casual but with a hint of suspicion.

Ryan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I mean… It's complicated. I haven’t… asked your dad yet," he admitted, his voice tinged with a mix of resignation and hesitation.

Kacey burst into a fit of laughter, his words coming out in between chuckles. "He's gonna fucking kill you," he managed to say, the warning tinged with a hint of amusement.

Ryan couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle, his expression a mix of resignation and agreement. "Yeah, I know," he said, acknowledging the potential consequences of asking Dutton for permission to date his youngest daughter.

Ryan's heart was filled with a whirlwind of emotions. He loved Hattie Mae Dutton, an undeniable truth he had to tell her.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: SOME TEA

44. The Betrayal

The first sensations that greeted you were the stillness of the pre-dawn morning and the comforting weight of Arthur's arm draped over you, his body spooned snugly against yours.

Despite the comfortable warmth and soothing presence of Arthur's embrace, the promise you made earlier lingered in your mind: Help prepare breakfast for everyone.

Reluctantly, you extricated yourself from the comfort of Arthur's grasp, the process slow and tender. However, to your surprise, he didn't stir, seemingly undisturbed by your departure.

Carefully stepping into your dress, you buttoned it up, the familiar touch of the fabric against your skin a comfort. The dim light of the morning barely illuminated the canvas interior of the tent, casting shadows that danced along the walls as you silently moved about, getting yourself prepared for the day.

As you picked up Arthur's jacket and placed it on the chair, something fell from one of the pockets. The unexpected object, a folded and slightly crumpled letter, caught your attention as it lay in the dirt. Curiosity piqued, you knelt down to pick it up.

The sight of the words caused a sudden and uneasy feeling to settle in the pit of your stomach. The impact of those sloppy handwritten letters, "Yours, Mary Linton," hit you like a wave, creating a deep sense of discomfort.

As your eyes scanned the words once more, a mixture of feelings welled within your chest— confusion, disbelief, and a tinge of betrayal. How could a letter from Mary Linton find its way into Arthur's jacket, and what could those simple words "Yours, Mary Linton" possibly mean? Questions raced through your mind, each one leaving you more unsettled than the last.

Fuming, you threw the letter to the floor. The sight of Arthur sleeping peacefully only added fuel to the fire burning within you, and the urge to wake him up and confront him about the letter was nearly uncontrollable.

Regardless, you stormed out of the tent in a fit of frustration. Your mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts, your emotions swirling like a tempest. You burned as you clenched your hands into fists by your side.

Your feet pounded against the ground as you made your way towards the kitchen area, the determination in your stride mirroring the storm brewing within you.

The atmosphere in the kitchen area crackled with tension as you took charge, your movements sharp and purposeful. Pearson, sensing the underlying conflict, cautiously kept his distance, his usual banter replaced by knowing silence. You moved with a fierce determination, your actions driven by frustration, as you nearly kicked Pearson out of his own workspace.

As soon as Arthur slowly emerged from the tent, your gaze snapped towards him, a scoff escaping you.

“Good morning, dar-,” Before Arthur could finish his greeting, you waved him off, your frustration bubbling over as you brusquely turned and walked away.

The sight of you walking away left Arthur visibly puzzled, his smile vanishing, replaced with a frown.

Sean, ever the mouthy one, noticed the tension between you and Arthur. His smirk widened as he exclaimed, "Ooooo, the lassie's pissed!" His playful demeanor couldn't hide the underlying tension in the air.

Arthur pushed past him, his voice sharp and authoritative, “Mind your damn business, Sean.”

Arthur quickened his pace, his steps hastening as he pursued you. "Hey!" he called out, the urgency in his voice echoing through the air. His hand shot out to grab your wrist.

"You better get the hell away from me, Arthur Morgan," you seethed, your eyes burning with suppressed fury.

He let go of your wrist, almost as if the fire in your voice had physically burned him. "Whoa now, what is this about," he asked cautiously.

You turned to face him, your gaze locked onto his. "You don't know what it's all about? Really?" Your voice dripped with sarcasm and disbelief.

“I ain’t a damn clairvoyant, sweetheart. If you’re mad, then tell me why.” He replied, his own tone growing irritated.

You couldn't help but scoff. "Oh, so now you need me to spell it out for you? You can't see the problem in reading the letter from a woman who you once loved, keeping it in your jacket next to me when we sleep, and then having the audacity to say 'good morning' to me like it's a goddamn normal day?"

The words spilled out, your feelings coming to a head and releasing in a torrent. The mention of the letter and his actions left Arthur stunned, his surprise evident on his face. "You read it?" he said, the question coming out as a quiet whisper, filled with disbelief.

The shock on his face only served to fuel your anger, “Of course, I read it! It fell out of your damn pocket when I picked up your jacket this morning.”

Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Darlin', I was gonna throw it away," he said, his voice tinged with shame and regret. "I never meant to keep it in my jacket."

Your gaze fixed upon him, studying his expression closely, before you let out a bitter laugh that was tinged with disbelief. "Nah," you said, shaking your head, a venomous edge to your voice. "You were going to go see her. We both know it, don't we?"

“No, I was just gonna toss it. That’s it. Nothin’ more.” He tried to convince you, the tone of his voice almost begging you to believe him.

You snorted, the skepticism etched on your face. "Just toss it? That's all? I'm not stupid," you retorted, "I found the letter crumpled. In. Your. Jacket. How long was it in there for?"

"Yesterday..." He replied, his voice growing quieter as the conversation went on.

"Yesterday? Yesterday! You carried that goddam letter around since yesterday, in your jacket, while I was none the wiser. Spending the day with Grace. Sleeping next to me, being intimate with me, and you never thought to say a word?"

"I was confused, sweetheart. Just confused and caught up in the old things. I never was going to do anythin', I just...I just ain't know what to do about it," his voice was quiet.

With a look of disbelief on your face, you shook your head at his words. "Well, let me help you with making that decision," you spoke with a hint of sarcasm, your voice strained. With deliberate steps, you marched towards the tent.

Arthur followed you hastily, the tent getting closer and closer as the two of you approached it. He called out, "Where are you going?"

You entered the tent gently, your attention on Grace as you spoke softly, rousing her from her slumber. “Hey, sweetheart. Wake up for me.” You spoke softly, gently shaking her.

Grace slowly opened her eyes, her sleepy figure stirring as she groggily responded to your voice with a soft, "Mmm-hnn?"

Grace sat up in her cot, her sleepiness slowly fading as you spoke, "Come on, sleepyhead. We've got a busy day ahead."

Arthur entered the tent cautiously, his worry etched across his face as he watched you rouse Grace.

Arthur spoke up, his voice tinged with pleading, "Don't go," Your heart ached, but your determination didn't waver. The situation was serious, and you couldn't be swayed by his soft voice.

Your gaze met Arthur's, your hand gently yet firmly pushing his chest back, your voice filled with resolve. "Gracie, meet me at the horses.”

Your actions were firm and deliberate as you shoved him out of the tent, your body language expressing your anger and hurt. As he stumbled back a step, he looked at you with a mix of surprise and worry, his eyes pleading for understanding.

He caught up with you, his grip on your wrist and waist tight as he pleaded, "Stay." The desperation in his voice was palpable, his eyes locked onto yours, imploring you to reconsider.

Your body immediately reacted to his touch, the familiarity of his grip making you falter for a moment. But your resolve remained unyielding, and you shook your head, your voice firm and cold, "We can’t stay. I have shows from noon to night."

"Please, darlin'," he implored, his grip on your wrist and waist tightening, "Please don't go.. don't do this. I wasn’t gonna go, darlin’. I swear on it."

You huffed, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He searched your gaze, his own filled with a mix of shame and pain, "I don't know," he finally admitted, "I should of. I wanted to, but I didn't know how."

He touched your cheek, his touch both tender and trembling, his voice filled with desperation as he pleaded, "Please, darlin'. Don't leave me. Not like this."

“I ain’t leaving you, Arthur. I’m just angry,” Your heart twisted with uncertainty, pain, and mistrust, the hurt bubbling within you as you questioned his intentions. Was he being genuine? Or was he just trying to salvage the situation because you had discovered his hidden letter?

Grace approached, her little face beaming, oblivious to the undercurrent of emotion. You mounted your horse, gripping the reins with determination, and extended your hand down to Gracie.

Grace's smile widened, her innocent excitement palpable, "Daddy let me ride Sunny here all by myself. I’ll have to ride her back down."

You turned your gaze towards Arthur, your eyes narrowing with disbelief and accusation, “You let her ride a horse by herself?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, the weight of your disapproval settling heavily on his shoulders. "I thought she could handle it," he defended himself.

Your gaze softened as you looked at Gracie, a smile gracing your lips despite the tension in the air. You nodded, your voice firmer now, "Well, then he’ll need to get home."

Arthur began to speak, "I could-" but your firm response cut him off, "No. You said she could handle it." Your words were cold and resolute, leaving no room for further discussion.

Gracie was about to climb onto the horse, but you addressed Arthur, your tone stern. "Help her."

However, Arthur's stubbornness prevailed, his words were filled with defiance. "She don't need help. She can do it," he asserted.

Grace showed her determination and independence as she effortlessly mounted the horse, a sense of accomplishment in her eyes.

You watched Gracie's display of determination and independence with mixed emotions. While you were impressed by her ability to handle herself, a hint of worry and frustration flickered within you as well.

Despite the tension in the air, Arthur couldn't help but respond to Gracie's accomplishments with a soft pat and a loving smile. His affection towards her was evident in his gesture, a brief moment of tenderness amidst the ongoing conflict.

Arthur's eyes flickered over to you, and he placed a hand gently on your thigh, his touch tender and hesitant. His words hung heavy in the air, his tone hopeful, yet tinged with uncertainty. "You allowing me to come by tonight?"

The touch of his hand on your thigh ignited a mix of emotions within you, the desire to close the distance between you and him conflicting with the pain you felt from his secret love letter. His question dangled in the air, your answer hanging on the edge of your tongue.

Your gaze locked onto him, a silent exchange passing between you, your expression speaking volumes. Though you didn't utter a word, the intensity in your eyes expressed your disapproval and disappointment.

“(y/n), would you please li-,” The sound of Arthur's voice broke the tension, as he called out your name.

However, you chose not to linger any longer. Without glancing back, you spurred your horse forward, setting off at a steady pace. Behind you, Gracie followed suit, her young face filled with curiosity.

Arthur watched you ride off, his heart heavy with regret and turmoil. He knew he had a long road ahead.

John, a witness to the emotional exchange between you and Arthur, couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh. He turned to Arthur with a sly grin, shaking his head. "Women, right?" he teased, fully aware of the dramatic scene that just unfolded.

Arthur shot a sharp look at John, bristling at his friend's lighthearted comment. "Shut up, Marston. Like you know anything about women," he retorted gruffly, his irritation palpable in his voice.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the anger and pain swirling within you like a tempest. Yet, through the storm of emotions, a nagging feeling of regret began to surface. You questioned yourself, wondering if you had reacted too harshly. But the memories of hurt and betrayal quickly pushed away any doubts, and the pain flared once more. NO! You shouted internally, silencing any hint of compromise.

The thought of the love letter from Mary being tucked in his jacket pocket, close to his heart, while he held you in his arms was a painful reminder of the disrespect and mixed signals he was sending.

You slammed the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the room. Will jumped in surprise, taken aback by the sudden noise. "What the hell? Don't go slamming my doors!" he exclaimed, his irritation evident in his voice.

"I'll slam whatever the hell I want!" You shot back, your footsteps heavy as you made your way up to your room.

Liz sighed, her expression filled with understanding as she shook her head. “I’ll go talk to her,” she told Will, her voice soft but firm.

Liz walked towards your room with caution, knocked softly on the door. "Can I come in?"

"Sure." Your voice was quiet and filled with hurt.

The door slowly opened, and Liz walked in, closing the door behind her. She observed your state, her expression sympathetic yet gentle. "You doing alright?" she asked, her hand reaching out to softly place on your shoulder.

"No... No, I'm not,” Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, raw with emotions.

Liz's heart ached at your words, her hand gripping your shoulder, a reassuring gesture. "Do you want talk about it?" she questioned gently, her eyes filled with concern and empathy.

You slumped into the nearest chair and huffed, "It... It's Arthur." Your voice was trembling with a mixture of hurt and frustration.

Liz pulled up an empty chair and sat close to you, her hand still gently resting on your shoulder. "What happened?" she asked, her tone soothing yet encouraging.

You took another deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts, "He received a letter..." you trailed off, the memory of the letter burning in your mind. "It’s from a woman he used to love. Mary. I think he was going to see her." You paused for a moment, the name hanging in the air like a dark cloud.

Liz's brow furrowed, her expression a mix of surprise and concern. "Are you two… going to work this out?" she spoke carefully.

You let out a bitter scoff, your words tinged with pain and anger. "I don't even know... I feel so… ugh I don’t know. He's carried it around all day with him."

Liz's apology carried a sense of sincere sympathy, and she rubbed your shoulder gently. "I'm sorry." Her voice was soft, filled with genuine concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "I feel so damn angry, Liz."

She placed a comforting hand on your arm, her gaze filled with understanding. "Anger is normal, but you need to think clearly about this situation."

Your shoulders slumped, the weight of the situation heavy on your shoulders. "I know... I just can't believe..." Your voice trailed off, the weight of your emotions catching in your throat.

Liz squeezed your arm lightly, her voice warm with reassurance. "I know it's hard, but you have the right to be angry. Just make sure you don't let it consume you."

As hard as it was to admit in the heat of an argument, you knew that Liz was right the majority of the time. She had this uncanny way of seeing situations clearly, and her advice usually ended up being the correct one.

But you rarely followed that advice.

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

Series Masterlist

John Price x Single!Mom

Warnings: talk of past toxic relationships, drinking

4. Patio Wine

You sat on the back patio couch, a glass of wine in hand, scrolling through your phone. The baby monitor next to you ensured that your little one was sound asleep. Despite the exhaustion of the day, you made yourself take time to relax in the quiet solitude of the evening.

You glanced at John's house and noticed the lights turning on, indicating his arrival. The late hour piqued your curiosity, and you couldn't help but wonder why he was returning so late.

You sat back and tried to focus on your phone, but your gaze often wandered to the movement in John's house. You silently scolded yourself for your silly crush on a man twice your age.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw him step out onto his back patio. Compared to your modest house with a consistent leak under the sink, his place seemed like something straight out of a design magazine.

Your gaze met his, and you felt a strange mixture of nervousness and excitement coursing through your veins. You tried to act nonchalant, maintaining a casual demeanor as you sipped your wine.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you watched him approach. He was still in his work clothes, the uniform hugging his fit body perfectly. You tried to steady yourself, taking a deep breath as he drew closer.

"Evening," he replied, that familiar gravelly timbre sending a shiver down your spine. He stopped in front of you, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Enjoying a drink?" He inquired, his gaze flickering to the glass in your hand.

You gestured to your glass, a smile on your lips. "Would you like some?" you asked, feeling a little bold. It was an innocent enough offer, but there was something in the way he was looking at you that made your heart race.

"If you're offering," he replied, his voice low and gravelly, as he took a seat next to you

You stood up and made your way into the kitchen, feeling John's gaze follow you. You found a second glass and grabbed the bottle of wine from the counter.

John could smell the lingering scent of your cooking, and it made his mouth water. It was more appealing than what he had managed to scarf down at 7 p.m.

You paused, looking at the leftovers and deciding to take a chance. "John, have you eaten dinner?" you asked, your voice carrying through the night air.

John heard your question and responded, his tone betraying a hint of hunger, "I've eaten, love, don't worry your pretty head about it."

Despite his words, you couldn't help but feel a little concerned. Something in his voice betrayed a hint of hunger, and you found yourself unable to ignore the nagging feeling that he might be lying.

Carrying the wine and the plate of leftovers, you returned to your spot on the patio couch and placed them on the table. The scent of the food wafted through the air, and you noticed John's gaze flick towards the plate, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

"Is that for me?" he asked, his voice betraying a hint of amusement.

You shrugged nonchalantly, knowing you had made too much food again. "You know me, not great at portion sizes. I tend to make too much," you chuckled, hoping to brush off the fact that you’d made a plate for him.

John couldn't help but smile, his gaze fixing on you with a mix of admiration and determination. He saw right through your false nonchalance, but he could tell your motives came from a place of kindness and care. He couldn’t deny the way you fit so perfectly into his life.

Your eyes darted to the baby monitor, finding comfort in the sight of your daughter sleeping peacefully. But no matter how hard you tried, you could feel his gaze on you. It was as if he was mapping your face, his every glance sending shivers down your spine.

“Did you enjoy your shopping trip yesterday?”

John's question broke the tension, and you were grateful for the distraction. "Yeah, it was nice. My friend's really great with my daughter, and she's a good shopping buddy."

John nodded, pleased that you'd had a good time. "I saw the unfamiliar car parked out front. I was wondering whose it was.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised that he’d noticed the car. "Just my friend. She’s about the only one I hang out with anymore. All my old friends don’t get the whole mom thing."

John took another sip of his wine, his gaze still fixed on you. "And is the father not in the picture?"

You hesitated, not wanting to delve into the details of your past with your ex-husband. "He shows up here and there," you explained, your voice betraying a hint of bitterness. "Mostly just around her birthday or some other occasion."

John picked up on your reluctance to discuss your ex-husband, sensing there was more to the story. He noted your bitter tone, realizing there was a complicated history you didn’t want to reveal.

Trying to steer the conversation away from the topic of your ex-husband, you changed the subject. “How was your day?”

John took another sip of his wine, his gaze still fixed on you. "My day was a little frustrating, to be honest, love."

You tilted your head, curious and empathetic. "Oh? Why's that?" you inquired, genuinely interested in hearing about his day.

He sighed, the gruffness in his voice betraying his frustration. "Just some technical issues," he said.

You tilted your head, “You can’t tell me much can you?”

He chuckled softly, amused by your astute observation. "Not really," he answered with a rueful smile, his eyes meeting yours with a glint of admiration.

You nodded, “I respect that.”

He nodded back, appreciating your understanding. "Thank you," he replied, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer.

Once again, he couldn't help but marvel at how perfect you seemed. You were beautiful, a caring mother, a fantastic cook, and he had no doubt that you'd be mind-blowing in bed.

He spoke, cutting through the silence, his voice low and gravelly. "I have another question, love."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigue filling your gaze. "Go on," you replied, curious about what he wanted to ask.

He took another long sip of his wine, the liquid coursing past his lips. "How long, if you don't mind me asking, have you been divorced?" His question hung in the air, a clear implication in his tone.

The question caught you off guard, and you paused for a moment before answering. "Uh, officially? A little over a year now," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.

He nodded, absorbing the information. "A year hmm?" he mused, his gaze fixed on you, as if trying to analyze every expression. "Why did you two divorce? If you don't mind me asking."

You pondered his question, trying to decide if you should disclose the details of your divorce. What would be the harm in telling him? Taking a deep breath, you decided to be honest, "A lot of different reasons."

You took a moment to gather your thoughts before elaborating, "We were both young, naive. We didn't understand how much of a struggle marriage would be, let alone how much harder it gets when you toss a kid in the mix." You paused, reflecting on the truth you were divulging.

"When I found out I was pregnant," you said, "I was ecstatic. Thought it would bring us closer together, you know? But as the pregnancy went on, things just got worse."

"It was a vicious cycle,” you explained, "each of us trying to get through our own emotions, lashing out at the other. By the time the baby was born, he was already cheating and divorce was inevitable."

John's jaw tightened as you spoke. He couldn't help but feel a wave of sadness and anger towards your ex-husband. How could any man treat a woman like that? Especially you.

He nodded, listening intently to your story. He could hear the sadness and pain in your voice, and it stirred something within him - a mix of empathy and a desire to protect.

"It was for the best, really," you said, trying to sound cheerful. "Our marriage wasn't healthy even before she was born. I would hate for her to grow up thinking it was alright to be treated the way that I was."

You quickly apologized, realizing you'd revealed far more than you intended. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go on a whole rant. I just..."

"No, please don't apologize," John interjected, his voice soft and genuine. He reached out, placing a hand on your arm.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as his hand touched your arm, the warmth of his touch sending a jolt through you. He hadn't moved his hand, his gaze fixed on your face.

John spoke gently, his fingers gently trailing down your arm, leaving a trail of tingling in their wake. "I understand. Marriage, divorce, all of it is frustrating," he agreed, understanding in his voice.

You look at him in shock, “You’ve been divorced?”

He chuckled softly, his gaze meeting yours. "Twice," he admitted, a hint of self-deprecation in his voice.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Twice?" you repeated, unable to hide your astonishment.

He chuckled again, his hand still lingering on your arm, his touch now more intentional. "Yes, love, twice," he confirmed, a slight smirk playing on his lips at your reaction.

You couldn't help but laugh, the effects of the wine already taking their toll. "Sorry," you chuckled, feeling a slight warmth in your cheeks. "I just... I can't understand. Who would divorce you?" The words escaped your lips before you could stop them. You blamed it on the wine, the liquid confidence making you brave.

John chuckled, his gaze fixed on your face as his heart raced in his chest. He let his hand slide from your arm, his fingers tracing a tantalising path as he spoke. "Two ex-wives, unfortunately," he said, his voice taking on a hint of playful sarcasm.

You had to ask in curiosity, with a raised brow, “What happened the first time?”

He let out a sigh and took another sip of his wine, his mind traveling back to the past. "First wife and I simply grew apart. Got married young, both worked all the time,” he said, the words bittersweet on his tongue. He wished no ill on his first wife. Simply view that time as a closed book on the shelf.

“And the second wife?” You asked with more eager curiosity.

He sighed, an air of resignation in his tone as he continued his tale, "The second one was... a lot more complicated." He took another long gulp of his wine, his gaze drifting away briefly as the memories flooded back. "She was a selfish woman. Spent money faster than I could make it. She cheated on me. Multiple times. I just couldn't forgive her that." His voice was thick with bitter resignation.

You felt a pang of sorrow for him. "I'm sorry to hear that," you said, your voice tinged with sadness. "Cheating.... people never understand how hurtful it is."

He nodded, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "They don't," he agreed, his gaze meeting yours. "But... It's in the past now." He quickly shook off the melancholic feeling, not wanting to linger in the memories of heartbreak.

As John finished the food, he sat up, a satisfied smile on his face. "That was perfect. Just what I needed." He leaned back, eyeing you with a hint of a smirk on his face.

Your smile was authentic, your eyes sparkling with genuine joy as you saw his satisfaction with the meal. The feeling of cooking for someone and seeing them happy was a simple pleasure you relished, a reason you loved being a mom.

"I'd love to have you over for dinner," you said, a hint of confidence in your voice.

He grinned, clearly pleased. "I would like that," he replied, the look in his eyes now a mix of anticipation and something else, something deeper.

There was no harm in having him over for dinner, your neighbor who had ignited a secret fantasy that often occupied your thoughts. The thought of him in your home, sitting across from you at the dinner table, made your heart race.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: none?

43. The Letter

The morning sun cast a gentle glow across the room as Arthur stirred awake, a deep sigh escaping his lips. But what truly caught his attention was the feeling of your wandering hands, their touch gentle yet teasing, stirring him to full alertness. A smirk formed on his face, his eyes flickering opened to find you hovering over him, your eyes fixed on the growing reaction to your actions.

"Y’little devil," he drawled, his voice still heavy with sleep. Despite his groggy state, there was no missing the desire and satisfaction in his gaze as his eyes flicked up and down your figure, taking in every inch of your curves and the way your skin glowed in the soft morning light.

