#Morgan’s are supposed to be long lived horses they are supposed to be strong they are supposed to be Hardy so wtf

[tovarishch-dyke]

When u find out that ur first heart horse is dying slowly and the title track to The Fragile comes in handy when the lyrics scream “I WONT LET YOU FALL APART”, ya know?

[grave-z-boy]

arthur morgan x male reader where reader joins the gang and finds comfort in arthur and at one point gets hurt away from camp and arthur finds them and helps them they camp out at night since it was too dark to go back to camp, and reader and arthur drink and reader drunkenly confessed and there’s some kissing? sorry this is long lmfao. i like ur writing!!

Arthur Morgan x male!reader

Summary: in the months since you've joined Dutch’s gang, you befriended Arthur Morgan, when you can't get ahold on your feelings you start avoiding the man like the plague .

Word count: 2,609

Warning: hunting, guns, mentions of skinning a dear, reader sees a dead dear, reader gets shot, alcohol, reader (and Arthur) get drunk, bugs, period typical (internalized) homophobia, Arthur thinks reader is dying, hozier reference

Masterlist

“Mr. Morgan.” You muttered with a tip of your hat.

Arthur has strode up next to you on his horse, finally back from his days long expedition, just when you were getting ready to leave on yours.

You’d joined the gang not too many months back. You’re parents had been outlaws way back when, and friends of Dutch- they were able to get out of that business early on, settle down, only to be pulled back in while doing a little favor for Dutch and the boys. They lost their lives doing the “little favor”. Years later you still try not to think too hard on it.

Being outlaws, the others weren’t all too welcoming to a new, strange man joining the gang, even if Dutch had vouched for you. You didn’t mind, they would have their own opinions of you until they rolled over and died and there wasn’t much you could do about it. You did, somehow, manage to befriend Arthur. Well, “befriend” might be a bit strong, but he was friendly enough with you. Friendly enough for you to- without meaning to- gain a sort of attraction to the man.

You figured you could just shove it down as far as you could, appreciate the little kindness the man did you, and make it enough. It wasn’t, you wanted more from him and you weren’t supposed to. The comfort you felt around the man dried up like an old well and the relationship you were building had come to a standstill. Your interactions have gone from friendly stories around a fire and taking on the town together, to short, stiff nods as you left- or as he left. You made it a point to leave whenever he came back from one of his trips- nearly jumping to your feet and running to your horse when you heard him coming.

“Where ya headed?” He asked, not looking at you, but instead down at the mane of his horse.

“Hunting…”

He hummed, “Want me to come along?”

Yes.

“No, I'll be alright, ‘m only gonna be out there for a couple of hours, and you just got back, you should get some rest.”

With a short sigh, Arthur dismounted his horse. Shooting you one last glance before saying, “Be careful out there, Y/n.”

“Will do, Arthur.”

—————

Your lungs burned as you rested against a thick tree, hunting rifle in hand, you free had clutched the leaking wound on your side. It was just a graze, you could tell without even looking at it, a grave that only oozed blood due to the fact that you took off running the second it happened.

You were maybe 5 feet away from a deer, so close you could grab the damn thing and slit its throat if you wanted to. But you didn’t, not yet, you just wanted to look at it for now. It had been shot before, a shot you were shocked it survived, straight through its stomach, blood dried around the creature's wound. The deer walked with a limp, and let out a pained noise every time it moved. Big, pitch-black eyes stared into yours, and all thoughts of killing the animal left your mind.

Then you heard a gun fire. The deer ran off, and you’d been knocked to the ground. The bullet gets maybe an inch into your skin, and exits a second later. Grabbing your riffle you took off as fast as you could.

Which leads you to where you are now, back at the little camp you’d made for yourself. The hunter- as godawful of a shot he was, was long gone, you watched him leave, the hide of the dear tossed over his horse's back. You wanted to leave, head back to camp and get patched up, and pretend like tonight hadn’t happened, like everything was normal and fine. You pushed yourself up on the tree, the uneven bark chipping and leaving little wood fragments on your hand, using the rapidly drying blood as an adhesive. your side throbbed painfully, the blood leaving a mark on the light colored tree.

With a groan you turned towards your horse, only for her to drop to the ground, letting out a neigh, which you decided was her way of telling you that she wasn't going to let you ride her covered in blood- or that she was tired.

“You ass.” You muttered.