A mischievous smirk played on your face as you rolled on top of Arthur, your bodies now intertwined. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, his touch possessive, but as you straddled him, a hint of hunger glimmered in his gaze.

You shifted your attention to the crevice of his neck, where you began a slow, tantalizing trail of kisses, your lips teasing and featherlight against his skin. Arthur's breath caught for a moment, a low moan escaping him at your touch.

Arthur's hands ventured below the hem of your nightgown, his touch light and teasing as he traced his fingers up the silken slopes of your thighs. His calloused fingertips contrasted pleasantly with your softness, causing your body to shiver and flush.

You pushed yourself up, a smirk playing on your lips as you announced your intention. "I'm going to make breakfast," You proclaimed, your words carrying a hint of satisfaction in them, knowing the effect you had on him.

Arthur's heart filled with contentment as he watched you move around the kitchen, the sound of sizzling eggs and the comforting smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. He admired your every move, his gaze never leaving your figure as you prepared breakfast.

Life was good. This routine of loving you all night and being fed by you in the mornings had quickly become the norm.

"Can we go to camp with daddy today?" Gracie's innocent question broke the comfortable silence of the breakfast table. Her eyes glittered with excitement, waiting eagerly for your response.

With a hint of regret, you couldn't help but shake your head. "I'm afraid we can't today, sweetheart." Your voice carried a tinge of regret. "I've fallen behind on some chores."

Gracie's face fell, her eagerness replaced by disappointment. "But it’s been over a week since we've been to camp," the little girl protested, her voice tinged with pleading.

You sighed at Gracie's pleading, your heart heavy with guilt at her disappointment. "I know, sweetheart. But the chores need to be done." You hated disappointing the young girl, but the house couldn't neglect itself.

Arthur broke the heavy silence with his voice, suggesting an alternative solution, "I can take her. You can meet us there this evening." His tone held a hint of enthusiasm, offering a way to appease Gracie's wishes while still allowing you to tend to the necessary chores.

Gracie's face lit up at Arthur's words, excitement replacing her previous disappointment. "Really?" Her eyes shone with hope, bouncing in her chair with barely contained eagerness.

Your brows were raised, a hint of surprise registering on your face, as you looked at Arthur. His offer to take Gracie, along with Gracie's excitement, had clearly taken you aback.

"You want to take her?" Your words were tentative, seeking confirmation of what he had just offered.

Arthur nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips at your surprised expression. "I don't mind." He met Gracie's gaze, his voice firm and resolute. "We'll have a fun day."

Your voice held a hint of concern as you interjected, your mind swimming with worry over Gracie’s behavior. "You don't have to," you said, your words filled with a sense of caution. "She can be hard to handle sometimes. You’ve got to really keep your eye on her, you know?"

Arthur nodded, understanding your concern. "I know, darlin’,” he reassured you. "I'll look after her. She'll be just fine."

Despite Arthur's reassurance, the worry and concern were evident on your face. "It's just..." you trailed off, your words tinged with a hint of panic. "She’s never been out of hollering distance."

Arthur reached out his hand, gently covering yours in a gesture of comfort. "I'll make sure she's safe and sound. She'll be fine," he reassured you, his voice softening as he saw your concern.

His blue gaze held a soothing intensity as he tried to reassure you, the soft spoken words and tender hand reaching out to your own causing you to melt internally into his grasp.

You found yourself surrendering to his reassurance, offering him a soft smile. "Okay," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and trust.

Gracie was giddy, the excitement of going to camp bubbling up like champagne in her little body. "I'm going to pack!" She announced and hurried to her room.

With Gracie gone to pack her belongings, you and Arthur found yourselves alone together once again. The room was silent, but not uncomfortably so.

Arthur pushed his chair back softly and beckoned you over with a simple gesture of his finger. "Come here,” he said, his voice low and inviting.

Your heart skipped a beat as his commanding gesture beckoned you. You obeyed, standing and making your way around the table until you stood in front of him.

With a soft motion, Arthur pulled you close, his strong grip finding your hips effortlessly. You found yourself gently placed onto his lap, your body settling against his comfortably.

His words were gentle but firm, his touch on your waist sending shivers down your spine. His genuine concern for your well-being was evident in the way his calloused fingers tenderly caressed your skin. "Now, I want you to have a nice day," he continued, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. "Do what you need to do, but take a break. You do too much. Been doing too much for years."

“I guess I could use a little break.” Your grin deepened as you lowered your face to capture his lips in a tender yet passionate kiss, your hands sliding up his shoulders and around his neck.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close and deepening the kiss. His hands held you tight, wanting to keep you as close as he could in that moment of intimacy.

You whispered the words against his lips, your voice carrying the weight of your sincerity and affection. "I love you," you murmured, the words escaping your lips in a tender confession.

His breath hitched for a moment in surprise, a mix of emotions coursing through him at your words. He held you even tighter, his grip firm and protective. "I love you, darlin’," he whispered back, his voice filled with an undeniable intensity.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the sincerity and emotion in his voice stirring a deep feeling within you. Your fingers traced patterns on the nape of his neck, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Promise?" You murmured quietly, a hint of vulnerability in your tone.

He could sense the vulnerability in your voice, and he gently pushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. "Promise," he whispered, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity, “and one of these days, I’ll prove it to you."

Gracie made her way back into the room, her smile wide and full of excitement. "I'm ready!" She announced, her enthusiasm radiating through the room.

You chuckled softly at your daughter's eagerness, glancing down at her with a fond smile. "You look ready," you said, ruffling her hair affectionately.

Gracie giggled and playfully swatted your hand away, her excitement undeterred. "Are we leaving now, daddy?" She said with a hopeful look in her eyes.

Arthur nodded, his gaze warm and full of affection for the little girl. "Yeah, we're leaving," he replied, his tone gentle yet firm.

You knelt down and hugged your daughter, enveloping her in a tender embrace. Pressing a gentle kiss onto her cheek, you held her tightly for a moment, savoring the warmth of her presence.

You held Gracie's hands in yours, your voice gentle but firm. "You be good," you said, your eyes meeting hers with a caring gaze, "and you listen to everything your daddy says." She nodded in agreement, her head bouncing up and down.

Gracie nodded obediently, her youthful energy bubbling up once again. "I promise!" She exclaimed, her voice full of enthusiasm.

Gracie bounded off towards the barn, her little feet pattering against the ground with newfound excitement. Her youthful energy brought a smile to your face.

With a tender grip on your waist, Arthur pulled you in close, his lips meeting yours in a gentle yet passionate kiss. The world seemed to melt away as you lost yourself in the moment, your body melting into his embrace.

Arthur drew back just a bit, his eyes lingering on your face as he spoke softly, "We'll see you up there." The certainty in his words held a promise of reunion, a reassurance that you'd see each other again soon.

You nodded, a soft smile gracing your features, "Alright." Your fingers moved to run along the stubble on his face playfully, "Behave."

Arthur chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "I always behave," he replied, his voice holding a hint of sarcasm as he enjoyed your touch.

Arthur followed Gracie into the barn with a smile on his face, his eyes watching the little girl with a mix of affection and responsibility. The barn was filled with the usual sights and scents of horses, a familiar environment for Arthur.

Gracie's gaze shifted to her own horse, her expression hopeful as she asked, "Can't I ride my own this time?" Despite her eagerness, there was a hint of hesitation in her words, unsure of Arthur's response.

Arthur pondered for a moment, his gaze flickering from Gracie to the horses. He knew the girl had a strong bond with her horse, and the desire to ride it was understandable. "Sure," he replied, a subtle nod in agreement.

Gracie's eyes widened in surprise, a joyful thrill washing over her. Though she was used to hearing a firm "no" from her mother, Arthur's permissive response was a delightful change.

Arthur effortlessly saddled Gracie's horse, Sunny, his movements smooth and practiced. With a gentle lift, he helped her onto the saddle, ensuring she was secure and comfortable.

Arthur looked up at Gracie, his gaze ensuring she was secure on the saddle. "You got it?" He inquired, his voice filled with concern, his hand holding onto the horse's reins just in case.

Gracie nodded, her expression a mix of excitement and determination. "Yeah, I've got it," she replied with confidence, her hands grasping the reins with a firm grip.

Arthur issued a reminder, reminding Gracie about the basics of riding her horse. "You just remember what we've been workin’ on." His voice was firm, a serious look on his face as he reviewed the important lessons they had previously discussed.

Gracie nodded, her attention focused on the words of her father. "I will," she assured him, her voice filled with a determination to remember the instructions.

Arthur mounted his horse gracefully, his gaze now resting on Gracie. "Ready, Gracie?" He asked, his tone calm and steady, a smile on his face as he looked over at the little girl on her pony.

Gracie nodded, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "Ready!" she replied with eagerness.

With their replies given, both father and daughter were now ready to embark on their journey.

You efficiently went about your chore list, finding that your progress on them was significantly quicker. The absence of Gracie's constant interruptions allowed you to focus on the tasks at hand, and you found yourself making great progress.

You took a few moments to bask in the peaceful silence, savoring the precious quietness of the house. It had been so long since you last experienced a moment of tranquility without the constant noises of the world that it felt like a luxury to simply sit and listen to the absolute quiet of the house.

You floated up the stairs and found yourself settling into a comfortable position on your bed, your eyes slowly closing as the weariness of the day began to catch up with you. After a few moments of blissful quiet, you found yourself dozing off for a quick nap.

While you were sleeping, over at Horseshoe Overlook, Grace was having a blast, running around with Jack. The freedom of the wide open space and the energy of her friend created a perfect environment for some lighthearted playtime.

She was filled with boundless energy, her laughter and giggles ringing out across the landscape. Jack, with just as much enthusiasm, ran alongside her, chasing and playing as if not a single care existed in the world.

Mrs. Grimshaw's usual stern expression softened upon seeing Grace. A rare smile graced her usually stoic face as she observed the little girl running around with Jack, her contagious laughter infectious.

Grimshaw's gaze shifted from Grace's playful antics to Arthur, who was sitting nearby, sketching a drawing of the young girl in her carefree moment. His focus was fixed on the canvas, capturing every joyful detail of Gracie's laughter and her infectious energy.

Grimshaw approached Arthur, feeling a hint of unease as she held the letter in her hand. She paused for a moment, watching him sketch Gracie’s carefree expression on the page. Despite her reservations, she knew that withholding the letter any longer wouldn’t be the right thing to do. Grimshaw believed that as an adult, Arthur was capable of making the correct decision, for whatever may be in the content of the letter she held in her hands.

Grimshaw carefully approached him, the letter clutched in her hand, before gently addressing him, "Mr. Morgan." Her voice was soft, but firm enough to draw his attention away from his drawing.

Arthur turned at the sound of his name, his sketching coming to a halt. He raised an eyebrow, his gaze fixed on Grimshaw as he took in her serious expression, the letter in her hand piquing his curiosity.

She cleared her throat, the silence between them heavy with anticipation. Grimshaw held out the envelope, the crisp edges of the unopened letter catching the light. "This came for you."

Arthur’s gaze flicked from Grimshaw’s face to the envelope she held out to him. He raised an eyebrow, a touch of curiosity in his expression. "For me?" he inquired, his voice betraying nothing of his expectations.

Upon reading the name on the envelope, Arthur's body went rigid, a cold shiver coursing through him.

Mary Linton.

Grimshaw couldn't help but notice the fleeting glint of happiness in Arthur's eyes as he read the name on the envelope. She voiced her opinion, her voice tinged with a hint of disapproval, "I never liked her."

Arthur set the letter aside and turned his gaze towards Grace, a tender expression crossing his face. Then, he looked at Grimshaw, his expression shifting to gratitude. "Thank you, Mrs. Grimshaw," he responded, his voice carrying a note of sincerity.

Grimshaw lingered for a moment longer, her gaze shifting towards Gracie and then back to Arthur. Her words carried a mix of caution and admiration as she observed the connection between the two.

"You've got a beautiful family, Mr. Morgan," she remarked, her voice tinged with a touch of melancholy. "It took you long enough to find them." Her gaze flicked toward Gracie, a glimmer of affection in her expression. "I wouldn't recommend running off to someone whose family won't even let you sit at their table."

Arthur locked eyes with Mrs. Grimshaw, his gaze steady and unwavering. The weight of the situation hung in the air between them, a silent understanding passing through their gaze.

Arthur's words echoed through the air, determined and resolute. "I ain't running back to Mary," he repeated, his voice carrying a steely conviction.

Mrs. Grimshaw held his gaze, studying his face for a moment longer before nodding in a nod of approval. Her expression softened somewhat, a hint of relief in her eyes before she walked away.

Arthur's gaze lingered on the letter in front of him, a mixture of emotions churning within him. His mind raced with conflicting thoughts, torn between duty and desire.

Arthur's heart was torn. He knew that he didn’t love Mary anymore. Your presence in his life had shown him what true love really meant, and it had been a decade since then. The memories of the past lingered, yet the present was filled with the love and contentment he had found with you.



The letter continued to stare at him, its very presence a subtle challenge. It dared him to confront the emotions it stirred within him, reminding him of a past love that had been overshadowed by the love he had found with you.

Despite the complex emotions he harbored, Arthur couldn't help but wonder why Mary had decided to contact him after all this time. Curiosity gnawed at him, an irresistible urge to delve into the reasons behind her reaching out.

With a mix of trepidation and curiosity, Arthur carefully unsealed the envelope and unfolded the letter inside. Time seemed to halt as he began to read the words penned in Mary's handwriting.

Dear Arthur, I’ve written this letter a hundred times or more and I cannot get it right. It’s me. You know it’s me from the bad handwriting. I know I said when we last spoke and I was going off to get married, that we would not speak again. I know I said a lot of things and I meant them, I suppose, at the time, but I am not so proud as to not speak to people who care for me, or cared for me. I’ve been in Valentine for a couple of months. I had some bad luck and, well, it’s a long story and not an interesting one, but I am here for now. I saw a couple of the girls, or whatever the polite term is for them, that ran with you and your associates in town and I heard tell of a man who sounded like you. I would love to see you again, if you could spare me a little bit of your time. I’m renting a room at Chadwick Farm, just north of Valentine. Yours, Mary Linton.

“What’s that, daddy?”

Arthur's attention was snapped out of his thoughts by the sound of Gracie's curious voice. He quickly folded the letter closed, concealing its content from her curious eyes.

"Nothing, sweetheart," he replied, a hint of unease in his voice. "Just some words from an old friend."

Gracie's curious expression remained, her little brow furrowed in curiosity. "Is it good news or bad news?"

Arthur forced a smile, trying to hide the conflicting emotions swirling within him. "It's... complicated," he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of hesitation.

Gracie, not satisfied with the vague answer, pressed on, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Complicated how?"

Arthur sighed, knowing that Gracie's inquisitive nature would not let him off easily. He didn't want to hide the truth from her completely, but the situation was too complex to explain completely. "It's a someone from a long time ago, sweetheart. It's not something you need to worry about."

Gracie's inquisitiveness didn't waver. She pressed on, sensing the gravity of the situation. "But it's making you think, real hard. It's got to be important."

Arthur chuckled softly, both amused and exasperated by Gracie's perceptiveness. "You're a smart kid, aren't you?” He ruffled her hair affectionately, his demeanor softened by her observation.

Arthur carefully folded the letter and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket, the action subtle yet telling. The weight of the words on the page seemed to cling to him, a reminder of the conflicted feelings that surged within him.

The day continued, marked by Gracie's lively mannerisms and her infectious energy as she engaged in constant interactions. She bounced from one person to the next, her cheerful chatter filling the air with a playful spirit.

Arthur watched her with a mixture of amusement and warmth, amused by Gracie's boundless energy and the infectiousness of her enthusiasm. Her laughter and contagious energy spread cheer even to the surliest of camp members, and her ability to engage in an endless stream of conversations with everyone was a trait he loved.

It wasn't long before the evening hours arrived, casting a gentle shadow over the landscape. You rode up to Horseshoe Overlook on your steed, the sound of hoofbeats against the ground announcing your arrival.

As you dismounted, Gracie's cheerful voice called out, "Mama!" She scurried over to you with a broad smile on her face, her excitement palpable.

Your heart warmed at the sight of her little face, her excitement contagious. You smiled down at her, crouching down to her level. "There’s my girl, Gracie," you greeted softly, reaching out to brush a lock of her hair.

Gracie held out a handmade flower crown, her expression expectant. "I made this for you. Jack made one for Abigail. You're both going to wear them at supper." Her words were filled with innocent eagerness, her little fingers holding the flower crown delicately, her eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Your heart swelled with affection as you took the flower crown from Gracie's hand, appreciating the simplicity and beauty of her creation. The sight touched you deeply, and you expressed your gratitude with a warm smile. "Aw, honey," you said, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "It's beautiful. Thank you."

You gently placed the crown on your head, feeling a wave of affection as you adjusted it into place. Satisfied with the result, you turned to Gracie with a smile and asked, "How does it look?"

Gracie's eyes widened as she took in the sight of you wearing the flower crown. A wide grin spread across her face, her words filled with excitement. "You look like a princess, mama!"

Arthur sauntered over, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "Your mama ain't no princess," he drawled, his voice tinged with affection. He came closer, his hand finding its way to your waist to draw you closer. Leaning in, he placed a tender kiss on your cheek before continuing, "She's a queen. Wouldn't you say so?"

Your heart fluttered at Arthur's words, a warmth spreading through you as he kissed your cheek softly. Gracie, watching the interaction, giggled at Arthur's statement. "Yeah!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with youthful exuberance. "My mama is queen of everything."

Arthur chuckled softly, clearly amused by Gracie's proclamation. He ruffled her hair affectionately and playfully agreed, "That's right, short stuff. Your mama is queen of everything."

Your fingers gently traced the outline of the letter in his jacket, the folded corners going unnoticed for the moment. However, Arthur's reaction didn't go unnoticed, his body tensing and his guard instantly going up.

Your keen senses picked up the subtle change in Arthur's demeanor, your eyes narrowing as you asked, "You okay, cowboy?" Your concern was evident in your gaze, recognizing the subtle shift in his behavior.

Arthur cleared his throat, trying to maintain his composure, but you could sense his discomfort. He responded with a strained voice, trying to brush it off, "I'm fine, darlin'. Just a bit tired, is all."

Your brows furrowed slightly at his response, the uneasiness of his demeanor not escaping your notice. You knew him well enough to discern when something was bothering him, and it was clear there was more to his exhaustion than he was letting on.

Your instincts told you that something was amiss, but you decided to hold off on pressing further for the moment. Nodding in reply, you responded, "Okay." Your trust in him, coupled with a sense of understanding that sometimes he needed space to open up on his terms, guided your decision to refrain from prying further.

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing that you had picked up on his unease but grateful for your restraint. He appreciated your understanding, knowing that sometimes he needed a moment to collect his thoughts before sharing his worries.

You and Abigail sat side by side, adorned with the flower crowns Gracie and Jack had made, smiles gracing your faces as you played along with the children's innocent joy. The sight was a picturesque scene of family bonding, a tender moment filled with love and light-hearted fun.

As Arthur observed the heartwarming scene before him - you and Abigail adorned with flower crowns, Gracie and Jack playing around you - he felt contentment wash over him. The thought of marrying you, of having another child, filled him with a sense of joy and security. Yet, despite this contentment, a nagging voice within him questioned his ability to ignore the letter from Mary. The lingering feelings and unresolved history stirred confusion amidst his certainty.

As you settled next to him, completely unaware of the letter concealed in his jacket pocket, Arthur tensed slightly. He was acutely aware of the letter's presence, its weight not only physical but emotional. Concern etched onto his features, he worried about the possibility of it igniting and burning you if your close proximity caused an accidental spark.

You gently leaned your head against Arthur's shoulder, seeking the comfort of his presence. Though you were oblivious to the letter's existence, the physical closeness triggered a subtle change in Arthur. His muscles tensed slightly, his mind momentarily taken aback by your gesture.

You whispered your declaration of love to him softly, your voice barely above a murmur. "I love you." The words carried an intimacy that only the two of you shared, and the atmosphere around you both seemed to become charged with a mix of affection and vulnerability.

Arthur responded earnestly, his voice carrying an underlying sense of certainty. "I love you, darlin.'" The words came easily to him, the truth in his feelings undeniable.

Arthur tenderly carried little Gracie to bed, placing her gently under the covers.

Following closely behind, you entered the tent and found yourself drawn to the inviting embrace of Arthur's soft blankets. He patted the spot next to him, a silent invitation for you to join him under the covers.

You accepted the silent invitation, settling onto the bed and sliding under the blankets. The warmth of the covers enveloped you, creating a cozy ambiance. Arthur's presence added an extra layer of comfort, his familiar scent and the touch of his fingertips sending gentle tingles up your spine.

You nuzzled into him and softly commanded, "Take your jacket off." Your voice, tinged with a mixture of comfort and playfulness, carried a gentle request for him to remove his jacket.

Responding to your request, Arthur removed his jacket, the action deliberate and effortless. He let the jacket fall to the ground, his attention now fully focused on you.

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

Series Masterlist

John Price x Single!Mom

3. Hot Neighbor

John had been intentionally bumping into you, finding ways to cross your path daily, to catch your attention. And you, overwhelmed and slightly oblivious, hadn't noticed a thing. That's why you needed him - to guide you, to take charge, to give you what you desired but didn't realize you needed.

But would you allow him to do as such?

Would you be able to overlook his two failed marriages? Would you understand the scars he carried, the ghosts of his past sins? Would you embrace the type of man he was?

Hard. Tough. A man of violence and control. A man who’d done horrible, unspeakable things in the name of duty. A man, who in all honesty, couldn’t be considered a good man.

You sighed as you walked into the kitchen, the baby monitor screen on and clear. It was silent, just the white noise of your little one's breathing as she slept peacefully.

You couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. "She’s finally down," you said aloud, a victorious sigh escaping your lips.

Your best friend was perched on your kitchen counter, already pouring two glasses of wine. "I’ve got this cute new hire," she said, a mischievous glint in her eye. "He saw the picture of us from your birthday and practically swooned."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. "Oh, don't even start with that," you replied. You had no interest in dating. No one had managed to catch your eye. No one, except for the man that lived right next door.

John Price.

But you'd keep your desires for him to yourself.

Your friend shook her head, exasperated with your reticence to date again. "You have to get out there eventually," she chided, sipping her wine.

You just shook your head, refusing to rise to her challenge. "I've got better things to do than spend time with someone who’s just going to waste my time," you replied, taking a sip of your own wine.

“Oh come on,” your friend replied, "there must be someone you’re interested in. Anyone you've noticed?" Her voice was teasing, a playful smirk on her face.

You rolled your eyes, knowing where this was going. "No, I haven't noticed anyone. I’ve been too busy with the business and my daughter," you said, trying to sound convincing.

She smirked, seeing right through your attempt to shut down the conversation. "Oh really? Not a single man has caught your eye at all lately?" she pressed, clearly enjoying playing the role of matchmaker.

You sighed, knowing she wouldn’t drop the subject. "I mean… there is… just this one,” you begrudgingly admitted, knowing you’d regret the admission. You quickly added, "But it would never, ever happen! It's just a fantasy." You knew it was a useless sentiment, but you said it anyway.

Your friend raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "I need to know everything about this."

You shook your head, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks. "It's nothing, really. Nothing will come of it." Your voice sounded unconvincing, even to your own ears.

Your friend smirked slyly, clearly reading your body language. "Oh, come on, don't hold out on me now. I can see it written all over your face."

You sighed, realizing there was no escaping this interrogation. "I have a tiny, little, itsy bit of a crush on my very hot neighbor, okay?"

Your friend quickly got up, quickly moving over to the window, determined to get a glimpse, "Oh my god, you have a hot neighbor?"

You couldn’t help giggling as she tried peeking out the window, desperate to catch a glimpse of your hot neighbor. “Stop!” you said through laughter.

She laughed but finally pulled away from the window. “You have to tell me all about this hot neighbor of yours now.”

You sighed, recounting the events of meeting John and the subsequent encounters, the way he’d swung your daughter at the park and paid for your lunch. How his strong hands had felt on your waist, and how it felt like sparks flying.

"But," you said, "he’s just being neighborly."

Your friend rolled her eyes, not buying your excuse. "You daft cunt, you don’t really believe that, do you? He’s giving you all the signs he wants you," she said, sipping her wine.

You shook your head, trying to brush off her suggestion. "It’s just wishful thinking. I’m sure he’s just being friendly. It’s not like he’s interested in a divorced mediocre artist with a child."

She shook her head, exasperated. "You’re so dense. You could have a guy drooling at your feet, and you’d still think he’s just ‘being friendly.’”

"I just happen to be a realist," you countered, folding your arms across your chest. "I know how men can be. He’s not interested in me, he’s just being nice."

You added, "Plus I think he's nearing 40. He doesn’t seem the type to be messing around with a mid-twenties single mother, I’m sure of it," a hint of sarcasm in your tone.

Your friend just rolled her eyes at your comment. "Age is just a number. Plus, 40-year-old men are usually more mature, less likely to pull the same old bullshit men our age do."

"Yeah, they just have different bullshit to pull," you retorted, taking a hearty sip of your wine.

She chuckled at your response. "Fair point," she agreed, "But at least they’re more stable. More likely to have their ducks in a row, you know?"

You shrugged, her logic was making sense. 40-something-year-old men were likely more responsible, financially stable, and better with money and children. You definitely didn’t want to mess with men your own age.

"Maybe," you replied, begrudgingly acknowledging the possibility. You knew your friend had a point - stable career, responsible, mature. All things you should want in a man.

John had noticed the unfamiliar car in your drive the moment he arrived home. His mind immediately started racing with questions. Were you dating someone? Was it serious?

He knew he had no right to be jealous he hardly knew you. But the thought of you with another man, some faceless stranger he didn’t know, it twisted his gut with inexplicable jealousy.

He tried to gather information from his own house. A glance at your home confirmed you were not in your bedroom. He felt a small breath of relief that you weren't doing anything in there.

From his vantage point, he could see your telly was on, and the sound of your laughter carried from the kitchen. You seemed to be having a good time with whoever was in there with you.

It was killing him not knowing who was in there. He wanted desperately to know who was sharing that laugh, who was making you smile.

He watched, and listened, trying to catch a glimpse, a hint, something that would satiate his curiosity.

His heart sank as he saw the light in your bedroom turn off. You were going to bed with this person.

He couldn't help but feel a crushing sense of jealousy and disappointment. The thought of you with another man, sharing a bed with someone who wasn't him, drove him crazy.

He knew he had no right to be mad. He had no claim on you. You were just a fantasy in his mind, a beautiful image he couldn't shake from his thoughts.

But the thought of you with another man, someone who wasn't him, made his blood boil.

He wanted you. He desired you with every fiber of his being. Your laugh, your smile, the way you looked at him.

Morning came, and the unfamiliar car was still parked in your driveway. John couldn’t help but shake his head as he left his house for the base.

He noticed your door opening, and he stopped in his tracks, watching to see who was exiting your house.

First, you stepped out, your little girl in hand. You were just as beautiful as yesterday, dressed casually yet still alluring. You had a small, tired smile on your face.

Your little girl was the first to see him, waving and calling out enthusiastically, "Hi Mr. John!" Her voice was cheerful and innocent.

He smiled at the sight of you and your little girl, his heart skipping a beat. "Hi sweetheart," he replied, his voice softened by the sight of the two of you.

He turned his gaze to you, his voice low and gravelly, "Morning, love." The term of endearment slipped effortlessly from his lips.

“Good morning, John.” You tried to hide your reaction, but he noticed the way your cheeks darkened at his words. It pleased him to no end to see your reaction.

"We're going to shopping today!" Your little girl announced with excitement. Her cheerful exclamation echoed throughout the air, her enthusiasm contagious.

John chuckled at her excitement, his attention briefly torn from you. "Is that right, sweetheart?" he asked, looking down at her with a warm smile.

“Yeah, we are,” You let out a sigh and spoke up in a playful tone, calling out to the open door, "Whenever the driver gets out here!"

His mind raced with speculation about the person who was about to step out of your house. Who was the lucky man that got to drive you around? The man who got to spend time alone with you?

To John's surprise, it wasn't a man who stepped out, but a woman. She closed the door behind her and joined you and your daughter.

Your friend couldn't help but roll her eyes, a playful smirk on her face. "You act like I take forever," she huffed.

You chuckled, playfully wiggling your daughter's hand in the air. "I don't say when we go," you quipped in a mock-bossy tone, "we're on the boss' time!"

You introduced your friend to John, a warm smile on your face. Your friend's eyes flicked between you and John, and a smirk played across her lips as she took in the interaction between the two of you.

John politely greeted your friend, his deep voice resonating through the air. "Pleasure to meet you," he said, his gaze flickering back to you for a moment, as if unable to look away for too long.

Your daughter's eager voice rang out, "Let's go!" She was clearly excited and ready for their shopping trip.

Your friend scooped up your daughter and opened the car door, her excitement matching your daughter's. "Let's do it!" she exclaimed, full of energy and ready for the adventure.

A wave of relief washed over John as he realized it wasn't a romantic partner leaving your home, but merely a friend. The jealousy that had been bubbling within him quickly dissipated, replaced by a sense of satisfaction and possessiveness.

"Have fun today, love." He gave you a slight nod, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes were fixed on you, the possessiveness in his gaze subtle but impossible to ignore.

Your cheeks felt warm under the intensity of his gaze. There was something different in the way he looked at you, possessive and protective, like you were his and his alone.

You smiled, meeting his gaze with a mix of hesitation and something else... desire? "And you have a good day at work," you replied, your words almost a murmur.

John couldn't help but notice the way your cheeks flushed with color, the way your eyes sparked with a mix of hesitation and something else, something that looked like attraction. He smirked a bit, a little thrill passing through him at the sight.

"I will," he said, his voice gruff and gravelly. The possessive look in his eyes deepened as if he were claiming ownership over you just by looking at you.

You quickly got into the passenger side of your friend's car, your daughter buckled in the backseat.

Your friend glanced over at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes, "So...that's your hot neighbor?" she teased, her smirk growing wider as she observed your reaction.

A mix of embarrassment and excitement flushed your cheeks. "Shut up," you said, trying to sound casual, your attempt at nonchalance undermined by your flushed cheeks.

Your friend chuckled and began to drive away, and your daughter, clearly hearing the conversation, excitedly repeated, "Hot neighbor." Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red as you shot your friend a glare.

Your little daughter piped up, curious, "What that mean?" Her innocent question hung in the air, your friend trying to suppress a laugh.

Your friend couldn't help but respond with a smirk, "Means your mommy likes Mr. John." She took a glance at you, clearly amused by the turn of events.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Oh my god..." you murmured, mortified by your friend's bluntness.

"Oh come on, it's adorable." Your friend teased, her smirk growing wider. "The way you get all flustered and red when you see him. Never seen you that way.”

"I don't get all flustered and red," you insisted vehemently, but even you knew you were lying.

"You totally do get all flustered and red," your friend teased, her smirk turning into a full-on grin as she continued to tease you.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: 18+ SMUT/public sex

42. Not Property

You smiled warmly, watching as Grace joyfully played with young Maggie, the piano lesson finished. Edith sat beside you on the porch, a soft smile graced her lips as she witnessed the scene unfold before her.

Edith’s words carried a pang of worry and gratitude, her eyes reflecting the weight of the situation. "I can’t thank you enough. It’s nice to see her smile. She’s been taking this hard. He doesn’t seem to be getting better," she said softly, her voice tinged with concern for the young girl’s well-being and the uncertain recovery of her father.

Your words were sincere, your expression growing heavy with empathy as you responded to Edith, "I am sorry, Mrs. Downes. I will pray for you and your family. There’s no greater loss than a good husband and father."

Edith smiled softly, her eyes showing her appreciation for your words, "Thank you. He… He is a good man."

The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the setting sun bathing the world in a warm glow. The long day was beginning to wind down, the hours of sunlight slowly fading.

You and Grace walked back home, the evening sky growing dark around you. The walk was quiet and peaceful, the stillness of the night enveloping the two of you.

You tucked Grace into bed, the soft glow of the lamplight in her room offering a warm ambiance. With the girl asleep, you prepared yourself for the evening performance at the saloon.

You stood before the mirror, applying final touches to your appearance. You wore a form-fitting dress in a flattering dark green color that accentuated your figure. Your hair had been styled, curled, and pinned elegantly, enhancing your features. A slight dusting of blush and subtle highlights accentuated the natural contours of your face. Lastly, the only adornment was a delicate gold necklace around your neck and the diamond earrings that glistened in the lamplight, completing your transformation.

You took a final glance at your reflection, satisfied with how you looked before making your way outside into the crisp night air. The walk to the saloon was brisk and invigorating, the sound of crickets and the distant whinny of horses accompanied the clinking of your heels against the wood of the wooden sidewalk. As the saloon came into view, the lights poured from the windows in a bright, inviting glow.

As you entered the saloon, the attention of the patrons immediately turned towards you. The low, appreciative whistles of recognition filled the air, accompanied by murmurs of admiration from the men lounging at the tables.

You stepped onto the stage, a warm smile on your face as you acknowledged the band. "Hello, boys," you spoke, your voice carrying over the low hum of conversation within the saloon.

The band members greeted you with soft applause and grins, their excitement to start playing evident in their faces. The instruments struck up a lively tune, the music filling the saloon with a lively energy.

You twirled and danced across the stage, your voice singing with ease and grace. The atmosphere of the saloon was full of life, the patrons clapping along with the music and watching you perform with great enthusiasm.

The show continued on, the lively atmosphere in the saloon growing more rowdy as the night progressed. The patrons became more boisterous, their energy building with each song you performed.

As you continued to perform, your gaze briefly flitted up to the second floor. There, the owner stood, a drink in hand, a sly smirk on his face as he regarded you with a mixture of approval and admiration.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes in response to the owner's smug expression. His ogling made you feel a mixture of annoyance and disgust.

The night drew to a close, and the owner himself approached, holding out an envelope filled with bills. "Should all be there," he remarked confidently, a hint of satisfaction in his tone as he handed the envelope to you.

You received the envelope and counted the bills inside. To your satisfaction, you found that the amount was in full, a rare occurrence that brought a sense of contentment to your weary heart.

The owner's smirk widened as he moved closer to you, his tone suggestive as he offered, "You know, I can pay more for some private time?" His gaze lingered on you, a hint of desire in his eyes.

You felt a mix of distaste and anger at the owner's audacity. His words and his grab at your waist were unwelcome and inappropriate. "Get your hands off of me. How dare you insinuate something like that. I'm a lady!" you exclaimed firmly, your voice filled with indignation that anyone would think otherwise.

"I was just messing now, darling," he chuckled, his attempt at playfulness doing little to soothe your irritation. Yet, despite your clear disinterest, the owner persisted, his grip on your waist refusing to loosen.

The owner's smirk turned into a look of astonishment as a large hand abruptly seized him by the shirt, yanking him away from you. Turning, he found himself face to face with Arthur, his expression firm and unyielding.

The room grew quiet, the atmosphere tense and charged with anger. Arthur's voice was low and threatening, his words leaving no room for doubt. "You touch her again, and I cut off your hand," he warned, his gaze fixed on the owner, his stance ready for a fight if need be.

The owner, taken aback by the sudden confrontation, paled and backed off, raising his hands in surrender. "Woah, woah now," he protested, his voice shaky and uncertain. "I wasn't doing nothing!"

Arthur's gaze narrowed, his grip still on the man's shirt, his irritation barely contained. "You were touching what ain't yours," he growled, his tone cold and unyielding.

The owner's fear was evident as he frantically tried to explain himself. "She’s my employee," he stated firmly, his voice desperate. "It was just a joke, honest!"

Arthur's grip on the man's shirt tightened, his patience wearing thin. "Ain't nothing to joke bout,” he retorted, his tone laced with warning. "She ain't here to be your plaything."

The owner, realizing his predicament, raised his hands higher in surrender. "Okay, okay, I got it," he conceded, his voice tinged with fear.

Wordlessly, Arthur let go of the man and gently guided you out of the saloon. His anger was palpable, his expression stern as he carefully led you away from the rowdy scene inside.

You quickened your pace to keep up with Arthur's long strides, your voice pleading as you called out his name. "Arthur. Arthur!" Each time you spoke, your voice held a hint of urgency and concern.

His face was hard, tight, not even looking at you. “What?” He snapped.

You felt a pang of hurt at his cold tone, but pressed on anyway, "I could have handled it."

His gaze still straight ahead, he responded curtly, "Didn't have to, I was there." The frustration in Arthur's words was undeniable as he expressed his thoughts. "I was there the whole damn time. Watching you whirl around and sing, looking all pretty for every drunken fool in there," he grumbled, his voice tinged with irritation and jealousy.

Frustration built in you. "Ive done this for 8 years! Just because you come around, I'm just supposed to stop?"

He snapped back, "No, just don't have to be so goddamn pretty doing it!"

You stopped walking, staring him down, "WHAT?"

He stopped and faced you, his frustration shifting into a different kind of emotion. "I ain't mad at you," he explained, his voice tinged with sincerity, "I just... I want to provide for you. You shouldn't have to worry about working… dealing with that."

"I don't need you to provide for me, or protect me... I've been taking good care of myself and Grace for years. And I was just fine without you." You snapped, getting a little upset.

"Yeah? Well, that just don't sit right with me." His voice was low, with a hint of possessiveness.

You shook your head, "I am not some possession. I am my own person, capable of making my own decisions without your constant intervention and-“, your words were cut off by the suddenness of Arthur's actions. He pulled you into his embrace and kissed you forcefully, silencing your words with the intensity of his actions.

His words hung in the air, a mix of dominance and possessiveness in his tone. "You're my woman, and I'm going to take care of you. You can fight me on it all you want, but we both know I'm stronger. You're mine" he declared, his grip on your waist tightening.

Your eyes locked onto his, and despite your initial resistance, you found yourself unable to argue with his statement. The intensity of his gaze, coupled with the possessive hold on your waist, made it hard to maintain your defiance.

You relented, a surrender in your voice as you replied, "Okay, yeah, sure." The concession came as a result of the mix of determination in Arthur's words and the undeniable attraction between you both.

A slight chuckle escaped Arthur's lips, a hint of victory glimmering in his eyes. He could sense your surrender, and his grip on your waist loosened, but he continued to hold you close, “There’s my good girl.”

With a determined stride, Arthur ushered you through the narrow alleyway between the buildings, the darkness surrounding you like a cloak. The air between you crackled with tension as the distance between your bodies lessened in the secluded space.

“What are you-“ Before you could finish your question, Arthur silenced you with a passionate kiss. His lips captured yours in a powerful, possessive gesture, his body pressing against you, pinning you against the wall.

“Arthur,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat. “We’re almost home.”

The wall was rough wood, splintered and worn from years of exposure to the elements. Arthur’s hand slid from yours, moving to your waist as he pressed you against the wall. His body loomed over you, his heat enveloping you like a flame. You could feel the hardness of his chest against your breasts, the roughness of his stubble grazing your cheek.

“Home can wait,” he growled, his lips brushing your ear. His breath was warm, his words sending a jolt of desire straight to your core. You shivered, your hands instinctively reaching up to grip the front of his shirt. He smelled of leather and smoke, a scent that was uniquely him, and it only added to the urgency building inside you.

Arthur’s hands moved with purpose, his fingers splaying across your lower back as he pulled you tighter against him.

His lips found yours, hungry and demanding, his kiss leaving no doubt about what he wanted. You melted into him, your lips parting as his tongue swept into your mouth, tasting and teasing with a possessiveness that made your knees weak.

His hands roamed lower, cupping your ass and lifting you slightly as he pressed his body against yours. You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by his lips. The wall was rough against your back, but you barely noticed, too consumed by the heat spiraling between you. Arthur’s kisses trailed down your jaw, his stubble scraping your skin in a way that was both rough and tender.

“You drive me crazy,” he muttered against your neck, his voice hoarse with need. His hands were everywhere, his touch both urgent and reverent. He slid one hand up your thigh, the rough fabric of your skirt bunching in his grip as he pulled your leg around his hip. You gasped, your head falling back against the wall as you felt the hard length of him pressing against you.

“Arthur,” you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Someone could see us.”

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Let ’em,” he said, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Ain't gonna change nothin’. You’re mine, darlin’. Always have been.”

His words were like a spark, igniting a fire that had been smoldering all night. You pulled him closer, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. He caught your wrists, holding them above your head as he kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue stroking yours with a rhythm that mirrored the desperate ache between your legs.

“Not yet,” he murmured, his lips hovering over yours. “I wanna take my time with you.”

But his actions belied his words. His hands were anything but slow as they moved to the laces of your corset, his fingers working quickly to loosen the ties. The cool night air brushed your skin as he pulled the fabric apart, his gaze dropping to your exposed breasts.

His eyes darkened, his breath hitching as he cupped one in his hand, his thumb brushing your nipple. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. He lowered his head, his lips closing around your nipple, his tongue swirling and sucking until you were squirming against him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. His other hand moved lower, slipping beneath your skirts to find the damp heat between your legs.

You gasped, your head falling back against the wall as his fingers slid between your folds, teasing and probing until you were trembling with need.

“Arthur, please,” you whispered, your voice desperate. “I need you.”

He growled in response, his hand tightening on your thigh as he lifted you higher, pressing you against the wall.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, your skirts bunched around your hips as he positioned himself at your entrance. His eyes locked with yours, his expression fierce and hungry as he thrust into you in one smooth motion.

You cried out, the sensation overwhelming as he filled you completely. The wall was hard against your back, the night air cool on your exposed skin, but all you could feel was Arthur—his heat, his strength, the way he moved inside you with a rhythm that was both rough and tender. He held you steady, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move, his thrusts deep and relentless.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. “So fuckin’ good.”

His words were like fuel to the fire, pushing you closer to the edge. You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as you met his thrusts, your bodies moving in perfect sync. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, the rough wall, and the desperate need that consumed you both.

“Arthur,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—”

He silenced you with a kiss, his lips crushing yours as you shattered around him, your orgasm ripping through you like a storm. He followed moments later, pulling out of you and coating your thigh with his spent. His body stiffened, his groan muffled against your lips.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you clung to each other. Arthur’s heart pounded against your chest, his weight pressing you into the wall. Slowly, he pulled back, his eyes searching yours as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that made you feel like the luckiest woman alive. With a gentle kiss to your forehead, he lowered you to the ground, his hands smoothing your skirts back into place. The moment of passion had passed, but the heat between you remained, a smoldering ember waiting to ignite again.

Taking your hand once more, Arthur led you back toward home, his steps slower now, his grip lax. The night was quiet, the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel beneath your boots. You glanced up at him, catching his eye, and saw the same contentment reflected in his gaze.

You whispered the words against his lips, your voice carrying the weight of your sincerity and affection. "I love you," you murmured, the words escaping your lips in a tender confession.

His breath hitched for a moment in surprise, a mix of emotions coursing through him at your words. He held you even tighter, his grip firm and protective. "I love you, darlin’," he whispered back, his voice filled with an undeniable intensity.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: fluff, RDR2 mission violence

41. Protect and Provide

Morning arrived with a relentless insistence, the soft touch of sunlight slowly creeping over the horizon and casting a warm golden glow on the camp. The air was filled with the sounds of stirring campers, the beginnings of a new day gradually replacing the tranquility of the night before.

As your eyes fluttered open, you saw Arthur's gaze fixed on you, his eyes filled with affection and perhaps a hint of sleepiness. The gentle morning light filtered through the canvas of the tent, casting a soft glow on his features.

"Mornin' darlin'," he greeted softly, his voice tinged with a hint of gruffness. He reached out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice still sleepy and raspy with lingering sleep. A small smile formed on your lips as you met his gaze, the tender exchange between you both creating a quiet moment of intimacy in the midst of the awakening camp.

You glanced over at Grace, noticing that she remained peacefully asleep in her cot. A sense of contentment filled your heart as you observed her slumbering form, her tiny body nestled among the blankets. It seemed that she was undisturbed by the dawn's early light, blissfully unaware of the world waking up around her.

"She sleeps like a rock," Arthur commented quietly, his gaze following your gaze towards Grace. His words were filled with a mixture of affection and pride, his eyes holding a hint of a smile as he watched the little girl sleeping peacefully.

"She certainly does," you agreed, your voice filled with a mix of affection and admiration. "It's amazing how she can with the noise sometimes."

You snuggled closer to him, your body nestling against his. The warmth and comfort of his presence provided a sense of security, and your words carried a hint of reassurance. "I guess it means she feels safe and comfortable here," you murmured softly, your voice tinged with a tinge of happiness.

"I reckon she does," he replied, his voice low and gentle as he held you close. "How do you feel?"

Your smile radiated warmth and sincerity, the words leaving your lips with genuine conviction. "I feel like I'm right at home," you repeated, your voice carrying the weight of your truth. "Always feel that way when I'm with you. No matter where we are."

Arthur's expression softened, his eyes meeting your gaze with a mix of tenderness and understanding.

Time seemed to be in a hurry, as it often was, and soon enough Grace awoke from her peaceful slumber. With a sleepy yawn, she raised her head from the pillow, rubbing her eyes as she slowly adjusted to the morning light.

"Morning, sweetheart," you murmured gently, seeing her little face emerge from the blankets. You reached out to stroke her hair, a tender gesture to greet the day.

Grace yawned again, her eyes still heavy with sleep as she mumbled, "Morning..." She snuggled into the blanket, not quite ready to face the day just yet.

You nudged her lightly with a small grin, “Come on now, get up and get dressed. We’ve got things to do.”

Hearing your words, Grace whined and snuggled deeper into the blanket, a hint of reluctance in her voice. "Do I have to?" she protested, her sleepy voice muffled by the blankets.

You chuckled softly, amused by her reluctance to get out of bed. "Yes, you have to," you replied, your voice firm but filled with affection. "Your daddy has things to do and you’ve got to help me with that piano lesson today."

Grace sighed dramatically, resigning herself to the inevitable. "Okay, mama." She slowly sat up, the blanket slipping off her head as she rubbed her eyes, a hint of resignation in her sleepy expression.

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the sight of Grace's sleepy protest. He approached and ruffled her hair affectionately, his voice filled with amused understanding. "Can't stay in bed all day, sweetheart," he teased lightly, a glint of affection in his eyes. "Come on, get dressed."

Arthur bent down and placed a tender kiss on your cheek, sending a flutter of warmth through your heart. He then withdrew, a hint of a smile lingering on his lips. "I'll get your horse ready," he said, his voice tinged with affection. With that, he stepped out of the tent, leaving you and Grace momentarily alone.

Dutch walked up to Arthur, a thoughtful expression on his face as he observed Arthur preparing your horse. “Arthur, son.”

Arthur looked up, acknowledging Dutch's presence. He paused his task to face the man. "Yeah, Dutch?" he responded, his tone tinged with a touch of weary familiarity.