She seemingly sunk deeper into herself, getting comfortable.

Dropping back down to the floor and resting your head against the tree with a groan.

It took you longer than ever to collect dry wood for a fire. Bending down felt like hell and you considered for a moment just letting the elements take you. You pulled yourself together eventually, starting a fire, eating some dried meat, using your bag as a pillow you tried to get some sleep. You wouldn’t usually leave a wound unattended but you had no supplies, no alcohol, no clean water, and no bandages. You figured you'd deal with the consequences of your frantic packing later. For now, you just wanted to rest.

Your fire had died down, just barely lit. But the cold wasn't what woke you. The familiar sound of a horse galloping against the dirt, growing closer by the second, caused you to jump out of your sleep. You groaned, pushing yourself up in an attempt to move out of the way, the throbbing in your side had turned to a seating pain, and you hissed as you tried to drag yourself away, finding yourself back against the same tree as before.

The tiny clearing quickly became overwhelming as another rider approached. You could hardly see them it was so dark, your fire from before now a pile of smoke. You heard them drop off their horse, footsteps, slow and even, making their way toward you. You tried to use the tree as leverage, trying to push yourself up, be at least a little less pathetic. Your breathing was pained and labored, and with little regard- for yourself, you stood. The man finally stepped close enough for you to make out his features in the dark, standing less than 4 feet in front of you was Arthur.

“Y/n..” he breathed out.

Relief flooded your body as Arthur looked over you, his hands firmly set on your shoulders.

“Arthur, what are you doing out here?” you asked, more awake now, but still pained.

“Saving your ass, apparently.”

“‘M fine.”

You leaned back against the tree, the pain from your wound becoming far too noticeable for your liking. You pressed your hand to it without thinking, blood once again spewing from the wound.

“You’re hurt?”

“It’s nothing..”

He grabbed your hand, snatching it away from your wound, covered in blood and dirt, he looked at it, then looked back up at you. The blood soaking through your clothes and making them stick to your skin.

“I got shot..” you muttered, snatching your and away.

Arthur gave you a look, a look that had a few strong words associated with it, but he saved them for later. Lifting your shirt, glaring up at you, seeing just how unattended the wound was.

“So you were just gonna stay out here and bleed to death?”

“It’s not that bad..”

“Could’ve been-“

“But it isn’t-“

“I told you to be careful-“

“I didn’t get shot on purpose-“

“You didn’t come back to camp on purpose-“

“My damn horse wouldn’t-“

“Well you should’ve woke it’s ass up-“

A particularly painful throb ended your argument with Arthur, clutching your side, you pushing him away with your free hand. You kneeled down, deciding to collect more wood to rebuild the fire and show Arthur that you were fine. As you gathered sticks in your hand you heard Arthur kneel beside you, you didn't look at him, your hands shook but you still tried to gather the sticks in front of you. Your irritation grew immensely, only to be snuffed out when you felt one of Arthurs's hands cover yours.

“Let me handle this..”

You wanted to argue, but you didn’t, your hands were shaking and the wound was only becoming more irritated. Resisting the urge to throw the sticks down and stomp off like a child, you let him take them from your hands, then, with one hand on your chest, he guided you down.

You glared up at him, but he only looked at you with worry. He held your eyes in his for a second before going to check the wound. Moving your coat and lifting your bloodied shirt, he let out a long sigh, glaring up at you for a moment, then back down at the wound.

You so desperately wanted to be mad at him, but as his finger caressed the tender skin around your wound, you couldn’t keep up the act. Your body relaxed, as did your mind.

“Wait here..” he said, you didn’t argue.

Laid on your back, staring up at the trees, and the beautiful clear sky, you listened to Arthur shuffle around the little camp. A few minutes later, a fire was started, and even from here, you could feel its warmth.

He came back to you with his hands full of supplies, bandages, a cloth, and a flask. You could finally see him fully, the warm light of the fire casting a dim light on the side of his face.

“Let me look at ya’” he said quietly.

After a moment of examining you under the light, he reached for the flask.

“This is gonna sting..”

He was right, it did, you choked on a breath as he poured a generous amount of alcohol onto the open wound. Your hand reached for his coat sleeve, gripping it tightly as he dried the wound with the cloth. You were patched up a couple of seconds later, the bandage pulled tight around your abdomen.