“That O’Driscoll boy was talkin’ to your lady last night. Might be tryin’ to stir something up. Time to talk to him and find out what he knows. Last thing we need is that vermin poisoning my family," he spoke, his voice carrying a seriousness that caught Arthur's attention.

Arthur's expression hardened, his brow furrowing as he absorbed Dutch's words. "He spoke to her?" he repeated a hint of protectiveness in his voice.

"For a good while," Dutch confirmed, his eyes narrowing warily. "Couldn't make out what they said though."

Arthur frowned, his thoughts swirling with a mix of concern and protectiveness. "I'll talk to him," he responded, his voice firm and resolute.

Dutch nodded a satisfied glint in his eye. "That's good. Make sure you find out what he's up to."

As you and Grace approached, Dutch knelt down and enveloped her in a warm hug. "Gotta say goodbye to my girl," he said, his voice filled with affection. "I'll see you later on. Be safe headed back into town."

A hint of gratitude tinged your voice as you acknowledged him, still somewhat guarded. "Thank you, Dutch," you replied, your tone tinged with a mix of politeness and caution. Despite the past, you understood that trust needed to be rebuilt gradually.

Dutch nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he stood up straight. There was a hint of understanding in his expression as if he knew the guardedness you held towards him. He nodded again, a silent acknowledgment of your hesitation.

As your gaze met Arthur's, you noticed a change in his expression, his features now bearing a hint of grim determination. Sensing your curiosity, you couldn't help but ask, "What is it?"

Arthur's eyes met yours, his expression hardening slightly. "Gotta have a chat with the O'Driscoll," he replied, his voice carrying a hint of tension.

Your curiosity piqued, you furrowed your brow, a mix of concern and inquiry playing across your features. "With the O’Driscoll? Why?"

He sighed and rubbed his forehead, his eyes hardening with a grim resolution. "Need to make sure he ain't plannin' anything." his voice carried a hint of cautiousness.

Understanding now, you nodded, a mixture of worry and resignation settling on your shoulders. "Just be careful," you responded, your voice infused with a mix of concern and warning.

Arthur nodded, acknowledging your words with a slight tilt of his head. "Don't you worry," he reassured, his eyes locking with yours momentarily. "I can handle myself."

With a steady hand, Arthur helped you onto the horse. Once you were comfortably settled, he turned his attention to Grace, carefully lifting her up and positioning her safely in front of you.

"Hold on tight, princess," Arthur gently instructed, his gaze lingering on Grace's small form. He gave her a comforting pat, making sure she was secure before he turned his attention back to you. He held your gaze for a moment, a hint of reassurance in his eyes.

"I've got a show tonight. You coming?" you asked, a touch of anticipation in your voice, as you looked down at him from your seat on the horse.

Arthur's expression softened slightly, and he sighed gently. "I may. Don’t know where my days goin’ yet," he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of disappointment.

You couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions upon hearing his response. There was a hint of disappointment in your heart, wishing for his company but understanding the unpredictability of his schedule.

"That's okay, honey." Your hand gently grasped his cheek, and a soft smile touched your lips as you spoke softly. "Find me when you can."

Arthur's expression softened as your fingertips lingered on his cheek briefly. He could see the hint of longing in your gaze, mirrored in his own. He managed a small smile, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of affection and resignation. "I'll find you," he assured, his voice tinged with a hint of promise.

With Grace settled comfortably in front of you on the horse, you set off on the journey back to Valentine.

As you rode off, Arthur's gaze followed you, his expression filled with an undeniable sense of love. His eyes softened, and a hint of vulnerability flashed through his gaze. He stood there, watching as you and Grace disappeared into the distance, a mix of emotions stirring within him.

Once you disappeared from sight, Arthur's gaze shifted towards Kieran Duffy. His expression hardened, a sense of determination filling his features. He approached the man with a mix of caution and purpose, each step deliberate and measured.

He stopped a few feet away, his eyes locking with Kieran's. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the sound of horses and camp life around them. Arthur exhaled softly, his voice low and steady as he broke the silence, "Saw you speaking with my woman."

The words hung in the air, their weight palpable. Arthur's voice held a firm tone, his protective instincts evident in his words. He kept his gaze fixed on Kieran, awaiting his response

Kieran shrugged, attempting to feign nonchalance. "she brought me food, I didn’t say nothing to her," he mumbled, his body language betraying a hint of unease.

Arthur's brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing as he studied Kieran’s body language. He wasn’t convinced by the man's dismissive response. "Is that so?" he responded, his voice firm, tinged with skepticism.

Arthur's gaze hardened, his expression filled with a mix of anger and concern. He paused for a moment, the weight of his words settling heavily in the air. "Your friends took everything from her. Her ma and pa," he said, his voice seething with a mix of anger and bitterness. "Their home."

"I don’t know nothin’ about that! I don’t know nothing at all! They didn’t tell me anything," Kieran retorted defensively, his voice taking on a hint of defiance.

Dutch and Bill approached, their presence filling the air with an air of authority. Dutch's gaze flicked to Kieran, his tone tinged with a hint of irony. "Seems like the cat got our friend here's tongue," he remarked, his words carrying a hint of condescension.

"I was thinking Mr. Williamson could have a word," Dutch continued, his gaze locking with Bill's. "If you don't mind, of course," he added, his words tinged with an underlying suggestion of an unpleasant alternative.

Bill, understanding the implication, nodded once, his expression hardening. "Don't mind at all," he responded curtly, his eyes darting towards Kieran with a mix of irritation and anticipation.

Bill's voice cut through the tension, his words carrying a clear threat. He approached Kieran, a menacing presence surrounding him. "You ready to talk, boy?" he repeated, his gaze locking onto Kieran's face, his expression cold and unyielding.

Kieran's voice wavered as he protested, his words a mix of desperation and truth. "I told you, mister... I told all of you. I don't know nothing. They- They ain't no friends of mine. I just been riding with them for a while."

Bill scoffed, his skepticism evident in his expression. "Horseshit," he retorted, his voice tinged with irritation. "You see, we heard that part," Bill explained, turning to Dutch and raising an eyebrow in a silent query. "Dutch, what do you want me to do?"

Dutch's words hung in the air, his instruction filled with a hint of malevolence. "Hurt him. So the next time he opens his mouth... it is to tell us what's going on. Ah... who am I kidding? One of O'Driscoll's boys couldn't open his mouth... but he'd tell a lie. Screw it. Let's just have some fun... geld him," he stated calmly as a sadistic glint flickered in his eye.

Bill let out a bellowing laugh, his excitement evident as he rushed off to fulfill Dutch's command. "Oh yeah!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with perverse anticipation, as he hurried towards the weapons table, eager to get his hands on a suitable tool for the task at hand.

Dutch's voice took on a twisted sense of humor as he spoke, his words carrying a trace of sadistic satisfaction. "Oh don’t worry… they’re only balls boy… just going to cause you trouble. You know in imperial Rome,” he paused, taking a moment to relish the upcoming pain that would be inflicted on the young man, “eunuchs were the happiest... and most loyal of courtiers,” he concluded, his words leaving no room for doubt as to what was about to unfold.

Dutch moved with purpose, forcefully stripping Kieran of his pants, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. Bill sauntered over with a pair of loppers, iron hot, his eyes gleaming with sadistic intent.

Dutch moved with purpose, forcefully stripping Kieran of his pants, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. Bill sauntered over with a pair of loppers, iron hot, his eyes gleaming with sadistic intent.

Kieran's panicked voice filled the air as he pleaded, "No, no, no, no... You're kidding me right?"

Dutch's laughter rang out, a twisted sense of pleasure in his voice. "Of course," he replied, his words dripping with sarcasm, as he moved to hold the trembling Kieran in place.

Kieran's voice echoed with desperation and defiance, his frustration and fear palpable. "You sick bastards! What do you want from me?!” he cried out, his words filled with desperation, each syllable tinged with a mixture of panic and anger.

Dutch’s voice cut through the tension, his words carrying a mix of seriousness and sadistic resolve. "Well, you are going to talk. The only question is now," he raised his gaze to meet the terrified eyes of the captured man, "or after we got these little fellers off?"

Kieran's words came out in a rush of desperation, his voice filled with a mix of urgency and fear. "Okay! Okay! Listen," he hurriedly spoke, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to save himself. "I know where O'Driscoll's holed up... and you're right... he don't like you any more than you like him. He's at Six Point Cabin!"

Bill groaned in disappointment as he reluctantly moved the loppers away, his sadistic anticipation momentarily thwarted. "Aww..." he groaned, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment as he momentarily relented, the thrill of cruelty interrupted for the time being.

Kieran's voice filled the air, his tone tinged with a hint of reluctant cooperation. "I'll take you there..." he offered, his words carrying a mix of grudging loyalty and disdain for his former gang leader. "I don’t like him. I mean, I like him even less than I like you. No offense."

Dutch nodded, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he responded with a nonchalant tone, "Oh, none taken."

Arthur’s voice cut through the air, his tone firm and authoritative as he addressed Kieran. "Okay then, partner. Why don’t you take a few of us up there… right now."

Kieran nodded reluctantly, his expression a mix of fear and resignation. "Sure… right now’s fine," he said, his words tinged with a hint of trepidation as he braced himself for whatever lay ahead.

Arthur swiftly untied the young man, leading him away with a firm grip on his arm.

Arthur’s voice carried a hint of menace, his eyes narrowing as he fixed his gaze on Kieran’s face. "Let’s both hope you ain’t trying to trick us, O’Driscoll," he growled, his words a warning not to cross them.

Kieran’s protests rang out, his voice filled with conviction. "I ain’t no O’Driscoll," he asserted, his words tinged with a hint of defiance.

“But you sure as shit was.” Arthur barked the command, his words ringing with authority. "John, Bill, come here," he ordered, his tone firm and resolute. "We got a social call needs making. Where we heading?"

Kieran’s response filled the air, his words tinged with a hint of reluctance as he shared the location. "Up into the hills behind Valentine. I’ll show you," he explained, his tone tinged with a hint of resignation.

Arthur’s voice cut through the air, his instructions clear and concise as he issued orders to John. "John, you take this little rattlesnake with you. Any nonsense, kill him," he commanded, his expression hardening as he glanced at John for confirmation.

Arthur’s words lingered in the air, his gaze locked onto Kieran as he poked him in the chest. "We’re gonna pay your buddies our respects," he stated with a hint of menace, the underlying threat clear in his words.

John’s question hung in the air, his tone filled with skepticism as he looked at Kieran. "He taking us to Colm?" he asked, his gaze fixed on the young man, his eyes filled with suspicion.

Arthur’s shrug mirrored his uncertainty, his voice firm, "That’s what he says. Come on.”

The group rode out, leaving Valentine and its surrounding hills behind. The journey was a mix of anticipation and caution, the landscape changing as they ventured further afield. The terrain became rougher, the ride increasingly uneasy as the horses navigated the path.

Kieran’s voice broke the stillness, his words tinged with a hint of caution as he directed the group to their destination. "Through the trees here. Hey, we’re real close. I’d leave your horses the other side of this clearing…" he explained, his voice carrying a mix of trepidation and urgency.

The group halted abruptly, dismounting quietly from their horses. The atmosphere grew tense as they prepared themselves for whatever lay ahead.

As they paused, standing near the horses, Kieran glanced in the direction of the cabin hidden over the hill, his voice filled with a mixture of nervousness and fear as he spoke softly, "This is it. The cabin’s just the other side of this hill."

Arthur gestured for Kieran to lead the way, his voice firm as he prompted, "Go on."

John’s voice carried a hint of menace as he looked at Kieran, his words leaving no room for doubt. "We might’a shared a horse, but we ain’t friends. Remember, I’m watching you. Every moment."

Kieran scoffed lightly, a hint of defiance in his tone as he responded, "I ain’t going to shoot you now, come on. It’d be suicide."

Bill’s words dripped with menace as he issued his warning, a sadistic gleam in his eyes. "You’ll die, boy," he said, his voice low and gruff. "But you’ll lose your balls first."

Arthur’s voice cut through the tension, his command sharp and concise. "Get down," he ordered, and everyone went prone.

Kieran’s voice was a mere whisper as he provided a warning, his gaze fixed on the clearing below. "The cabin’s in the clearing down there," he explained. "There’ll be a bunch of fellers hiding out there too."

Arthur’s question hung in the air, his voice laced with caution as he sought clarity. "Are these fellers armed?" he inquired, his gaze sweeping the distant clearing, anticipating the answer.

Kieran’s nod confirmed the threat, "Armed. Drunk. Wary of strangers."

Arthur’s tone held a hint of eagerness as he sought confirmation, his gaze locking on Kieran’s face in anticipation of a response. "And Colm O’Driscoll?"

Kieran provided further detail, "Oh, he’ll be holed in his cabin," his voice tinged with certainty. "Be passed out, booze blind, likely as not."

Bill's words broke the silence, his voice low and cautious as he spotted movement in the distance. "Over there," he muttered, his gaze fixed on a figure approaching from the cabin.

As the three bandits moved past, John seized the opportunity to assert his authority, his revolver finding its place against Kieran's head, the cold steel pressing against his skin. 

The group, concealed in their vantage point, listened attentively to the banter between the O'Driscoll gang members, their attention drawn to the snippets of conversation that floated through the air. The sound of retreating footsteps faded into the distance, signaling the departure of the three bandits. With a shared glance, the gang exchanged a mixture of thoughts and emotions, each contemplating the implications of the exchange and what lay ahead.

Bill’s words broke the silence, his attention drawn to the lone bandit relieving himself against a nearby tree. "What’re we doing about the pisser, Morgan?" 

Arthur’s voice cut through the air, his intentions clear as he declared, "I’m going to deal with this first feller."

With a swift and silent movement, Arthur pounced on the unsuspecting feller, the glint of his blade flashing briefly as it found its mark. The kill was quick and efficient, the sound of the blade piercing flesh barely audible to the casual observer. The O'Driscoll pisser crumpled silently to the ground, his life extinguished in an instant.

Bill’s question hung in the air, his gaze fixed on the departing O’Driscoll gang members. “The next two… what’s the plan?”

The sound of the O'Driscoll’s voice carried through the air, a sense of urgency in his tone as he urged his companion to move quickly. "Hurry up already."

Arthur’s voice was a hushed whisper, his eyes fixed on the remaining O’Driscoll gang members. "Let’s get close to these two," he spoke in a low and calculated tone. "Make no mistakes here."

Bill’s voice carried a hint of determination as he spoke, his fingers tightening around the handle of his knife. "That’s what the knives are for,” he stated matter-of-factly, an air of anticipation hanging over them.

Arthur’s voice carried a calm resolve, his demeanor focused and controlled. "When we’re there, we move at the same time," he commanded, his intent clear and concise. One of the O'Driscoll boys sat on a log, and the other stood guard, walking back and forth.

With swift precision, Bill and Arthur move in sync, their knives finding their targets in a deadly dance of silent violence. The first O’Driscoll boy sat on the log is taken down in a flash, a swift and silent blow to his throat ends his life in an instant. The second O’Driscoll boy, standing guard, also falls victim to a quick and precise assault. Their deaths are silent and brutal, the only trace of their presence the dark pools of blood slowly spreading across the ground.

John spoke up, satisfaction in his voice as he took in the results of the quiet attack. "Good work," he commended. "We moving on the camp? I left our guide up there. He’s meek as a little lamb."

Arthur’s nod conveyed a sense of expectation and determination. "He better be," he replied, his eyes fixed on Kieran, a hint of caution in his gaze.

John pointed out a feller on the log, his question hanging in the air. "Over here. Feller on the log… what we doing about him?" 

Arthur smirked, a gleam of challenge in his eyes as he addressed John, "Take him quiet, Marston. Get your hands dirty for a change."

In a swift and brutal motion, John closes the distance to the bandit and swiftly drives his knife into his neck. The attack is efficient, the blade cutting through flesh with ease, the bandit's life ends in a silent and deadly assault.

Arthur couldn’t help but scoff, "Jesus," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of disgust and approval at the ruthless efficiency of the kill.

They moved silently, together, drawing closer to the camp with measured steps and wary eyes. The sound of voices and activity grew louder with their approach, signifying their nearness to the O’Driscoll camp.

John’s whispered words broke the silence, his voice tinged with caution and urgency. "Okay, now what? We’re at the perimeter." They stood, concealed by the surrounding foliage, with the camp just out of sight.

Arthur's response was whispered back to the group, his voice carrying an air of caution as he assessed their situation. "Wait on my mark," he directed. "I’m going to take a look at these boys."

With the stealth of a seasoned hunter, Arthur eased his way forward into the clearing, leaving the others momentarily behind. Each step he took was careful and calculated, designed to minimize the sound and presence. Time seems to slow as he crept through the clearing, his figure moving almost one with the shadows and foliage around him.

Arthur moved cautiously, eyes scrutinizing every detail, and taking it all in. He observed the layout of the camp, the position of gang members, and the guard routines. Each detail, no matter how small, was meticulously noted, his mind working diligently to identify potential threats and weaknesses. The weight of the moment settled over him, each breath measured, each movement calculated. The air around him seemed to hum with a silent tension, as if even the very forest itself held its breath awaiting his assessment.

Arthur returned to Bill and John, his voice steady but filled with urgency as he delivered his assessment. "It's on. We move quick, we move hard!" The intensity in his eyes reflected his readiness for action and a plan of attack formulated in his mind.

The air was suddenly filled with the sounds of chaos, the group’s voices mingling with the panicked yells of the O'Driscoll boys as they rushed in.

John’s voice rang out in a demanding tone, "Don’t run away from me!"

From out of nowhere, Bill’s voice cut through the commotion, his question laced with curiosity. "What’re you hiding out in the woods for?"

Arthur’s voice boomed through the camp, his challenge directed squarely at their leader. "Colm O'Driscoll, where are you?"

The O’Driscoll boys fell like dominoes, their defenses crumbling under the onslaught.

John’s voice cut through the chaos, his challenge sharp and firm. "Come on then. Come on!"

Bill’s voice blended with John’s, adding his own taunt. "Your worthless O’Driscoll hides…"

Arthur’s rage was clear as his voice echoed through the camp, his words fueled by a desire for confrontation. "Run and hide, if you know what’s good for you!"

The sound of gunfire and chaotic struggle continued until it slowly fell silent. Once the dust settled, the group stood victorious. Their faces and clothing were dusted with dirt, their chests heaving with exertion and adrenaline. They looked around the now-quiet area, their triumph mixed with a sense of weary accomplishment. The silence was almost eerie after the adrenaline rush, and the weight of what they had just accomplished hit them.

Arthur surveyed the area, his gaze sweeping across the now empty camp. "Colm's still here," he stated, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and determination. The absence of the gang leader was conspicuous, a glaring absence amidst the remnants of the fight.

John’s voice cut through the tense silence, suggesting a possible location for their missing target. "Hey… he said Colm’d be in the cabin." His words hung in the air, offering a lead to follow in their pursuit.

Arthur nodded, his focus already fixed on the task at hand. "I’ll check. You look out here," he directed, his eyes taking in the surroundings one last time before he began to make his way to the cabin.

Just as Arthur approached the cabin, a sudden and unexpected assault caught him off guard. A man, standing just outside the cabin door, lunged out and kicked him to the ground. Before the stunned outlaw could defend himself, he found himself staring down the deadly barrel of a revolver, pointed directly at his face with the apparent intention of putting an end to him. The click of the gun hammer being cocked back filled the air like the chime of doom. It was at that moment that Arthur noticed Kieran standing there, pistol trembling in his hand.

Kieran’s voice reached Arthur’s ears, tinged with concern. "You alright?" Kieran asked, a mix of worry and relief in his gaze.

Arthur lay on the ground, his breathing labored, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion in his expression. "Sure," he replied, his voice tinged with a note of fatigue. "Thank you," he added, a hint of sincerity coloring his words.

Arthur’s voice took on a tone of accusation as he approached Kieran, his eyes locked on the young man's face. "Colm O’Driscoll," he continued, his voice growing firmer with each word. "He ain’t here." His gaze remained fixed on Kieran, his suspicion evident. "You set us up.”

Kieran shook his head, his voice filled with conviction. "No, I didn’t," he denied, his expression earnest and sincere.

Kieran, clearly shaken and desperately trying to convince them, stumbled over his words, "He was here, I swear, I sw-" his voice trembled, searching for believability.

Arthur's expression hardened as he shook his head, a mix of annoyance and frustration evident in his demeanor. "Alright then, go on," he said abruptly, his words terse. "Get out of here."

Kieran, struggling to understand the sudden change in tone, looked completely confused. "Eh?"

Arthur's gaze remained stern as he responded, "I won’t kill ya." His tone held a hint of resignation, as if he held no desire to shed unnecessary blood.

Kieran, desperation in his words, pleaded, "I didn't set you up, honest."

Arthur's expression softened momentarily, his voice tinged with a mix of exhaustion and resignation. "I’m letting you run away," he stated, his words conveying a sense of mercy. "Now go on, get out of here."

Kieran, his voice tinged with fear and desperation, urgently spoke up. "That’s as good as killing me," he pleaded, desperation in his eyes. "Out there... without you... Colm O'Driscoll’s gonna lose his mind about this."

Arthur shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "So?" he responded, his tone lacking sympathy.

Kieran, his voice filled with conviction, declared, "So I’m one of you now." His words held a mix of defiance and determination, as if he believed joining them was his only hope of survival.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his face in momentary exasperation, before letting out an exasperated exhale. "Alright then. But I’m warning you..." he spoke, his voice cautious and firm, "One wrong move... one thing that puts my girls in danger... I’ll bury you someplace where the woodpecker hides his acorns, you hear me?"

Kieran nodded, his expression solemn and accepting. "Oh, I know," he responded, understanding the weight of the consequences.

With a gruff nod of agreement, Arthur agreed, "Come on, let’s get to camp." He turned and began walking, his steps steady and purposeful, expecting the reluctant newcomer to follow.

Kieran, his curiosity piqued, inquired, "So, you got the cash then?" He followed, his steps hurried to catch up with the larger man, his body slightly tense.

Arthur paused, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he replied, "What cash?" He looked at the young man in mild confusion, his question hanging in the air.

Kieran grinned, a hint of mischief in his expression. "Yeah, there's usually some cash in the chimney," he explained, his words tinged with a glimmer of hope.

Arthur nodded, his gaze fixed on Kieran’s face before glancing briefly at the others. "I’ll check it," he said, his tone resolute, before turning to the group. "Rest of you boys get to camp, quick."

"See, Arthur… I ain’t so bad," Kieran said, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Arthur searched the cabin, his eyes scanning the interior for any hidden treasures. He found a new shotgun, tucking it under his arm.

As he reached up the chimney, his fingers brushed against a canvas bag tucked away in the darkness. He pulled it out and opened it to reveal handfuls of crumpled up bills.

Arthur hummed approvingly as he looked through the makeshift hiding spot. "Least you got something tucked away," he commented, his tone tinged with relief as he counted the crumpled bills in his hand.

[inkmonster21]

Falling In Faith

Series Masterlist

Gideon Gemstone x Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, 18+ (oral male rec)

12. Game Night

Gideon showered you with attention and affectionate gestures, making it abundantly clear that he enjoyed pampering you. Whether holding open a door, offering to carry your belongings, or lavishing you with unexpected gifts, he took every opportunity to showcase his desire to spoil you.

“And I’m going to pick this up tomorrow,” Gideon proudly revealed his phone to his mother, showing the necklace he had picked up for you from Tiffany's. The group was gathered around the table at Jason's Steakhouse, enjoying a delicious meal after Church.

Amber couldn't help but gush at the sight of the necklace, completely in awe of the exquisite piece of jewelry. Her reaction was filled with genuine admiration and excitement. "Oh my goodness, that is gorgeous, honey," she exclaimed, her eyes widening with pure amazement at the of the necklace.

“Let me see this shit,” Judy snatched the phone from her nephew and examined the image of the necklace, her eyes filled with judgment. As she looked at the necklace, her expression turned into an impressed smile. "Damn, Gideon," she remarked with a hint of pride, "this necklace is absolutely fucking stunning bro."

BJ leaned in to get a better look at the jewelry, his eyes scanning the intricate details of the necklace. He nodded approvingly and echoed Judy's thoughts with a comment, "It's definitely a show stopper, and it can be worn every day. Very thoughtful."

Baby Billy reached out and gently nudged the phone away from Judy, grinning widely as he playfully teased, "Don't be hoggin' it now, come on." With an impatient tone in his voice, he wanted to get a closer look at the necklace himself.

Both Baby Billy and Tiffany leaned forward, narrowing their eyes to get a better look at the intricate details of the necklace on the phone screen. Their expressions morphed into one of concentration and examination, studying the design with intense focus. “Oh, now that is nice.”

Tiffany gasped in admiration, admiring the sparkle and elegance of the necklace on screen. She turned to Baby Billy and stated with a mix of excitement and envy, "Baby Billy, I want one. Look how sparkly it is."

Baby Billy shook his head, his response tinged with a touch of amusement. "No, baby, you don't need something like that," he replied, his tone affectionate yet dismissive. "It'll just draw attention away from... all this." He gestured to her, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze trailing over her wide smile.

Pontus spoke up with a sly smirk, his tone filled with amusement as he teased Gideon for his display of wealth. "Oh, he's just trying to buy his way into that tunnel of wishes," Pontus said with a hint of playful banter, "He can't do it with his 'rizz' alone."

Gideon scoffed at his brother's jab, his expression a mix of annoyance and mild amusement. He playfully shot back with a smirk. "Oh, shut up. Yes, I can."

Baby Billy looked taken aback, “rizz? The hell is that?”

Kelvin joined the conversation, his tone confident as he chimed in with a knowing smirk. "It means you've got game," he explained proudly, his statement a testament to his own understanding of modern slang.

Jesse shook his head, the laugh escaping his lips showing his skepticism. "Uh, no, it doesn't," he chuckled with a bit of disbelief, dismissing the new slang terminology.

Kelvin locked eyes with Jesse, a defiant glint in his eyes as he retorted, "Um, yes, it does." He seemed adamant about his understanding of the new term.

Jesse shook his head forcefully, rejecting Kelvin's definition with a firm voice. "No, the fuck it doesn't. It totally means Jizz." He added, his tone confident yet a bit comical.

Gideon interjected, joining in on the dispute. "No, Dad," he agreed with Jesse, "It definitely doesn’t."

The conversation continued, the siblings engaging in a light-hearted debate about the true meaning of the term “rizz” that soon turned loud and dramatic.

Eli watched with a bemused expression as the family members engaged in a lively debate about the meaning of the term "rizz," their voices growing increasingly loud. Yet despite the chaos, he remained silent, his expression still slightly perplexed, silently wondering about the origins of this new word.

As the group made their way out of the restaurant, the lunch at Jason's was once again a success. The table had been filled with laughter, banter, and of course, a bit of disagreement over terms like "rizz."

You were lying on your bed, a feeling of boredom creeping in as you scrolled through the various apps on your TV, searching for something to watch. You should have gone with your grandparents to Avery’s soccer game. Just as you were about to give up in frustration, the sound of your phone ringing pierced the silence, interrupting your fruitless search.

You were puzzled as you saw the "No Caller ID" flash on your phone screen. Curiosity got the better of you, and you accepted the call

“Hello?” You said cautiously, not sure who might be on the other end.

“You still owe me.”

You sat up, hearing the voice on the other end, and your heart quickened. "What?" you questioned, your voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of fear.

The call had ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving you with a sense of unease and unanswered questions.

Suddenly the sound of a firm knock at the front door, your mind racing as you wondered who could be on the other side or if it had any correlation to the phone call you just received.

“Oh fuck,” you froze.

The doorbell rang, the sound adding to the tension building within you. With a mixture of trepidation and curiosity, you rose from your spot on the bed and made your way cautiously towards the door.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, and prepared yourself, gripping the nearest object, which happened to be a lamp, ready to defend yourself if necessary.

With a firm grip on the lamp, you slowly opened the door, your heart pounding in your chest. As the door creaked open, you braced yourself for whatever or whomever you would come face to face with.

Your initial sense of tension began to subside as you recognized the face that met yours. Gideon stood before you, a warm smile on his face, a stark contrast to the fear that had gripped you mere seconds earlier.

Gideon noticed the lamp gripped tightly in your clenched hand and his smile faded into concern. He gently asked, "Everything okay?" His eyes searched yours, worried that something had triggered your fear.

You shook your head and laughed softly, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Yeah, sorry," you said apologetically. "I got a little scared and... it's nothing." You looked down at the lamp in your hand and couldn't help but laugh at your own overreaction.

Gideon chuckled softly at the unexpected sight of the lamp, his concern melting away as he took in your sheepish expression. “You grabbed what was nearest?" he asked his tone a gentle tease.

You couldn't help but smile sheepishly and nod in embarrassment. "Yeah,"

Gideon entered your home, closing the door behind him, while you placed the lamp back on the table, the tension and fear you had felt moments ago now replaced by a sense of relief and reassurance.

Gideon's smile widened as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a blue box, the sight of which instantly caught your attention. With a hint of satisfaction, he continued. "No need to swing. It's just me and Tiffany," he repeated, holding up the box and grinning.

Your curiosity piqued as you looked at the Tiffany's box in Gideon's hand, recognizing the distinctive robin's egg blue color associated with the high-end jewelry store. You could only imagine what might be inside, and your mind wandered with curiosity.

You shook your head, a mix of surprise and concern in your tone, "Gideon, no! I told you to stop getting me things." You cared for Gideon dearly, but his tendency to shower gifts upon you was becoming excessive.

You knew that you couldn't return the favor in an equal measure. Gideon's extravagant gifts were a reflection of his generous nature, a contrast to your own more modest means. However, you felt uncomfortable with the imbalance, knowing your own gestures could not compare with the abundance he showered upon you.

Despite your attempts to turn down his gifts, Gideon always dismissed your refusal with a charming smile and a simple response, "I had to."

Before you could protest any further, Gideon gently pulled you closer to him, closing the small distance between you with a reassuring gesture. He looked into your eyes, his expression tender.

Your eyes widened as Gideon opened the blue box to reveal a beautiful necklace glimmering inside. The intricate design and the sparkling gemstones caught your attention, leaving you breathless at its elegance.

Gideon's voice was tinged with a hint of sheepishness as he confirmed, "It's my birthstone." He gently lifted the necklace out of the box and motioned for you to turn around with a small nudge.

You obliged, turning around slowly to allow Gideon access. You could feel his gaze on you as he draped the necklace around your neck, his fingers nimbly fastening the clasp at the back, the cold touch of the gemstone against your skin made you shiver.

You turned to the mirror, the sight of the sparkling gemstone against your skin taking your breath away. The stone glimmered in the artificial light of your living room, sending out small sparks of brilliance every time you moved.

Gideon stood behind you, a satisfied smile on his face, admiring how the necklace complemented your appearance. "Looks perfect on you," he remarked, his eyes gleaming with approval.

You turned your head to look at him, a mix of admiration and slight discomfort in your expression. "It's beautiful," you admitted, the words slipping past your lips. However, you quickly added, "But it's too much."

Gideon shook his head, a knowing glint in his eyes. "No, it's just right." His voice was gentle yet firm as he gently touched the back of your hair, adjusting it slightly so the necklace sat perfectly.

Gideon's smile widened, and he spoke up, his tone playful yet earnest, "I want you to come to my parents' house for dinner. They have a weekly game night. It's kind of lame." He smirked, anticipating your reaction to his invitation.

You furrowed your brow at his description of game night, a mixture of curiosity and hesitation lingering in your mind. "Game night?" you reiterated, your voice tinged with skepticism. "Like Charades and Monopoly?"

Gideon nodded, a sly grin plastered on his face. "Yep," he replied, his tone tinged with amusement, "Charades, Monopoly, Scattergories. You name it. Mom's really proud of her collection."

You could feel a wave of nervousness wash over you, but the worry of disappointing Gideon overpowered the feeling. Despite your unease, you managed a small smile and replied, "I'll come if you want me to, baby."

Gideon's eyes softened, his expression filled with gratitude for your willingness to join in despite your nerves. He gently caressed your cheek, his touch gentle and filled with reassurance. "I'd love for you to come," he whispered.

Gideon suddenly furrowed his brows, as if realizing something for the first time. He looked around the room, a concerned expression on his face. "Wait, is nobody else home?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

You looked up at Gideon, a growing smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Nope. My grandparents ate at a soccer game," you responded with a hint of nonchalance, the absence of your grandparents in the house making the atmosphere a little more intimate.

Gideon's grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer to his body. The action sent a shiver through your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. Without missing a beat, he began to trail a line of butterfly kisses up your neck, his lips leaving a trail of electricity in their wake.

Despite the sensations coursing through you, you managed to force a question out, the words coming out in a sigh as you tried to focus on something other than the feel of his lips on your neck. "What time do we need to be at your parents?”

Gideon gently kissed up to your earlobe, pausing as he answered with a low and seductive tone. "Around six." He whispered against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

You smirked, a sultry glint in your eyes as you suggested, "You wanna go make out?"

Gideon's eyebrows raised, and a wolfish grin spread across his face. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you even closer to him. "Yes. I do." He replied, his voice dripping with desire.

His hands moved to your hips, lifting you with ease, your feet dangling a few inches off the ground. A gasp escaped your lips as you wrapped your legs around him, your arms encircling his neck instinctively. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, his body pressed against yours and you leaned into him, your head tilting back as he kissed your neck more.

You couldn't help but let out a soft giggle as you grabbed onto his hand and led him upstairs to your room. The anticipation and adrenaline coursing through your body made the journey feel like an eternity, despite the short distance.

You pulled back with a sly smirk, your voice filled with playful teasing as you looked into his eyes. "So," you inquired, "are you going to let me thank you for my necklace?"

Despite the heat rushing to his cheeks, Gideon tried to maintain composure as he looked anywhere but at you, his voice faltering slightly as he responded. "Uh, I... I'm not really sure what you mean," he said, a hint of uncertainty in his reply.

His heart was pounding, fast and hard, and you felt a surge of excitement. Gideon was inexperienced, you knew that, but there was something so endearing about his nervousness.

You whispered in his ear, your words barely audible, your lips hovering over his earlobe. "I mean," you murmured, your voice low and breathy, "I think I owe you a little something extra besides a basic thank you."

His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, his hands suddenly hovering awkwardly at his sides. “Oh. I… You don’t have—”

You cut him off with a kiss, soft and slow, your fingers threading through his hair. He hesitated for a moment before relaxing into it, his arms wrapping around your waist once more.

You pulled back slightly, smiling as you unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the lean, muscular frame beneath. You could tell he was tense. “Relax,” you whispered, running a hand down his chest. “Let me take care of you.”

He nodded, his eyes fluttering closed as you moved to kneel in front of him, your hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. You undid the button slowly, savoring the way his breath quickened, the way his muscles tensed under your touch. Gideon was sensitive, you’d learned that early on, and you loved the way he reacted to every little thing you did.

You pulled his jeans and boxers down in one smooth motion, revealing his cock, already hard and throbbing. It wasn’t huge, but it was thick, the head a deep pink as it peeked out from the foreskin. You hummed softly, running your fingers along the length of him, watching his eyelids flutter as he bit his lip.

You leaned forward to press a kiss to the tip. Gideon let out a sharp gasp, his hands tangling in your hair. “Shit, you—you really don’t have to—”

“Shh,” you chided, wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, swirling your tongue over the sensitive skin. “Just enjoy it, baby.”

He groaned, his hips jerking forward instinctively, but you held him steady, taking your time as you licked and sucked, teasing him with slow, deliberate movements.

Gideon was vocal, his moans and whimpers filling the room, and it only made you want to please him more. You loved the way he sounded, the way his voice broke as he struggled to hold back.

“Fuck, you’re—you’re so good,” he panted, his hands tightening in your hair. “I—I don’t know if I can—”

You smiled around his cock, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him deeper, your tongue pressing against the underside. Gideon’s hips bucked again, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. He was close, you could tell, and you wanted to draw it out, to make it last.

“Tell me what you like,” you murmured, pulling back to lick a stripe up his length. “Tell me how you want it.”

Gideon’s eyes were glazed, his lips parted as he struggled to form words. “I—I like it when you—when you suck harder. And—and your tongue, fuck, your tongue feels so good.”

You obliged, taking him back into your mouth, sucking firmly as you hummed, the vibrations sending shivers through his body. Gideon’s hands gripped your shoulders now, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust shallowly, his control slipping.

“Shit, I’m—I’m gonna—”

You hummed and encouraged him, speeding up, your tongue flicking over the head of his cock as you cupped his balls, massaging them gently.

His eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a silent cry as he came, his cock pulsing hot and thick against your tongue.

You swallowed every drop, moaning softly as you savored the taste of him, the way his body trembled in your hands.

When he finally went limp, you pulled back, smiling up at him as you helped him step out of his jeans. Gideon looked dazed, his chest heaving as he stared down at you, his eyes filled with awe.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, kneeling in front of you. “That was—that was so good.”

You laughed, reaching up to kiss him, slow and tender. “Just thought I’d show you how thankful I am.”

He smiled, his fingers brushing your cheek as he helped you stand. “You’re amazing. Shit, baby. I—I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your forehead to his chest. “You don’t have to. Just being with you is enough.”

Gideon navigated the car through the city streets, his mind preoccupied with thoughts and nervousness about bringing you around his family. The atmosphere in the car was filled with a mix of excitement and tension, the anticipation surrounding the upcoming evening weighing heavy on both your minds.

Your fingers fidgeted nervously on your lap, the atmosphere in the car thick with anticipation. Gideon glanced at you every so often, noticing the slight anxiety in your expression, understanding the significance of the evening.

Gideon chuckled softly, a knowing look in his eyes as he prepared you for the evening. He spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of bemusement. "My youngest brother, Abraham, is going to barrage you with questions, probably hundreds of them. Pontus, on the other hand, is a wildcard. He could be completely inappropriate; he's blunt. Kind of an asshole."

Your eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity on your face. You hadn’t expected such a warning but appreciated Gideon’s heads up nonetheless. "Uh, okay," you replied, a hint of apprehension in your tone.

Gideon cast you a reassuring smile, his gaze softening as he sought to ease your nerves. "Don’t worry," he comforted you gently. "Just expect the unexpected."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you nodded. "Okay, I'll prepare myself for the unexpected," you said, grateful for the warning but determined to handle whatever came your way.

Gideon ushered you out of the car, his hand gently holding yours, a mix of excitement and anticipation radiating from him. As soon as you stepped into his parents' home, he bellowed out, "We're here!" The sound of his voice echoed through the home, immediately drawing the attention of those within.

The sound of footsteps and voices filled the air, signaling the presence of Gideon's family nearby. You could hear the sound of chairs scraping across the floor and the clinking of cutlery against plates, signaling that the family was already gathered for dinner.

Amber emerged from the kitchen, a warm smile adorned her face as she addressed the both of you. "There you are," she greeted warmly, her voice filled with warmth. Her words ushered you further into the home. "Go ahead and take a seat."

You obediently followed her cue, taking a seat at the table as Gideon pulled out a chair for you. The moment you settled in, a wave of curiosity washed over you as you took in the surroundings. The house exuded an air of comfort, the walls adorned with a mix of family photographs and religious art.

Jesse smirked, his gaze settling on you and Gideon. A subtle glint of amusement danced in his eyes as he chuckled softly. "Here they are," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of pride. "My son and his girlfriend."

Your voice carried a mix of nervousness and respect as you replied, "Hi, Mr. Gemstone." Jesse's smile widened, his eyes studying you with a subtle mixture of curiosity and assessment.

Jesse shook his head slightly in a dismissive yet playful manner, his tone shifting to a more casual and friendly tone. "Hell, no," he chuckled softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I don't like that. Call me Jesse."

The atmosphere was filled with an unexpected familiarity, dispelling the initial formality you had expected. Jesse exuded an aura of warmth and charisma, his demeanor friendly and inviting. You couldn't help but feel a bit more at ease, your initial nervousness slipping away.

Gideon, with practiced ease, pulled out your chair for you, the gesture one of gentlemanly chivalry. His hand gently rested on the back of a chair for a few moments after you sat, before he took a seat next to you.

As you settled into your seat, you noticed a young boy seated across from you, his eyes fixed on you with a wide smile plastered on his face. His youthful curiosity was evident in his gaze, the energy radiating from him contagious.

As you returned his smile with a warm one of your own, you replied, "You must be Abraham." Recognizing his name, the young boy nodded, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes.

"Yeah! And you’re really my brothers girlfriend. You’re the first real one. Did you know that?." He replied cheerfully, his gaze never leaving yours.

Gideon hushed his youngest brother, “Dude, stop.”

Your gaze then shifted to the older boy sitting beside Abraham, his presence exuding a mysterious aura. His face bore a solemn expression, adorned with distinct tattoos and a hint of rebellion in his eyes. As he met your gaze, you couldn't help but notice the word 'Blessed' tattooed above his eyebrow.

Pontus leaned back in his chair, attempting to project an air of dominance, his expression cool and nonchalant. He nodded in greeting, his eyes locking with yours as he responded casually, "Sup."

Pontus's gaze lingered on you, his eyes roaming over your features with a subtle yet obvious curiosity. It was evident that he was checking you out, his glance betraying an underlying interest that he couldn't quite conceal.

Gideon, sensing his brother's actions, noticed Pontus's lingering gaze and subtle checking you out. A subtle frown formed on Gideon's face, his protective instincts kicking in as he shot a disapproving glare at his brother.

Amber emerged from the kitchen, her hands carrying various dishes filled with an array of tantalizing scents. The table was quickly adorned with an assortment of delicious-looking food, each dish carefully prepared and placed in front of the family member it belonged to.

Amidst the lively conversation, Gideon's attention remained focused on you, his hand gently intertwined with yours under the table. He played with your fingers, his touch a subtle act of intimacy and affection in the presence of his family.

Amidst the chatter and laughter, Pontus's voice cut through, his gaze locking onto you. "So," he began, his tone hinting at a desire for gossip or information.

“You ever done ketamine?” Pontus's question hung in the air, the atmosphere suddenly tensing at the topic of conversation. It was an unexpected question, especially in the midst of a family dinner. Gideon shot his brother a warning glance, his expression hardening. Pontus, however, remained undeterred, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he eagerly waited for your response.

Jesse's voice cut through the air, his expression visibly irritated at his middle child's sudden query. "Pontus, what the fuck?" he exclaimed, his voice filled with annoyance and slight disbelief.

Amber sighed, her expression turning disapproving at Pontus’s question. "That’s incredibly rude," she said firmly, her voice filled with disapproval.

Pontus scoffed again, feigning innocence as he responded, "What? Gideon brought home a literal party girl and I can't ask her a simple question. It's not like I asked her about her only fans." His tone had a hint of mock defensiveness as he continued to justify his questionable choice of question.

You spoke up, a mixture of shock and slight alarm in your voice, "Only Fans? I don't have an Only Fans!" Your gaze shifted to Gideon, “You know I don't have an Only Fans.”

Your eyes met Gideon's, a sense of reassurance washing over you as he nodded in agreement. "I know, baby," he affirmed, his words filled with reassurance and affirmation.

Pontus's shoulders shrugged nonchalantly as if unfazed by your response. "So, that's a no on the ketamine then?" His tone remained casual, but a hint of curiosity still lingered in his eyes.

Gideon attempted to respond, but before he could form a word, you cut in. "I have actually. Why? You and your little friends trying so hard to be the next Lil Peep? How original.”

There was a moment of silence as Pontus's smirk faltered ever so slightly at your surprisingly straightforward response.

Jesse's amusement was evident as he struggled to hold in his laughter, his shoulders shaking as he suppressed his chuckles.

Amber's smirk widened as she watched the dynamics unfold at the table, clearly entertained by the exchange and impressed by your unexpected response.

Abraham's eyes widened in awe as he witnessed you standing up to Pontus with surprising assertiveness. The boy, clearly impressed, couldn't help but express his admiration for your boldness.

Gideon, while trying to maintain composure, couldn't help but feel a rush of desire for you. He watched intensely, his body tense, restraining himself from acting on his impulse to pounce on you. His eyes burned with desire, and the sound of his thoughts, "Fuck. That was hot," echoed in his mind. He battled with his desires, desperate to restrain himself.

Pontus scoffed and averted his gaze to his plate, his expression a mix of feigned nonchalance and surprise. The fact that you had stood up to him and even countered his question with one of your own was unexpected, and he struggled to hide the impact the situation was having on him. Pontus, for once, found himself without a witty retort or a clever comeback.

The family, still reeling from the tension caused by Pontus, transitioned to the living room. Amber emerged with a bright smile, holding a small gold bucket filled with various cards. As Gideon settled into a seat next to you, he could sense your tension and placed a gentle hand on your leg to comfort you.

"Okay!" Amber exclaimed, her gaze roaming over the faces of her family members. "I thought we could all play a game of charades."

There was a collective groan from her sons and a smirk from Gideon. Pontus and Jesse, both rolled their eyes at the suggestion. Meanwhile, Abraham was wide-eyed with excitement, not quite catching on to the potential sarcasm. Jesse, unable to resist, cracked a joke. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me. Charades? Again?" He grumbled.

Amber rolled her eyes playfully at Jesse's sarcastic remark. "Oh, come on now, Jesse. You almost won last time," she replied. "Just don’t pick me to be your partner."

Abraham quickly raised his hand, a wide smile plastered across his face, he eagerly blurted out, "I want to be (y/n)'s partner!" His enthusiasm and eagerness brought a smile to your face, his playful and innocent demeanor reminiscent of your younger sister, Avery.

“Ab, no, she’s already-“ Gideon attempted to protest, but you promptly slipped over to join Abraham, giving him a high-five and reassuring him with a smile.

"We've got this, little man," you affirmed, with a playful smirk.

Jesse confidently pulled Gideon over, a smirk on his face as he declared, "Firstborns for the win, bitches." Gideon couldn't help but roll his eyes, exasperated by his father's constant determination to engage in competitions.

Amber's gaze shifted to Pontus, her gentle smile widening as she voiced her confidence. "Oh, I'm pretty confident in this match," she affirmed, her hands placed on her hips with subtle conviction.

Pontus rolled his eyes, his tone filled with playful sarcasm. “This is so fucking dumb," he retorted, his words layered with mock skepticism.

You and Abraham worked flawlessly together, effortlessly pantomiming and acting out the clues to make it easy to rack up point after point.

Your eyes locked onto Abraham, noticing the precise way he placed his hands across his body mimicking striped patterns. Despite your initial confusion, you were on the right track. You furrowed your brows as you tried to make sense of the clue.

"Is it something to do with an animal?" you pondered, still trying to connect the dots of Abraham's gesture.

Abraham's actions came to an abrupt halt, his eyes locking with yours. A look of surprise mixed with amusement danced on his face as you confidently announced the correct answer with a beaming smile.

"Zebra!" you exclaimed, your excitement evident in your tone. The entire scene was so incredibly cute and hilarious.