Arthur helped you sit up, your wound, cleaned and pampered, stung considerably less. Then, with one of Arthur’s hands on your back, and the other resting on your unwounded side, you felt warm. Your face flushed and in your mind, you blamed it on the fire. You stayed like that for a moment, letting him touch you no matter how little and amicable they might have been. The moment didn’t last, he moved away, reaching for the flask from before and unscrewing the cap. He offered it to you first, and you shook your head no. He didn't say anything, just taking a quick drink and setting it on the ground between the two of you.

You didn't mean to, but you couldn't help but think of how pretty he was in the firelight. So peaceful, relieved- you looked away, glaring into the fire. You reached down for the flask, took a quick drink then set it back down, just as he had.

Minutes passed, you took turns drinking. He drank when he wanted to, you drank when your thoughts got away from you. Every time you thought about it just being you and him out here, about how nobody ever had to know, how you could just leave and it could just be you and him, forever. About his laugh, his smile, the little sigh he let out every time he took a drink- you drank again, and again, and again. Until finally Arthur snatched the flask from you.

“That's enough..”

You groaned, “Not really.”

You could feel the heat radiating off your body, your head was spinning, and no matter how hard you tried, your train of thought never strayed from Arthur.

Silence passed between the two of you, the sounds of bugs clicking and other little creatures crawling played dully in your ears. Tapping your foot in the dirt, you watched the ants crawl, watching the majority of them line up, only for two to break off, form their own line, a line of two. Marching around. You let out a little laugh.

Then, suddenly.

“Are you dying?”

You turned to Arthur, face scrunched in confusion.

“… What?”

“You’re dying..” he mumbled.

“I ain’t dying, Morgan.”

He sighed, dropping himself down into the dirt.

“Then what’s wrong with ya’?”

You laughed, “I got shot.”

“No, no, no- before that, whenever I’m at camp you-you run off like I’ve got the damn plague! You’re never there anymore, at least not when I’m around. I know you’re not getting on with the rest of the gang, but I don’t understand why you’re running from me.”

Flopping down in the dirt next to him, you sighed.

“I’m not dying, Arthur, I swear..”

His voice was slurred, and he fumbled as he tried to screw the cap back on his flask.

“Then I’m sorry, for whatever I did that hurt you- I didn’t mean to I swear I just-“

“You didn’t do anything..” you turned over to your uninjured side, “..something ain’t right with me. I think things I'm not supposed to and feel things I shouldn't, and it's…harder to stop when I'm around you.”

You didn't meet his eyes, focusing squarely on the ground even though it made your head spin.

“Y/n..” he said, quietly.

You pushed yourself up faster than you should have, regret forming in your chest, pulling at your heart.

“Forget it…”

“Wait.” he sat up, vertigo claiming him for a short second before he continued. “Wait, please.”

He grabbed ahold of your wrist as you stood unsteady on your own feet, lifting himself off the ground, just as wobbly as you are.

When he asked you to wait, you did, as he searched for the right words, your mind raced thinking of what they could possibly be. And when he said nothing, just stared at you with those sad blue eyes, the alcohol flowing through your blood took over.

“I love you, Arthur, and I'm trying not to. I really am, but you just-” your rant, however guilt ride it was, was cut short.

Grabbing you tight and pulling you so close that you could feel his breath on you. Then, he kissed you, slow and gentle. Your eyes fluttered shut, you could feel his hands move from your shoulders to the small of your back, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. You didn't pull away, not until Arthur did, he stared at you, his eyes searching your face for a long moment, then, when you finally let a smile find its way onto your face, he kissed you again.

The kiss, even though it was uncoordinated and desperate, was everything you wanted. So much guilty, and shame, just for this. Your grip on the back of his coat tightened, he pulled you closer.

You would have stayed like that forever if a sudden wave of vertigo hadn't nearly made your knees buckle, your already unsteady stance faltered, you stumbled back, then forward into Arthur. And he laughed, watching you try and hold your fleeting balance, entirely unhelpful.

“Shut up, Arthur-” you laughed, lightheaded and in pain.

But he kept laughing. Holding onto him by the collar of his jacket you pulled him in for another kiss, he stopped laughing, he smiled though, like he was the happiest man in the world, so you kissed him again, and you kept on kissing him until it was true.

The night ended with you in a drunk heap with Arthur, arms, and legs intertwined, giggling and babbling as you drifted off to sleep.

The forest didn’t seem too harsh that night, despite the bug and the dirt, and the distant howling of wolves.