Gideon chuckled in bewilderment, genuinely surprised by your success. His eyes darted between you and Abraham, wondering how you managed to work together so harmoniously and accurately.

"How are you two doing this?" he asked incredulously, trying to make sense of the uncanny connection between you and Abraham.

You and Abraham formed the perfect duo, flawlessly deciphering each other's clues and acting out the correct answers. With a high five and a grin, you confidently declared, "We're just pros at this."

Pontus rolled his eyes at your confidence, "Yeah. Or the first clue was a damn zebra."

You couldn’t help but shoot back at Pontus with a smirk, your finger pointed in his direction as you retorted, "Says the one with ZERO POINTS, so far!" The competitive nature flared up, and your words fueled the fire in Pontus's eyes.

Pontus clenched his jaw at your jab. The competitive fire in his eyes burned brighter as he responded with a hint of challenge, "Just wait. We'll catch up real soon."

The mood in the room grew more intense as the game went on, each round bringing on fierce competition and boisterous cheers. The energy surged, and the atmosphere was filled with playful banter and laughter. With each passing round, the volume levels steadily increased, with every team becoming more invested in winning.

Gideon and Jesse were up next for a round, and Gideon's card demanded he act out cleaning. He began pantomiming the action of vacuuming, pushing an invisible vacuum cleaner back and forth across the floor.

Jesse, in response, squinted his eyes in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to decipher the charades. After a few moments of contemplation, he leaned forward and blurted out, "A woman!”

Jesse's guess was so unexpectedly off the mark that you couldn't help but burst out laughing, along with the rest of the family. Gideon smirked at the outlandish guess, shaking his head in amusement as he motioned for Jesse to try again.

Jesse, feeling the pressure to correct his last guess, focused intently on Gideon's charade. Gideon continued miming vacuuming, pushing the invisible vacuum back and forth across the floor. Jesse's eyes darted around the room, his brain racing to find the right answer. After a few moments, he raised his hand and confidently declared, "Oh, I know this shit. It's a fucking lawnmower!"

Another roar of laughter rang out around the room, Gideon shaking his head at Jesse's persistence in guessing so wildly incorrect. "Oh my god, no!" he exclaimed, struggling to maintain composure.

Amber’s voice chimed in, announcing the end of the timer, "Times up!" Gideon stopped mid-motion, his eyebrows raising in feigned exasperation.

Jesse, still determined to get it right, blurted out one last guess, his voice filled with a hint of desperation, "It's a washing machine, right?"

Gideon's annoyance was clear as day, his patience running thin after Jesse's endless wrong guesses. He firmly corrected him again, reiterating with a hint of frustration. "No. It was a vacuum."

Despite Gideon's clear efforts to mime vacuuming, Jesse remained skeptical, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Seriously? You're telling me that was you, Mr. Hollywood acting out vacuuming?" Jesse's tone was tinged with disbelief, his skepticism evident as he questioned Gideon's acting skills.

Gideon shot back, defending himself with a hint of confidence, "Stuntman. Not an actor!" He knew his place in the entertainment industry and wasn't bothered by Jesse's comment. Despite being a stuntman, he felt no need to prove himself in the realm of acting.

After multiple rounds, the game came to an end, and the points were tallied. You and Abraham emerged as the victors, having accumulated the most points throughout the game. The family cheered and clapped, a mix of congratulations and playful taunts filling the air.

Despite the joy of victory, you couldn't help but feel a hint of disappointment as the night wrapped up. Abraham was ushered off to get ready for bed, his energy-filled evening finally culminating in some much-needed rest. Pontus, on the other hand, was left with the task of finishing his overdue homework.

You and Gideon sat on the couch together, sharing laughter as Amber bombarded you with a barrage of embarrassing childhood photos of Gideon. Every image featured a younger Gideon, dressed differently and in different situations, each picture more incriminating than the last.

The photos were a never-ending array of hilarious scenes. There was Gideon, missing a few baby teeth, standing in front of an oversized chocolate cake. Another photo showed him wearing an oversized cowboy hat, attempting to ride a small rocking horse.

Amongst the sea of photos, one caught your eye, and your curiosity piqued. "Oh my goodness! Let me see this one," you exclaimed, unable to contain your curiosity any longer. Your eyes twinkled with excitement as you reached for the picture, the anticipation of discovering even more embarrassing moments of Gideon's past filling your heart with glee.

Gideon, realizing your intention, quickly snatched the photo away, his hand swiftly closing around the picture with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. "No! Stop this!" he protested, his voice tinged with a hint of playful defiance.

Jesse, seizing the opportunity, swiftly intervened and grabbed the photo from Gideon's grasp, presenting it to you with a sly smile. Gideon, realizing he was outnumbered, could do nothing but watch as the photo landed in your hands.

You looked closely at the photo, an uncontrollable grin spreading across your face as you chuckled to yourself. "I have to get a copy of this one." You declared, acknowledging the undeniable cuteness and hilarity of the image, knowing you needed to keep this memory for future teasing.

“Yeah and this one,” Jesse added, handing you another photo. Jesse's glee was obvious as he handed you another picture, adding fuel to your collection of amusing Gideon's childhood photos.

You bid farewell, smiling at Jesse and Amber with a heart full of appreciation. "Thank you for such a fantastic night," you expressed, the warmth in your voice genuinely reflecting the sense of home and belonging you felt. The genuine affection and acceptance they had shown you made the entire evening truly special.

Jesse flashed a warm smile, his gruff exterior softening at that moment. "It was great having you. I know now Gideon’s not lying his ass off when he talks about you," he replied, his tone carrying both a mix of affection and a touch of protectiveness.

Amber chimed in with a gentle smile, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. "Please come again soon, (y/n)," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth and affection. "You and Gideon make such a lovely couple."

You nodded, touched by their words and the genuine warmth they exuded. “Thank you," you responded, a genuine smile gracing your face. "I will definitely come back soon."

Gideon, ever the gentleman, walked you to the car and courteously opened the door for you. He gave you a tender smile, his eyes filled with affection, as he waited for you to get in.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss against Gideon's cheek, before sliding into the passenger seat. His smile deepened, his eyes filled with adoration as he closed the door for you

Gideon drove slowly, prolonging the journey, wanting to savor every moment he could spend with you. The road seemed endless as he navigated the streets, his desire to prolong your time together stronger than his usual need for speed.

You fiddled with the ring on Gideon's finger, your touch tender and warm. Your words hung in the air, filled with sincerity as you confessed, "I had a really good time, Gideon." The atmosphere in the car was tinged with contentment, the connection between you and Gideon strong as he kept one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, grounding him in the moment.

He softly smiled, his gaze flickering from the road to your face every so often. “I’m glad you had a good time, baby,” he responded, his words infused with a hint of relief that only further deepened the warm and tender ambiance in the car. His fingers traced small circles on your thigh, a subtle act of affection that spoke louder than words.

You sighed with disappointment as the sight of your grandparents' house came into view. Your expression betrayed your reluctance to leave, and your words voiced your innermost thoughts, "I don't want to go."

He reached over, his hand gently cupping your chin. His gaze held a tender intensity as he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I don’t want you to go either,” he confessed, his words carrying a weight of truth and vulnerability.

Gideon leaned in, closing the distance between you. His lips met yours in a gentle and tender kiss, filled with affection and a hint of longing. Despite the brief moment, the connection was deep, expressing a wealth of emotions.

He pulled away reluctantly, his eyes filled with regret and a hint of sadness. His thumb gently brushed against your bottom lip, a gesture that mirrored his yearning for more.

You grabbed onto the door handle and slid out the door, unable to conceal the heavy sigh that escaped you. Your gaze lingered on Gideon for a moment longer, your eyes silently expressing your reluctance to part. "Text me when you get home, okay?" you asked, softly breaking the silence as your fingers gripped tighter at the handle.

Gideon nodded, a mixture of understanding and longing in his eyes. "I’ll call you instead," he affirmed, his voice steady yet filled with an element of bittersweetness that mirrored your own feelings. He watched you walk away, his gaze following your every movement, the distance between you feeling immeasurable.

As you reached the door, you turned back one last time, your gaze meeting Gideon's through the car window. The bittersweet expression on his face mirrored the emotions coursing through both of you. Despite the physical distance, the connection between you and Gideon remained strong, bound by the promise of text messages and the longing to reunite soon.

[inkmonster21]

I’m Just Next Door

John Price x Single!Mom

Series Masterlist

2. Being Neighborly

You yawned and glanced at the clock, which read 6:50 AM. Just as expected, your daughter tended to be an early bird.

Your daughter's sweet, innocent voice rang through the room, calling out to you. "Mommy..."

You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, as you responded to your daughter's call. "I'm coming, sweetheart," you replied softly, getting out of bed and heading toward your little one's room.

You opened the door to your daughter's room, finding her sheets a tangled mess and her hair sticking up in every direction. She held onto her favorite stuffed animal, rubbing her sleepy eyes with her tiny fist.

You smiled at the sight of your bed-headed little darling, and softly greeted her, "Good morning, beautiful."

Your daughter's sleepy eyes looked up at you, a smile forming on her face. She extended her little arms, making grabby hands at you, signaling for you to pick her up.

You chuckled softly, "Looks like someone's still sleepy." You scooped her up, holding her against your chest and gently bouncing her in your arms.

Your daughter rested her head against you, her tiny hand clutching your shirt. She let out a small yawn, still sleepy but content in your embrace. You carried her out of her room, heading to the kitchen.

As you carried your little one into the kitchen, you asked, "What would you like for breakfast, hmm?"

Your daughter yawned and rubbed her eyes, giving you a sleepy grin as she replied, "Pancakes, please."

"Pancakes it is then," you said with a smile, setting her down on the counter and starting to gather the ingredients for the pancake batter.

As you mixed the pancake batter, your daughter quickly ran into the living room to dig through her toybox, rummaging through her collection of Barbies.

You opened the kitchen window, letting in the cool morning breeze, before pressing play on your music playlist. As the music filled the room, you got to work preparing breakfast, flipping pancakes on the stove, and brewing a pot of coffee.

John was an early riser, strict by nature and routine-driven. And, as usual, his alarm woke him up like clockwork.

With a focused determination, he started his usual workout routine, pushing himself to the max as he lifted weights and did his cardiovascular exercises.

Every rep, every lift, every movement was calculated and precise. John's muscles strained, sweat dripping down his face, as he pushed himself harder, always striving to improve and build his strength.

After his intense workout, John headed straight to the bathroom for a much-needed shower. He stripped off his sweaty, damp clothing, before stepping into the shower and letting the warm water soothe his muscles.

It was the same routine day in and day out, familiar and predictable. Wake up, work out, shower. Breakfast was always the same. Uninterrupted, until today.

John paused in his actions, hearing a knock on his front door.

John walked towards the front door with a puzzled expression on his face, wondering who could be knocking at his door so early in the morning.

John reached the door and looked through the peephole, trying to get a glimpse of whoever was on the other side. To his surprise, he saw you standing outside his door.

John opened the door, standing there in his jeans and still a little damp from the shower.

Your eyes widened as you took in the sight before you: The neighbor you’ve never met, standing in his doorway clad only in his jeans, his muscular chest and torso on full display.

You felt your cheeks flush, your gaze lingering on those impressive muscles for a moment longer than appropriate, before you quickly composed yourself, clearing your throat before speaking.

You held your toddler's hand tightly, grounding yourself back in reality as you introduced yourself to the stunning man standing before you. "Hi, I'm your new neighbor," you began, your voice slightly breathless. "I just wanted to introduce myself."

He seemed to recover from his initial surprise, offering a nod and a smirk. "Right. Welcome then," he replied, his voice deep and gravelly.

You managed a small smile, introducing yourself to the tall, muscular neighbor on your doorstep. "I'm (y/n). And this is my daughter," you said, your hand still holding onto your little one.

His gaze flicked down to your daughter for a moment, taking in her sweet, innocent face before returning to yours. "John Price. Nice to meet you both," he said, extending a strong hand to shake yours.

You took his hand in yours, feeling a slight shiver run down your spine at the firm grip and stronghold of his hand. His touch was both gentle and powerful, and you couldn’t help the small flutter in your chest.

This man was attractive, to say the least. Tall, broad, and oozing masculinity. There was something about him, a commanding presence that made you feel a strange mixture of intimidated and intrigued.

You realized your gaze was lingering a bit too long, taking in his impressive physique. Embarrassed, you quickly looked away, hoping that he hadn't noticed the way your eyes had wandered over his body

You managed a smile, your cheeks still flushed from earlier, as you offered a polite farewell. "Well, John, I'm just next door if you ever need anything," you said, feeling a little flustered.

He nodded, a small smirk still playing at the corners of his lips. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, love," he replied, his eyes still fixed on yours.

The way he called you 'love' made a shiver run down your spine again. It sounded so good coming from him, his deep voice sending a jolt of heat through you.

You quickly turned on your heel and hurried away, your cheeks still flushed a deep shade of red. As you walked back to your home, you couldn't help but steal one final glance back at him, seeing him watching you leave with a smirk on his face.

You shook your head, the image of John Price still vivid in your mind. A tall, broad-shouldered man with muscles that made you weak in the knees. And that voice… That deep, rumbly voice sent chills down your spine, making your body tingle.

It was silly, you thought to yourself. You literally just met the man, and already you were thinking about him in such a way. But you couldn’t help it. John Price was the definition of a man, and you were clearly more affected by him than you cared to admit.

It seemed that since you introduced yourself to your handsome new neighbor, John Price was everywhere you looked.

You were pushing your daughter in the cart down the aisle, shopping for groceries, when a deep, gravelly voice caught your attention. Looking to the side, you spotted John Price, standing a few feet away with his own basket.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said with a smirk, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he took in the sight of you.

You couldn't help it: the man was just too handsome. You felt a flutter in your chest, trying to maintain composure as you responded. "John, hi," you replied, your voice a little breathless.

He leaned against the shopping cart, muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt. "Shopping for dinner?" he asked, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Yes, and some strawberries. Since someone can’t live without them," you replied, trying to keep your focus on your basket instead of his chest. "What are you doing here?"

He chuckled, his smirk widening. "Just picking up a few things."

You nodded, forcing yourself to look at anything but him. But your gaze kept flicking back to him, taking in the sight of him in his casual clothes. He looked good enough to eat.

Your little one, sitting in the shopping cart, spoke up, her voice breaking the tension between you and your new neighbor. "I want my strawberries, mama," she exclaimed, her small hand reaching toward the nearby basket of red berries.

You smiled at your daughter, gently patting her head. "We have to wait until we get home, honey," you repeated, your mind torn between your shopping list and the man standing nearby.

John watched the interaction, a small smirk playing on his lips as he observed the way you were with your daughter. It was cute, he thought to himself. He couldn’t help but find you even more attractive, seeing the way you were with your little girl.

John watched you and your daughter for a moment longer before speaking up. "I won’t keep you, love," he said, his voice still low and captivating. "You’ve got groceries to get and a little one to feed. Just wanted to say hello.”

You felt a flutter in your chest at his words, the way he called you 'love' again making you weak in the knees. "Right," you said, trying to sound casual. "It was nice running into you, John."

He smiled, that same smirk that seemed to be permanently etched on his face ever since you met. "It was a pleasure seeing you love," he replied, his eyes roaming over your face for a moment before he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, heart racing and cheeks flushed.

Your little one waved her small hand at your new neighbor, her voice cheerful and sweet as she called out, "Bye!" Seeing your daughter's innocent wave made your heart melt even further, especially seeing it directed towards John.

He paused, looking back for a moment. And he smiled, an actual tender smile as he returned her wave and nodded in her direction. "Goodbye, sweetheart," he said softly, before striding away, disappearing down another aisle.

You had to force your heart to stop thumping. He was just being neighborly.

The next time you crossed paths with him, it was at the park.

You were pushing your daughter on the swings, watching her laugh and squeal with joy as she soared through the air. And then, as luck would have it, you saw him approaching, that familiar tall figure with broad shoulders and muscular arms, making his way toward the playground.

He was dressed in jogging shorts and a t-shirt, sweat gleaming on his skin. It was clear that he had been out for a run, his breathing a little ragged and his muscles glistening with perspiration.

Your daughter spotted him before you did, waving enthusiastically as she shouted, "Hi, Mr. John!"

He smiled, waving back to her as he walked closer. "Hey, sweetheart," he replied, his voice still as deep and gravelly as ever.

You forced yourself to look at his face, trying desperately to ignore the way his sweat-soaked t-shirt clung to his muscular chest and biceps. You could feel heat creeping up your neck and face, a flush of embarrassment filling your cheeks. Don’t stare, don’t stare. Keep it together.

"Afternoon, John." You greeted him with a smile, your voice sounding surprisingly calm despite the way your heart was racing at the sight of him in his workout clothes.

“Afternoon, love,” His casual greeting, the way he always called you 'love'.. It made your heart flutter, a shiver running down your spine.

"Out for a run?" you asked, trying to sound casual and not affected by him.

He nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel he had draped over his shoulder. "Yeah, just got back, actually," he replied, his breathing slowly returning to normal. "Couldn’t stay in the office today."

"Too much paperwork?" you asked curiously, curious about his job and trying to keep the conversation going.

"You could say that," he said, chuckling. "Got something coming up and just needed a break. Decided to go for a run instead of being cooped up at my desk all day.”

You couldn’t help but wonder about his occupation, your curiosity piqued when the other neighbors mentioned he traveled. So you decided to ask, "What do you do for a living?"

He leaned against the frame of the swing set, his muscles flexing under the sweaty fabric. "Military," he said, his tone casual and vague.

You raised an eyebrow, "Really?" you repeated, curiosity piqued. It certainly explained his fit physique.

He nodded, a slight smirk appearing on his face. "I’m a special forces operator."

Your daughter’s voice suddenly came from the swing, pleading. "Higher, Mommy! In the sky! In the sky!"

You laughed softly, a small huff of effort escaping your lips as you applied some force, pushing your daughter higher in the swing. "Okay, baby," you said, a sense of love and joy filling you as you watched your little one grin and giggle uncontrollably, feeling as though her feet could touch the sky.

John was unable to tear his gaze from you and your daughter. He watched you push her in the swing, a small, private smile on his lips. He took in the sight of you, the way you moved, the way you laughed, the way you cared for your daughter.

You were beautiful, and he could see the love you had for your little girl, the way you made her laugh and smiled at her joy. He noticed your weary expression and tired hands and felt a wave of sympathy. You deserved a break.

You were taken aback by his sudden action, his large, strong hands grasping your waist and gently guiding you out of the way, “Take a break, love.”

Before you could register what was happening, he had taken your place, pushing your daughter higher and higher on the swing.

He was gentle, despite his large, muscular frame, his touch surprisingly light as he skillfully took over.

John looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes sparkling with curiosity as he continued pushing your daughter on the swing. "What do you do? Besides, take care of the little one?" he asked, his voice soft and gravelly as always.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, a small, sheepish grin on your face. "Well, it’s certainly not as important as your profession," you said, admiring the way his muscles flexed with each push of the swing.

He chuckled, "Don’t sell yourself short, love." His eyes flickered down to your arms, taking in the way you wrapped them around yourself, hiding the slender curves of your body.

You felt his gaze on your arms, his eyes lingering for a moment on your figure. "I’m just a mom, trying to keep it together," you said with a nonchalant shrug. “I make things out of clay and resin. Sell them online,” your cheeks flushing slightly as you fidgeted under his gaze.

"Oh, really?" he replied, his eyes darting away from your frame and back to your face. "Is that how you make a living?"

You nodded in affirmation, "It pays the bills." The truth was, it did more than just pay the bills. Creating and selling your art was a true passion of yours, the act of crafting things brought you joy and fulfillment. But, you didn’t want to bore him with the details.

You could feel a pang of trepidation creeping in, your experience with your ex-husband's dismissive attitude towards your hobby still fresh in your mind. You had been dismissed time and time again, your ex-husband making it clear that your interests and creations were nothing more than childish, useless hobbies in his eyes.

John sensed the shift in your mood, the way your shoulders tensed, and a slight sadness seemed to wash over your expression. He spoke up, his voice soft and quiet, "You have talent, don't you?"

You were taken by surprise by his words, looking up at him in shock. You weren't used to hearing such words of genuine praise for your creations. Most people didn't seem to take your work seriously, so hearing the compliment from this large, muscular man with a gravelly voice felt unexpected.

As you shrugged, a small smile curved your lips, "Well, business is good, but I wouldn't say I'm talented." You still couldn't shake the feeling of self-doubt, your ex-husband's voice replaying in your mind, his disapproval towards your work like a constant reminder.

John could sense your hesitancy, that hint of insecurity in your words, like you’d been told time and time again that your art wasn’t good enough.

John shook his head, his gaze fixed on you with a serious expression. "I bet you’re more talented than you know," he said, his deep voice sincere and honest.

You were taken aback by his words, not expecting such a genuine compliment from this stranger. You felt a small flutter in your chest, your heartwarming at his words. "Thank you," you replied softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

John smiled a small, pleased smile that lit up his face. "Just being honest, love," he replied, his voice still as gravelly and deep as when you first met.

You had to ground yourself in the mulch. He was just being neighborly.

As you stood in line at the cafe, your daughter by your side, a gust of air came from the suddenly opened door. You looked up and your eyes caught sight of him, tall and broad, his presence filling up the entire space. His gaze locked onto yours, and you saw a small smile play at the corners of his lips, his eyes softening.

Judging by his appearance, it was clear that John had come directly from the base. He still wore his typical work attire, t-shirt and cargo pants, his muscular physique still on full display.

Your little one spotted him almost immediately, her tiny voice calling out with excitement, "Look, Mommy! It's Mr. John!" She waved enthusiastically, her childish glee at seeing him again obvious on her face.

His eyes turned toward your tiny daughter, his features softening even more as he gave her a gentle wave and a warm smile, "Well, look who it is."

Your heart fluttered at the sight of his sweet interaction with your daughter. The way his face relaxed and his eyes softened made him look even more attractive than usual.

With a slight chuckle, you remarked, "We just keep bumping into each other." Your tone was playful, a hint of amusement in your voice as you shook your head in disbelief.

"Seems like fate, doesn't it?" he replied, his eyes still fixed on you, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

You felt a shiver run down your spine as he spoke, his comment struck a chord within you. Fate. You'd never considered it before, but there was something about the way your paths kept crossing with his that made it seem like...something more than just a coincidence between two neighbors.

Your voice was soft as you replied, "Seems that way." The words hung in the air between you, your eyes locking onto his. There was something almost magnetic about his gaze, the way he looked at you like he could see beyond your exterior and straight to your soul.

Time seemed to slow down for a moment, the world around you fading into the background as you held his gaze. You could feel your heart racing, your pulse pounding in your ears, a strange mixture of anticipation and desire coursing through your body.

The cafe worker's voice suddenly snapped you out of the moment, breaking the spell. "Can I help you, ma'am?" the worker asked, bringing your attention back to reality, and you realized you were still waiting in line.

"Oh, um... yes," you managed to reply, your voice still a bit breathless from your earlier interaction with John.

You took a moment to order, still a bit flustered by your interaction with John, but managing to gather yourself enough to give the worker your order. Your little one seemed blissfully unaware of the tension between you and John, happily chattering away as you ordered both of your meals.

Just as you were about to take out your wallet, John quickly stopped you, his voice deep and confident as he said, "I’ve got it, love." He effortlessly pulled out his wallet, paying for your order before you could even protest.

You tried to protest, "John, no, I-"

But he cut you off, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Nonsense. Let me do this." His tone was commanding, but there was a softness in his voice, and you found yourself unable to argue further.

He finished paying the worker and then turned to you, his eyes still holding that intense gaze that seemed to make your heart race. "No sense in arguing with me, love, won’t get you anywhere," he said with a slight smirk, gesturing for you to pick up your lunch.

You gave him a small smile, "I owe you." You replied, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper behind your words. It was more than just being grateful for him paying for lunch. It was the fact that he had taken charge, taken care of you in a way you weren't used to, but found yourself surprisingly drawn to.

John shook his head, that small smirk still on his face, "You don’t owe me a thing, love." His voice was confident, the deep timbre sending tingles down your spine.

John didn’t just look confident, he oozed it with every movement and every word out of his mouth. He was everything you had been searching for in a man. Strong, capable, and undeniably attractive.

You managed a small smile, your cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. "Thank you, John," you murmured, your gaze still locked onto his eyes.

Your daughter looked up at him, her sweet little voice chiming up, "Thank you, Mr. John!" Her words were sincere and innocent, completely oblivious to the tension between you and John.

John’s face softened at the sound of her voice, his tough exterior softening in an instant. He crouched down to her level, giving her a gentle smile. "You’re very welcome, sweetheart." He ruffled her hair gently, his eyes flickering up to meet yours for a moment.

You bit your lip for a moment, a little hesitant to say goodbye, but knowing you had to move on. "I’ll see you around," you said softly, your voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

John nodded in acknowledgment, a knowing look in his eyes. "I'm sure you will, love," he replied, his voice a little huskier than usual. He stood up straight, his height nearly towering over you once more.

But you needed to remind yourself… John is just being neighborly.

You had made dinner, and unfortunately, you had greatly overestimated how much food was needed. You didn't usually eat leftovers yourself, always preferring fresh meals, but you hated to see food go to waste.

Your gaze drifted to John's house. You wondered if he would be home if he would mind the interruption. You felt a little silly at the idea, but the thought of the wasted food bothered you.

You made a decision, gathering up the leftovers and packing them into a container. "Come with me, honey," you said to your little one. She looked up at you, curious, but obeyed without question.

Your daughter's voice was filled with excitement as she realized where you were headed. "Mr. John's house!" she squealed, her little footsteps picking up pace almost immediately.

You laughed as your little one darted forward, eager to get to John's house. "Wait, wait," you said, gently tugging on her hand to slow her down.

You stood a few steps behind your daughter as she knocked on the door, calling out for John. "Mr. John! You in there?" Her voice was excited and high pitched, echoing through the late night air.

Before long, the door opened, revealing John on the other side. He looked surprised to see you both standing there, but his expression quickly softened as he looked down at your little one.

"Well, hello there," he said, crouching down to her level with a small smile. "And what are you doing here at this hour?"

You stepped forward, trying to justify your presence at his door. "I clearly underestimated my portion size tonight. I don't know if you'd even like it, but I hated it to go to waste." Your voice was soft, almost shy as you held out the food container.

John's eyes flicked from you to the container, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He took the container from you, his fingers briefly brushing against yours, sending a shiver up your spine.

John couldn’t help but smile. You had made too much food, and your first thought was to bring it to him. He couldn't help but think that you’d make a damn good little housewife. Just like the one he dreamed of.

Your daughter looked up at him with a wide, innocent smile, the sweetness of her words tugging at John's heartstrings. "It's really good, Mr. John," she repeated, her little voice full of genuine sincerity.

John looked down at your daughter, his expression softening even more. "I don't doubt it, sweetheart," he said gently, ruffling her hair. Then his gaze shifted back to you, his eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary.

John looked up at you with a small smile, taking the time to study your face. "Thank you," he said, a mixture of sincerity and appreciation in his voice. It wasn't just the food. It was the gesture, the fact that you'd cared enough to bring it to him.

You smiled back at him, feeling a warm sense of fulfillment in his gratitude. "You're welcome," you replied softly, your gaze meeting his for a moment, a silent connection passing between you.

You knew you should go, but you didn't want the moment to end just yet. Your daughter seemed comfortable, and John's gaze was fixed on you in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

You scooped your little one up into your arms, her tiny body light and easy to hold. "I got to get this little bug in the bath," you said with a smile, looking down at her, then back up at John.

John nodded, a hint of disappointment in his eyes as he realized you had to leave. "Of course," he replied, his voice a little rough with something you couldn't quite put a finger on.

Your little one looked up at John, her tiny hand waving, "Goodnight, Mr. John." Her voice was enthusiastic and cheerful, completely oblivious to the undercurrents of attraction and tension between you two.

John waved back at her, his expression softening again. He couldn't resist the innocent charm of your daughter. "Bye sweetheart," he replied, his voice still gravelly and deep. Then his gaze shifted back to you, a hint of lingering desire in his eyes.

You shook your head, trying to convince yourself that it was just a friendly gesture. John was just being neighborly, just like he always was. He was a Good Samaritan, that's all. Maybe some hero complex.

There was no way he'd want you.

Divorced mother. Wannabe artist. Raising her kid alone.

Once you and your daughter left his porch, John carried the container into his kitchen. He opened it and was met with the pleasant aroma of your cooking. He took a spoonful up to his lips, the taste of it sending him into utter bliss.

He couldn't help it. Your cooking was something else, truly incredible. He took a seat at the table, continuing to savor each bite, each bite making him almost sad he couldn’t have this every night.

As he continued eating, he came to a realization, one that felt like a punch to the gut. He had to marry you.

He could see it all. You, in the role of a traditional housewife, have a space to call your own for your art. Your little girl - would have everything. She’d never want for anything. Maybe in the future, he’d even be blessed with another, a child of his own blood.

Just the thought of you, round with his child, wearing a wedding ring, made his heart race and his mind dizzy with longing. It wasn’t just a want, it was a goddamn need.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: fluff, camp life

40. Return to Camp

You huffed in frustration as you counted your meager pay, the same pattern of being short on funds continuing once again. It was becoming a recurring and irritating issue that needed to be addressed, and you knew it was time to have a serious, professional conversation with the saloon owner to rectify it.

As you were finishing counting the day's pay, the soft creak of the dressing room door opening caught your attention, your gaze lifting to find Arthur walking through the threshold.

He looked tired, his footsteps weary as he approached the vanity where you were stationed. His eyes flicked down to the money in front of you, a subtle frown tugging at the corners of his lips as he caught sight of the amount.

"Short again?" he asked, his voice tinged with concern as he took a seat on one of the stools in the room.

You sighed, nodding in confirmation. "Yes," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of frustration. "Seems like he’s finding every excuse to short me these days."

Arthur's eyes flickered with annoyance, a subtle narrowing of his gaze at the mention of the owner's behavior. "Seems like I’ve got a chat with that fool ahead of me," he grumbled, his voice filled with a mix of irritation and determination.

You shook your head, your tone firm as you responded, “No, you’ve done enough in this town, you don’t need any more drama. I can handle this situation with him myself.”

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed slightly, a mix of concern and determination in his gaze. "I ain’t worried about drama," he responded, his voice gruff but filled with sincerity. "I’m more concerned about that snake takin’ advantage of my woman."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a mix of warmth and admiration for his protective nature filling you. You chuckled softly and gave him a small smile, “Well, that’s sweet and all, but I can handle this.“

Arthur's expression remained resolute, his gaze fixed on you. "I know you can. But I ain’t gonna sit back while he shortchanges you, Darlin’"

His words were filled with a mixture of sincerity and protectiveness, his desire to protect you and ensure that you received fair compensation for your work shining through.

You smiled, your eyes meeting his with a mix of reassurance and determination. "Let me talk to him first, okay?" you replied, your voice filled with a touch of assertiveness. "And if he doesn't change his ways, then you can have at him."

Arthur's expression softened, a hint of reluctant agreement flickering in his eyes. "Fine," he conceded, his tone tinged with a touch of protectiveness and irritation.

You couldn't help but smile as you leaned up and pecked his cheek, a sense of excitement and anticipation coursing through you. "Come on," you said, your voice filled with a sense of urgency, "Gracie's already packed."

Arthur's eyes widened slightly, his expression a mix of surprise and amusement. "She's ready to go, is she?" he inquired, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

You couldn't help but giggle at the thought of Gracie's enthusiasm and quick movements, her excitement to be on the open road evident in her behavior. "Her little feet looked like they were on fire with how fast she was moving," you said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Arthur chuckled softly, his expression softening at the mention of Gracie's eagerness. "That girl has more stamina than a horse," he mused, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You nodded in agreement, a fond smile on your lips as you envisioned Gracie's energetic and lively demeanor. "I swear, it's like she runs on endless energy."

As you and Arthur walk, his hand closes around yours, their fingers intertwining. The touch is both familiar and grounding.

As you reach the house, Gracie is already waiting on the porch steps, her excitement palpable and evident in her wide-eyed excitement. She bounced up and down eagerly as she watched the two of you approach.

Upon seeing her impatience, you couldn't help but smile at her eagerness and infectious energy. "Someone looks ready to hit the road," you observed, an amused glint in your eyes.

Gracie's enthusiasm knew no bounds, her excitement practically oozing out of her as she nodded vigorously in agreement. "I am so ready!" she exclaimed, her words tumbling out in an animated burst, “I’ve got a new book to show Grandpa Hosea!”

Your heart swelled with affection for the little girl, her eagerness to share her new book with Hosea being quite endearing.

Hosea had always been a source of trust and reliability, a comforting presence in the gang. His loyalty and kindness never wavered. But Dutch, on the other hand, had grown into a mystery, his actions and motives growing less transparent. Your trust and faith in him were shaken, leaving you with a feeling of uncertainty and unease.

Arthur scooped up Gracie with a heartfelt smile, his words carrying a sense of genuine affection. "I'm sure Hosea will love it," he reassured her, his voice filled with warmth.

Gracie's face lit up with excitement at Arthur's words, her small hands clutching her book tightly against her chest as she beamed at him. "You think so?" she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of hopefulness and anticipation.

Arthur chuckled softly, his gaze meeting hers with a mix of indulgence and affection. "I know so, sweetheart," he replied, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips.

The journey to camp was filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation. Arthur mounted a horse while you and Gracie sat behind him. As you rode through the beautiful landscape, the wind blowing through your hair, you felt a sense of peace and freedom. Gracie's excitement was infectious, and you found yourself catching glimpses of her wide-eyed wonder and awe as she took in the scenery around her. The evening sun was overhead, and the sound of birds chirping filled the air.nn

After what seemed like forever, you arrived at camp, the familiar sight of your makeshift home greeting you as you dismounted the horse.

"We're here!" Gracie exclaimed, her voice filled with excitement as she jumped off the horse, her book safely tucked under her arm.

Arthur and you exchanged amused looks, unable to hold back your smiles at her enthusiasm. The camp looked cozy and welcoming, and the familiar faces of the gang members waved as they noticed your arrival.

Karen, having been engaged in a lively conversation with Sean, noticed your arrival and let out a hearty laugh. "Well, it's about time you came back," she teased, her voice tinged with a mix of playful banter and genuine affection.

Arthur chuckled, his eyes glinting with a hint of sarcasm. "Oh, I see how it is. No welcome party for me?" he remarked, his voice dripping with faux disappointment.

Karen rolled her eyes playfully, a friendly smirk on her lips. "Arthur, I knew you'd come back eventually. Like a stray dog, you just can't stay away from too long."

Arthur feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart in mock indignation. "Stray dog? I'll have you know, I'm more like a proud stallion. I just happen to like roaming in other fields from time to time."

Tilly, always quick with banter, joined in the conversation, her voice tinged with playful ribbing. "Yeah, and repopulating those fields, too," she added, a cheeky smirk on her face.

A chorus of chuckles and laughs filled the air as the gang joined in on the light-hearted teasing.

Grace, her young energy and wide smile on display, quickly made a beeline towards Hosea, her book clutched tight in her hands. Hosea, who had been engaged in conversation with Lenny, immediately noticed her approach and grinned warmly at the young girl.

"Hello, Gracie," Hosea greeted, his voice radiating warmth and affection. "What you got there?" he inquired, his gaze flickering down to the book in Gracie's hand.

"A new book! It’s just like the one you were telling me about!" Gracie burst out, her voice filled with excitement as she held up the book for Hosea to see.

Hosea's eyes widened in surprise and delight as he recognized the book in Gracie's hands. "Is that so?" he responded, a smile spreading across his face as he peered at the book, his curiosity piqued.

Gracie nodded enthusiastically, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Yes! It's all about wild animals!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of excitement and wonder. "I even made some drawings on the pages!"

Hosea chuckled softly, a hint of nostalgia in his gaze as he observed Gracie, "Just like your daddy," He mused, his tone filled with affection.

As you looked around the camp, your gaze settled on a woman scrubbing dishes with a fierce determination. Her stern expression caught your attention, and there was a striking similarity in her facial features that sparked a hint of familiarity within you.

Arthur, his keen awareness of your presence, noticed your gaze fixed on the woman scrubbing dishes. A subtle frown crossed his face, his protective instincts kicking in. He leaned in close and whispered, "Everything okay, darlin’?"

You nodded to reassure him, your voice was barely above a whisper. "Just… I think I’ve met that woman," you replied with a sense of curiosity.

Arthur’s brow furrowed in concern, his gaze flickering to the woman you mentioned. "Where do ya think you met her?" he inquired, his voice filled with a hint of suspicion.

You looked up into Arthur's eyes, the memory of your previous encounter with the woman filling your mind. "She delivered Grace when I was in labor. I was stuck on the side of the road. I was in too much pain to move. If it wasn't for her… we wouldn't be here."

A flicker of understanding passed over Arthur's face as he connected the dots, the weight of your words sinking in. "That was her?" he asked, the initial look of confusion replaced by a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“I’m about to find out,” You nodded, a sense of purpose filling you. "I'll be right back," you said to Arthur, your voice tinged with determination.

You made your way over to the woman, who was now drying the dishes. She looked up as you approached, a mix of surprise and curiosity in her eyes.

You approached the woman with a friendly smile, gently clearing your throat to get her attention. "Excuse me, ma’am, you might not remember me," you began, your voice tinged with a hint of nervousness and hopefulness.

Sadie stood up with a warm smile, her recognition of you immediately evident. "Don’t be a damn fool. Of course, I remember you," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth and joy as she pulled you into a tight embrace.

Sadie held you in her arms for a moment, a mix of surprise and happiness radiating from her. She took a step back, her eyes studying your face, as if searching for any changes that time had brought upon you, "It’s been a long while. You look good."

You chuckled softly, a sense of nostalgia filling you as you met her gaze. "It has been a while," you agreed, your voice tinged with a mix of reminiscence and amusement. "You look good yourself."

Sadie looked around the campsite, her eyes scanning the area with curiosity. "Where is that little one?" she asked, her voice filled with affection, hinting at her fond memories of Gracie.

You pointed to Gracie, who sat nearby, engrossed in the book she was reading to little Jack. Sadie followed your gaze, her eyes landing on the heartwarming sight of the young girl.

Her expression softened, a warm smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Oh, bless.." she murmured softly, her voice filled with a mix of tenderness and affection.

Sadie's brow knitted in confusion as she posed the question, "What the hell are you doing here? You owe them something?" Her voice tinged with a concerned curiosity.

You shook your head vehemently, dismissing her assumption. "No, no, not at all. Arthur Morgan, that one there, that’s her daddy," you replied, your voice filled with a mix of pride and defensiveness.

Sadie's eyes widen as she realizes the truth. "Really?" her voice filled with surprise and a hint of disbelief, “What a small world.”

You nodded, a soft smile playing at your lips. "Yes, it sure is," you agreed, your voice tinged with a touch of irony. The connection between Gracie and Arthur's true paternity had indeed made the world seem smaller.

The sound of Pearson calling out to you broke the moment, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. You turned your head, your attention shifting toward the direction of his voice.

Pearson grimaced, his expression a mixture of frustration and dismay. "I've messed up. Badly," he admitted, his voice filled with a sense of regret.

Your expression turned to concern, your curiosity piqued by his words. "What do you mean?" you inquired, your voice tinged with a mix of worry and bafflement.

Pearson sighed heavily, his frustration evident. "Dinner. Swear to the heavens it’s worse than anything I’ve made," he exclaimed, his voice filled with irritation and self-deprecation. "I must have added something or not enough, because it just tastes like utter shit."

You couldn't help but laugh, "And why do you need me?" you asked, your amusement clearly showing.

Pearson rolled his eyes playfully, a hint of sarcasm in his response. "It's quite simple. I need a skilled palate like yours to salvage this disaster," he quipped, his voice filling with lighthearted banter.

You chuckled softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Oh, so I'm your last resort, huh?" you teased, a hint of humor in your voice.

Pearson shrugged, his expression feigning nonchalance. "Last resort? Nah, let's just say I was saving the best for last," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

As you followed Pearson, Arthur's voice rang out, "Aye, where you going with her?" You could hear a mix of concern and curiosity in his tone.

You looked back at Arthur, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I'm going to save Pearson's sorry attempt at dinner," you called back, your voice filled with playful sarcasm.

Arthur rolled his eyes playfully, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Is that so? Good luck with that. I don't know if even you can salvage Pearson's disastrous cooking," he replied, his voice filled with a mix of jest and affection.

You laughed, unable to resist the banter, "Oh, have a little faith! I'll have you know, I'm a miracle worker."

You couldn't help but grimace as you observed the pot of stew in front of you. "What is that floating around in there?" you asked, a hint of disgust in your voice as you pointed to the unidentifiable floating objects in the pot.

Pearson grimaced, his expression filled with a mix of embarrassment and regret. "That… would be the sheep… I think," he admitted sheepishly, his voice tinged with a hint of shame.

You quirked an eyebrow, your expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. "You don’t know?" you teased, a hint of sarcasm in your words.

Pearson let out a weary sigh, his frustration evident. "Well, the butcher I got it from said it was sheep," he explained, his voice tinged with a touch of defensiveness.

You couldn't help but chuckle, shaking your head in playful disbelief. "Ah, so it's the butcher's fault then?" you teased, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Pearson rolled his eyes, a mixture of exasperation and humor, "Well, who else's fault is it?" he retorted, his voice filled with a touch of sarcasm.

You went to work, adding and substituting ingredients, stirring the pot with a determined focus. The smell wafting through the air was slowly but surely improving as you worked your magic on the disaster that Pearson had created.

As you added more spices and vegetables, the aroma of the stew transformed from disastrous to mouthwatering. The once dull and unappetizing pot now held a rich and flavorful concoction that even made your stomach rumble.

Pearson stood nearby, watching you work with a mixture of awe and relief. "You are like a miracle worker," he marveled, his voice filled with admiration as he took in the transformation before him.

You chuckled, a sense of satisfaction washing over you as you savored the improved smell and sight of the stew. "And yet people still doubt me," you replied, a hint of smugness in your voice.

You finished up with your final touches and called out, "Dinner's done!" Your voice carried through the air, a sense of satisfaction filling you.

The gang's attention was caught, and they started to make their way over to the pot, their curiosity piqued.

One by one, the gang members walked over, forming a line to receive their bowls. The air was filled with the mouthwatering scent of the improved stew, and expressions of excitement and anticipation were evident on each face.

"Now this looks good," Lenny complimented, a wide smile spreading across his face as he eyed the steaming pot of stew.

"Finally, some edible food," Karen quipped, a hint of sarcasm in her voice, as she eagerly accepted her bowl.

Tilly chimed in with a teasing tone, "Well, it's about time we had some proper cooking around here."

The gang members continued to voice their approval, their anticipation growing with each new compliment.

You settled down next to Arthur, a contented smile on your face as you shared the meal. The once disappointing stew had now become quite enjoyable, and the sight of everyone satisfied warmed your heart.

Grace finished her dinner with a satisfied smile, her energy overflowing. She bounded over to Jack and eagerly engaged in their usual playful banter, laughing and enjoying the carefree atmosphere. The sky gradually darkened as the sun started to set, but the laughter and conversations of the gang filled the air with a warm and pleasant ambiance.

You observed Grace and Jack having the time of their lives, their laughter and playful energy filling the air. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched them, and you couldn't help but chime in, "They really have a good time, don't they?"

Abigail's words carried a heavy weight; her concern for Jack was evident in her voice. "It's nice for him to have a friend," she affirmed, her voice filled with a mix of warmth and worry. "I worry about him... living like this."

Her gaze drifted towards the children playing in the distance, their laughter and carefree attitude a stark contrast to the rough, chaotic life they all led. "Being raised in the gang, he's getting all kinds of ideas," she continued, a hint of resignation in her tone.

"It's hard to keep him on the right path," Abigail lamented, her words filled with a mix of worry and helplessness. "I'm starting to think we should move on to somewhere quiet. Maybe a farm."

Your eyebrows furrowed, your attention now fully focused on her words. Abigail's desire for a peaceful life on a farm caught you off guard, and a mix of surprise and concern washed over you. "Really? You’d leave all this?" you asked, your voice tinged with surprise and curiosity.

Abigail nodded, her expression resolute, yet filled with a touch of uncertainty. "It's crossed my mind more and more lately. This life is... hard. Jack deserves better, and it ain’t like his father's going to do anything about it," she confessed, her voice carrying a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Your heart ached for her, the weight of her worries and desires palpable in her words. "What does Jack think?" you inquired softly, your voice gentle and understanding.

Abigail chuckled softly, her eyes filled with a mixture of amusement and resignation. "If he had his way, he'd be robbing along with them," she responded, a hint of humor in her tone.

As the evening progressed, you noticed a lone figure sitting against a tree, his expression filled with a sense of gloom and isolation. He seemed distant from the joyful atmosphere, his lack of interaction with the others piquing your curiosity. With a mixture of concern and compassion, you decided to fill up a bowl of food and approached him, a small smile on your face as you offered it to him.

"Sir? Would you like some supper? I didn’t see you eat," you inquired, your voice gentle and inviting as you extended the bowl towards him.

The lone man's gaze flickered up to meet yours, his expression momentarily caught off guard by your unexpected approach. He studied you for a moment, his eyes sizing you up before he nodded slowly, accepting the bowl from your hand.

As the man accepted the bowl of food, your gaze shifted to his wrists, and to your surprise, you noticed they were tightly tied to the tree. A mixture of confusion and concern washed over you, your mind racing to make sense of this unexpected scene.

The man's voice, tinged with a hint of gratitude, broke the silence. "Thank you, Miss," he said, his words carrying a sense of appreciation for your kind gesture.

You knelt next to the tree, examining the ropes that bound the man. Your brows furrowed in a perplexed expression, and a question escaped your lips, "Why have they tied you to a tree?"

The man's response came with a weary sigh, his words carrying a hint of resignation. "Just to keep an eye on me," he explained, his tone tinged with a mix of acceptance and slight exasperation.

Your eyes scanned the surrounding area, taking in the scene before you. The man seemed harmless, his demeanor passive and unthreatening. Still, the sight of him tethered to a tree left you feeling uneasy and concerned.

You decided to cut to the chase, your curiosity getting the better of you. "What’s your name?” you asked, your voice tinged with a hint of friendly curiosity.

“Kieran Duffy, Miss,” The name was unfamiliar, yet it stirred a sense of intrigue within you. You continued to appraise the man, noting the way the firelight danced across his features, casting shadows on his face.

As you looked into his eyes, you keenly observed a sense of sadness that seemed to linger within him. There was a profound melancholy etched onto his face, a weariness in his eyes that spoke volumes about the weight he carried.

You gestured towards Gracie goofing off with Jack, a fond smile gracing your face. "I'm (Y/N)," you introduced yourself, your voice carrying a hint of warmth, "and my daughter's name is Grace," you indicated to Gracie, "She’s Arthur’s little girl."

Dutch's voice sliced through the air, his tone filled with a mix of arrogance and condescension, “How nice of you to feed our new friend, (y/n).” The unexpected interruption caught you off guard, and you turned to face him, your expression a mix of annoyance and guarded politeness.

Dutch walked over, an exaggerated swagger in his steps, his expression smug as he glanced at Kieran before returning his gaze to you. "Making friends already, are ya?" he inquired, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Dutch gently pulled you away, his grip on your arm firm yet not forceful. As he spoke, his voice carried a hint of warning. "Don't be talking to him. He's an O'Driscoll," he growled, irritation evident in his tone.

You furrowed your brow, a hint of surprise in your expression. "Oh, I... I didn't know," you replied, a sense of ignorance in your voice. The revelation about Kieran's association with the O'Driscoll gang caught you off guard.

Your voice carried a mix of curiosity and concern as you questioned Dutch's decision to keep Kieran bound to a tree. "Why is he here? Why are you keeping him tied to a tree instead of... You know?"

Dutch's features hardened, his irritation growing as he responded, his voice firm and uncompromising. "Because we ain’t gonna kill a feller before we find out what he knows," he declared, his words laced with a mix of practicality and determination.

You nodded in understanding, but a nagging thought lingered in your mind. "Dutch, could I speak to you privately?" you requested, your tone carrying a hint of urgency.

Dutch nodded in agreement, his expression softening slightly as he acknowledged your request. "Of course," he replied, gesturing towards a nearby secluded area away from the campsite.

You followed Dutch to a more secluded area, the noise from the camp becoming distant as you distanced yourself from the hustle and bustle. The air felt quieter, the atmosphere more intimate, as you stood face to face with Dutch.

Your voice was steady, but there was a hint of uncertainty and vulnerability in your words. "I know you’ve said you’re sorry, that you’ve admitted your mistake. But I just... I’d like to understand why. Why didn't you ever tell him about me or Gracie?"

Dutch sighed, his expression a mix of remorse and regret. "I had my reasons. None of them was good enough," he confessed, his voice tinged with honesty and a hint of guilt. "I was a fool," he continued, his eyes clouded with introspection. "I let myself go blind. I was so focused on keeping myself safe that I failed to see the bigger picture."

The pain in Dutch's voice was evident, a palpable sense of remorse in his words. "I was a fool," he repeated, his tone filled with self-reproach. "I let myself lose sight of what truly matters, blinded by a need to protect those close to me."

As you shook your head, a mixture of emotions filled your heart. "I would have never sold you out," you asserted softly, your voice steady and firm. "Any one of you. Daddy said y’all were like family."

Dutch’s expression softened, the weight of your words sinking in. "You still believe that? That we’re family?" he inquired.

You took a moment, mulling over his question. Your feelings towards the gang were one thing, but Dutch personally? It was a different story. You weren't quite sure how you felt about him anymore.

But still, you nodded. Even though your feelings towards him were conflicted, you understood that he was inextricably tied to the gang. One could not have one without the other.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of caution, wary of the possibility of future betrayal. Your heart had been wounded once before, and the lingering pain echoed in your mind. This time, you’d keep your guard up, vigilant and watchful, like a deer on high alert for the lurking threat of a sly predator.

As you watched, Grace was holding onto Arthur tightly, her tired eyes struggling to stay open. The little girl had grown tired from the day’s activities and was now finding comfort in the familiar arms of her father.

Her head was buried in his chest, her small body snuggled against his strong frame. Arthur, on his part, was rubbing circles in her back, a tender expression on his face as he noticed her exhaustion.

You approached Arthur and Grace, a warm smile tugging at your lips. The sight of the little girl snuggled in her father’s arms and the tender expression on his face stirred something within you.

As you stood there, witnessing the tender moment between Arthur and Grace, a wave of emotions washed over you. The thought of leaving this behind, losing these cherished moments, filled you with a fierce determination. You would fight relentlessly, tooth and nail, to hold onto these precious fragments of happiness.

As Arthur looked up, his gaze locking with yours, his expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The world around you seemed to fade for a moment as your eyes met, a silent understanding passing between you both.

“‘m tired, daddy,” Grace’s small voice broke the silent moment, her words muffled by the fabric of Arthur’s shirt.

A soft smile spread across his face. "I can tell, sweetheart," he replied affectionately, his voice tinged with tenderness. He lifted her into his arms, adjusting her position against his chest.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, his voice both tender and commanding. With a final glance in your direction, he began walking towards the tent, cradling the sleepy girl securely in his arms.

Arthur placed Grace in bed, tucking her in with care, his gentle tone carrying a promise of protection. "You sleep good now, okay?" he whispered gently. "Me and your momma will be right outside if you need us."

Grace nodded sleepily, her tired eyes barely open as she mumbled, “I want every day to be like today.”

Arthur’s expression softened further, a mix of affection and tenderness in his eyes as he heard her drowsy request. "Yeah, sweetheart," he responded softly. "I do too."

Arthur leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Grace's head, his affection expressed through the gentle gesture. He then stood up and turned to leave.

As Arthur approached you by the fire, he noticed the glass bottle in your hand as you hummed a familiar tune. The warmth of the flickering flames cast shadows across your face. A soft smile graced your features, a sense of contentment settling in.

He joined you by the warm glow of the fire, his arm wrapping around you in a comfortable embrace. He took the bottle of moonshine from your hand, lifting it to his lips and taking a generous swig, the familiar taste of the strong moonshine filling his senses.

He leaned in closer, his voice soft and low as he spoke. "I saw you talkin’ with Dutch," he noted, his voice tinged with a mix of concern and curiosity. "Everything okay?"

A pensive expression spread across your features, the recent conversation with Dutch still lingering in your mind. You sighed softly and stole the bottle back, taking a sip of the sharp moonshine before replying, "It will be. Just need some time to… to understand his point of view, I guess."

Arthur nodded, his gaze fixed on your face, understanding etched in his eyes. "Good luck, darlin’," he murmured, his voice tinged with a hint of empathy. "Dutch ain't an easy man to understand."

You let out a weary sigh, acknowledging the complexity of Dutch's character. "I can see that," you responded, your voice tinged with resignation as you took another swig from the bottle. "He's an… intricate being."

Arthur chuckled softly, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Intricate. Now that’s a new way of putting it," he remarked, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement.

The hours ticked by lazily, the night enveloping the camp in a peaceful stillness. The moon shone brightly overhead, casting silvery light on the camp, and the only sounds were the crackling of the fire and the intermittent hoots of owls in the distance. The night remained blissfully free of any major disturbances, creating a tranquil atmosphere that settled over the camp like a warm blanket.

[inkmonster21]

Wildflowers in the Wind

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

Warning: Fluff, rdr cannon violence and missions

39. What I Am and What I Want

It had been a little over two weeks since Arthur had returned to the gang with you and Gracie in tow. Over the span of those days, Arthur was gradually adapting to a routine that, for once in his life, he didn’t mind. He would come to your house late, spend the night, and take a seat at the table with you and Gracie for breakfast. As much as he wanted to deny it, he was slowly becoming domesticated.

But there was still a part of him that was torn. He still felt a strong bond to Dutch and Hosea, the men who had been like fathers to him. They had given him everything.

Your fingertips traced the contours of his chest, your ears attuned to the steady, comforting rhythm of his heart. The steady thumping under your touch was calming, a reminder that he was real and there with you.

It was the small, intimate moments like this that filled your heart with warmth. You continued to trace your finger along the broad expanse of his chest, your touch tender and gentle, savoring the physical connection between you.

Arthur's low voice broke the comfortable silence between you, his words a soft rumble. "Can we talk ‘bout something?" he asked, his tone conveying a mix of seriousness and vulnerability.

You lifted your head from its resting place on his chest, meeting his gaze with curious interest. "What’s on your mind, honey?" you replied, your voice tinged with curiosity.

He took a deep breath, his hand absentmindedly fiddling with a lock of your hair. "Just been thinkin’..." he began, his voice low and contemplative, “‘Bout that future we talked about years ago."

Your heart skipped a beat as he mentioned the future you had once envisioned together, a small stirring of hope and longing within you. The memory of that conversation, filled with dreams and promises, resurfaced in your mind, mingling with the present moment.

You nodded slightly, encouraging him to continue. "What about it?" you asked softly, your voice tinged with anticipation.

He sighed softly, his gaze fixed on some distant point as he spoke, "I ain’t forgot. You know that, right? I'm just..." he trailed off, struggling to find the right words, "I'm just tryin' to figure somethin' out."

Your heart ached at the hint of uncertainty and turmoil in his voice. You gently placed a hand on his chest, your fingers tracing soothing circles on his skin. "I know, Arthur." You spoke softly, trying to keep your own emotions in check, "I know you are. And I'm here for you, you know that. No matter what or where."

He looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of emotions. "I know, darlin’." he murmured, his voice carrying a sense of reassurance, "I just... I don’t know how to make it all work. How we can have a life together. What I am and do is fightin’ against what I want. This life and me don’t go together."

Despite the pain in your heart, you knew you had to ask the question that weighed heavily on your mind. With a gentle, almost timid voice, you inquired, "Arthur, do you think... you would choose to stay here?"

Arthur sighed, his gaze fixed on some distant point. "I want to." he responded, his tone tinged with a mix of determination and uncertainty, "I want to stay here with you. But I just can't leave the gang. Not yet. Everything’s still a damn mess."

Your heart ached at his words. You knew how torn he felt, caught between his loyalty to the gang and his desire for a future with you. You took a deep breath, trying to quell the sense of helplessness that was filling your chest, and nodded.

"I understand." you replied softly, your voice tinged with both disappointment and acceptance, "I know... your loyalty runs deep. And I respect that about you. I just... hope that someday, somehow, we can find a way to have both."

Arthur's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of love and determination. He gently cupped your face in his hands, his touch tender and reassuring. "Don’t think about this the wrong way now, darlin’." he began, his voice low and resolute, “I ain’t letting you go. I ain’t letting my family go. I just… I need time."

A mix of emotions washed over you as you absorbed his words. There was a glimmer of hope in his eyes, a silent plea for understanding and patience. You knew he was torn between two worlds, caught in the delicate balance of loyalty and love.

But deep beneath it all, you could see the fire in his eyes, the refusal to give up on the life you had envisioned together. He was fighting for you, for your future, and though he wasn’t sure how it would play out, he was willing to take the chance.

You sighed softly, your heart heavy with a mix of emotions. "I hope you know that we would go with you, Arthur." You murmured, your voice tinged with both affection and resignation.

You felt a mixture of emotions swirling within you as Arthur spoke, his concern for your safety and well-being apparent in his words. "Darlin’, I can’t have you do that." he said, his voice tinged with sincerity, "It’s a dangerous life. No life for you and Gracie."

You knew deep down he was right. The life he led was unpredictable and full of danger, not the ideal setting to raise a young daughter in. But the thought of being separated from him, of not having him by your side, was almost more than you could bear. You’d done it once, you wouldn’t do it again.

You sighed softly, the weight of your predicament feeling like another loop around the same endless circle.

The kiss you shared was filled with a mix of affection and desperation, a silent plea for understanding and connection. As the kiss ended, you murmured, "I’m going to start breakfast."

You took one last look at him, your gaze silently hoping and wishing that these cycles of conversation would soon break. "Alright, darlin’. Right behind ya." He murmured, as he looked at you leaving to go to the kitchen.

Arthur needed to make a decision – a choice that would shape your future together. If he kept running in circles, the universe would step in and decide for him.

Gracie's innocent smile lit up the room as she bounded down the stairs, her eyes lighting up when she spotted Arthur sitting at the table. She was quickly growing accustomed to the presence of her daddy every morning, learning more about him with each passing day.

"Morning, princess," he said, his voice tinged with warmth as he looked up and smiled at her.

Gracie returned his smile with a bright grin of her own. "Morning, Daddy," she chirped, her voice filled with affection.

He chuckled softly, admiring her youthful energy and enthusiasm. "You sleep okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice filled with a mixture of tenderness and concern.

Gracie nodded, her eyes still shimmering with sleepiness. "Yeah, I slept good."

He chuckled. "You sure? You look a little sleepy still." He teased playfully.

Gracie let out a small laugh, her eyes still a touch bleary. "I'm awake, I swear," she insisted, her voice filled with a touch of sass.

He playfully ruffled her hair, a soft smile tugging at his lips. "Alright," he conceded, "just don’t fall face first into your food, okay?"

Gracie giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I won't," she promised, her voice filled with a hint of amusement.

Breakfast was eaten over lighthearted conversation. The sound of spoons clinking against bowls and soft murmurs filled the room, creating a cozy atmosphere.

As breakfast wrapped up, Grace diligently collected the dirty dishes from the table, her mind filled with determination to contribute in some small way.

You smiled with appreciation at Grace's helpful gesture and offered her a grateful nod, saying, "Thank you, sweetheart."

Grace beamed with pride, her little face aglow with a sense of accomplishment. "You're welcome," she replied, her small voice filled with a touch of satisfaction.

Afterwards, Grace went along to school, her bag swung over her shoulder and a slight skip in her step.

The walk to school was filled with a sense of routine, her little footsteps carrying her to the familiar path leading to the building.

Arthur enveloped you in the warmth of his arms, his lips gently tracing tender kisses along the side of your neck, a gesture of affection and comfort.

You leaned into his embrace, enjoying the sensation of his kisses on your neck. Your voice held a touch of curiosity as you inquired, "You busy today?"

“Got some debts to collect. Won’t take me all day.” He murmured in between kisses.

"You coming back here?" you inquired softly, your voice holding a hint of subtle pleading, a need for reassurance that he would return to you.

He nodded, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your hip. "Yes, Darlin’. Be back before sunset." He replied, his voice carrying a soothing reassurance.

You leaned back against his chest, your body molding against his. A small smile to your lips as you speak, "Gracie’s been bugging me, asking when we’re going back to camp. She seems to enjoy playing with that little boy, Jack," you responded with a hint of fond amusement.

He chuckled, his hand gently sifting through your locks. "Is that right?" he mused, his voice tinged with a mix of affection and curiosity.

"Yeah, she’s been really enjoying herself there." You replied with a little shrug, a soft expression on your face as you smiled at the thought of Gracie having fun.

He hummed thoughtfully, his tone carrying a hint of determination. "I'll take y'all back tomorrow, make sure nothing's going on first," he assured you, his words filled with a mix of protectiveness and concern.

You nodded, a sense of reassurance filling you. "Alright," you replied softly, a sliver of hope tugging at your heart, “she’ll love that.”

You exchanged goodbyes with a gentle smile, your words carrying a sense of anticipation. "I’ll see you tonight?" you inquired, holding onto a faint glimmer of hope.

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his grip on your hip tightening momentarily. His voice was filled with a mix of certainty and affection. "You’ll see me tonight, Darlin," he affirmed, his words carrying a promise that held you firmly in his thoughts.

You sighed softly as you watched him ride off, a pang of nostalgia and longing washing over you. The feeling of being a young, dumb teenager was palpable, as if the emotions of the past were relived in the present moment.

You loved Arthur deeply, from the depths of your heart. The weight of your love for him was a constant presence, a force that shaped your emotions and thoughts.

You hurriedly got dressed, eager to begin the day's activities. You had agreed to help a young girl learn piano, and you were excited about the opportunity. The extra money it would bring was a welcome addition to your income, especially since your salary at the saloon was steadily declining.

After straightening out your outfit, you grabbed your teaching materials and made your way to the family’s home.

You greeted the mother at the door with a warm smile and a pleasant tone, recognizing her from your previous conversation at the general store. "Mrs. Downes?" you said, your eyes meeting hers with courteous familiarity, “I hope you're well. We spoke earlier this week at the general store."

The mother returned your smile with a weary one, nodding slightly, acknowledging your presence and memory of your prior interaction. "Yes, I remember," she responded softly, her voice carrying a hint of stress, “come in.”

As you entered the home, your gaze immediately landed on the little girl, already eagerly situated in front of an old piano. Her small frame practically vibrated with anticipation, clearly excited about the upcoming piano lesson.

Edith smiled affectionately at her daughter, introducing you to her. "Maggie, darling," she said, turning to her daughter, "this is who I was telling you about. She's going to teach you how to play Daddy's favorite instrument."

The little girl - Maggie - looked up at you with eager eyes, her small face filled with curiosity. She was clearly intrigued by the idea of learning to play the piano, especially since it had been her father's favorite instrument.

However, you couldn't help but notice a hint of sadness in her eyes. Her excitement was tinged with a sense of worry, or impending dread.

The sound of a harsh cough echoed from the upstairs bedroom, cutting through the air like a knife. Edith pressed her lips together, her expression filled with concern. "My husband isn't feeling well," she explained, a hint of distress in her voice, "Excuse me just a moment. He needs some tea."

With a weary look, she made her way to the stairs, leaving you standing with her daughter. Your eyes lingered on her retreating figure, a sense of empathy tugging at your heart.

You offered a warm and friendly smile to Maggie, your heart filled with empathy and a desire to put her at ease. "Maggie, I’ve got some basic things we can do on the piano if you’d like.”

Her face brightened with excitement as she enthusiastically nodded her little head. "Yes, please.”

You chuckled softly, amused by her eagerness. "Let's start with the basics," you suggested, motioning for her to take a seat on the piano bench.

Her little body scurried over to the piano bench, her feet barely reaching the pedals. You couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle at her adorable enthusiasm.

You sat down next to her, preparing yourself to teach her the basics. The sound of the piano keys under your fingertips sent a wave of nostalgia through you, a reminder of your own journey of learning the instrument.

As you played, the sound of a violent coughing fit could be heard coming from the upstairs bedroom. It was a jarring interlude, interrupting the melodic atmosphere of the lesson for just a moment.

Maggie's eyes grew sad as she looked up at the stairs, the sound of coughing from her father's room tugging at her emotions. Your heart ached for the little girl, sensing the weight of her worries.

It was clear that her father's illness had cast a shadow over her young life, and you knew that even this simple piano lesson couldn't completely erase the pain she was feeling.

You gently coaxed her, a tender smile on your face. "Come on, let's play this song. Just for him," you said, your voice soft and filled with understanding.

Maggie nodded silently, her hands moving onto the keys with a determination that belied her young age. Playing the song was obviously important to her, a way to share love and comfort with her ill father.

After a day of chasing down debts, Arthur finally completed the list, successfully tracking down Chick Matthews, Lilly Millet, and a German man named Wróbel. Tired and weary, he was excited to finally return to Strauss, satisfied with the progress he had made.

Strauss's voice greeted Arthur as he walked up, his German accent adding a touch of formality to the atmosphere. "How did you get on, Herr Morgan?" he inquired, his gaze fixed on Arthur.

Arthur's tone was nonchalant as he reported back to Strauss, a hint of indifference in his voice. "Fine, our accounts are up to date," he stated matter-of-factly. "Sad sacks, the lot of 'em."

Strauss nodded, acknowledging the name, "Yes, there's one other, a farmer… a preacher fellow in Valentine, Mr. Downes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on Arthur.

Arthur's response carried a hint of sarcasm as he confirmed Strauss's observation. "The opinionated little do-gooder, yeah, I know the one," he affirmed with a touch of disdain in his voice, "I certainly know the type."

Strauss's tone was firm, his words carrying a hint of warning. "He's more slippery than he seems," he observed with a stern expression, "I've tried being polite, and it's like talking to a mule. Don't take no nonsense."

Arthur's response was filled with a hint of sarcasm, “Nonsense, me?”

Strauss's tone, however, remained resolute and firm as he issued a command on what to do if Mr. Downes failed to pay up. "If he doesn't have the money, beat him," he instructed bluntly, his gaze unflinching.

Arthur nodded, a hint of grim determination in his expression, "Well, I usually do," he confirmed, his response carrying a hint of resignation, as he had done this same song and dance multiple times before.

As Arthur made his way through the middle of the camp, he found a spot to sit down, pulling out a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it up. He took a deep drag, the smoke filling the air, as he surveyed the camp and its inhabitants.

He noticed the hustle and bustle of camp life around him, the gang members going about their daily activities. Some were cooking, others chatting, and a few were engaged in some light-hearted sparring. It was a familiar sight, a scene that he had become accustomed to in his many years with the gang. But amidst the normalcy, a nagging thought lingered in his mind, you.

Hosea, noticing Arthur sitting alone, walked over and sat down next to him, a soft sigh escaping his lips. He lit a cigarette himself, taking a long drag before breaking the comfortable silence.

Hosea's soft-spoken inquiry broke the comfortable silence, his words carrying a hint of warm nostalgia. "When are your girls coming back around? They're missed." he asked, a tender smile playing on his lips at the mention of Gracie and you.

Arthur chuckled softly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the thought of his girls. "Soon, Hosea," he replied, a touch of affection in his voice, "Just had to make sure nothing was happening before I brought them."

Hosea nodded understandingly, his gaze fixed on the crackling fire in front of them. "Oh this is the safest place they could be," he chuckled, his tone filled with a mix of wisdom and concern.

Arthur let out a weary sigh, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames before him. “Yeah,” he echoed, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion and resignation.

Hosea, sensing the weight of Arthur's sigh, gently placed a hand on his shoulder. "Everything alright, son? With your family?" he asked, his tone filled with genuine concern.

Arthur tensed slightly at Hosea's question, his shoulders stiffening under his mentor's hand. He took a deep breath, his gaze still fixed on the fire, "yeah, everything’s fine," he replied, his voice holding a hint of hesitation, "just worried is all."

Hosea's hand remained on Arthur's shoulder, his grip tightening slightly. "What you worried about?" he inquired, his tone soft yet firm, indicating that he wasn't going to accept a vague answer.

Arthur sighed again, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his gaze from the fire, his gaze now fixed on the ground. His voice was quiet, filled with a mix of worry and uncertainty as he spoke, "everything… it all. With the gang, (y/n) and me. Grace and her future…” he trailed off, unable to find the words to accurately describe his worries, “Can’t give either of them what they deserve. Can’t be the man they need me to be.”

Hosea's expression softened, his grip on Arthur's shoulder remaining steady as he listened intently to his protégé's worries and anxieties. He understood the weight of responsibility that weighed on Arthur's shoulders, and he knew that his boy was struggling to find a balance between the life he knew and the life he wanted to build.

"Arthur, son, they just need you."

Hosea's voice was soft yet firm, his words carrying a hint of wisdom and experience. “Just you," he reiterated, his gaze meeting Arthur's, filled with a mix of understanding and determination, "They don't care about the life you'd have with the gang. (Y/N) and Gracie know you, and they know your worth. They just want you in their life, son. Any way they can have you."

Arthur looked up at Hosea, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. He knew that Hosea spoke the truth, but the weight of his past and his responsibility to the gang still weighed heavy on his shoulders. "I know… but what about the gang, Hosea?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of guilt and obligation, "I owe everything to you and Dutch.”

Hosea chuckled softly, his grip on Arthur's shoulder firming momentarily. "You don't owe me a thing. You've already given me everything you ever could." His voice was filled with both pride and reassurance.

Despite the weight of his worries and responsibilities, a small smile tugged at the corners of Arthur's lips at Hosea's words. It was a bittersweet moment, a mix of gratitude and pain, as he knew that his loyalty and sense of obligation to the gang was one of the biggest obstacles standing in the way of his happiness.

Arthur began to see the glimmer of a path through the tangled web of his mind. Hosea's steady presence and wise words had a way of cutting through the confusion and uncertainty, bringing clarity and perspective to his thoughts.