[christmascheeseballs]

Till Death Do Us Part - An Arthur Morgan x OC Story *Part One*

Content Warnings – Kidnapping, Death Threats, Micah Bell, Unplanned Pregnancy, Trauma, Angst, Character Deaths, Eventual Happy Ending (not in this part)

Word Count – 1.3k

Part One - 1.3k words (17th July 2024)

Part Two - 1.7k words (17th July 2024)

Part Three - 1.2k words (19th July 2024)

Authors Note – Some of you may have seen my desperate search for the fic I read years ago along a similar storyline to this. Despite constant searching, I never found it and am genuinely starting to think that it came to me in a dream. So here I am, writing a fic yet again. This will be my first fic since the days of Marvel One-shots over on Wattpad back in 2019, so sorry if I’m rusty!! This’ll either be 2 or 3 parts, should all be published within a week or so 😊

Also, can anyone let me know how to write masterlists/link fics? So that I can do the whole ‘part one here, part two here’ thing?

A quick introduction to the OC of this fic – Florence ‘Flo’ Morgan – 26 years old (1899, 34 in 1907). Married to Athur Morgan since the summer of 1896, and a part of the Van Der Linde Gang since 1885, as Florence Nelson, at 12 years of age. After spending her childhood growing up alongside young Arthur Morgan and John Marston, with Dutch and Hosea as her mentors and honorary parents, her and Arthur eventually became sweet on each other, choosing to court from 1890, learning that they were the loves of each others lives.

-x-

“Flo, please, go. I’m sorry” whispered Arthur, the both of you hidden just outside of the entrance to Beaver Hollow. A single tear slid down his cheek as he held your shaking hands, his cerulean eyes glistening with pure heartbreak.

You both knew the truth – the gang was well and truly at an end. It had been an unbelievable 19 years since you’d first found your place in this family of misfits, but the time had come. To make matters worse, you knew that you were to be continuing with life alone. Your husband, the sweet, strong, seemingly invincible man, was dying. And you knew it. He never told you, but he should have known by now that after 3 years of marriage, and even longer as simply clueless soulmates, you knew him better than he knew himself.

At your silence, Arthur gently pushed you towards your horse. A loyal mare, a sweet grey thoroughbred named Darcy. She had been a part of the gang since you and Arthur first developed your relationship, almost 10 years ago now. Sensing your wrecked emotions, she gently nuzzled the back of your neck, seemingly knowing exactly what Arthur was expecting you to do, and preparing herself for the long and emotionally draining ride ahead of her.

“Arthur, please. Let me come with you. We can do this together”, you sniffle, grabbing desperately at his hands once again. Even though you knew exactly what reality held for you, you still plead for a second chance, a glimmer of hope inside you that together, you could beat Micah and Dutch, and live out your happily ever after. In your heart, you knew that would never happen, so even going forward with the love of your life to inevitably die together would suffice your aching soul. Sure, it wasn’t the way you wanted it to go, but at least you’d be sticking to the promise of ‘till death do us part’.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I really am. But you know I can’t let you come. I need you to be safe”, he responded, holding onto your hands, squeezing them gently. “You have to be safe”. Taking your waist gently, Arthur lifted you into Darcy’s saddle, his arms as strong as ever for you, despite his developing weakness. He always found strength for you. You had no regrets in this relationship, or life in general, not really. But you wish Arthur could’ve brought himself to tell you the truth about his illness. You suppose he’d rather that you believe that he’d died in the inevitable fight against Micah and Dutch, not succumbing to a fatal illness. It was a pride thing, you guessed.

Holding back a sob, you settle in your saddle, your feet sliding instinctively into your stirrups. Arthur takes your hands once again, shaking palms sliding into yours, and stares into your eyes. His face says a thousand words, but instant he mutters four simple ones. And they mean so much more than usual.

“I love you, Florence.”

You lean down for a final kiss, pressing your forehead against his, trying to put the last 9 years of love and devotion into this last moment together. A sudden rustle from within the now mostly derelict camp makes Arthur break out of his trance, quickly bringing him back to reality. He reluctantly pulls himself away from you, giving you a final look and a bittersweet smile.

Arthur gives Darcy a final pat, thanking her for her years of loyalty to the both of you, and you gently spur her forward, encouraging her away from the camp, away from the danger, and away from the love of your life. As she falls into a gentle canter, you look behind you one last time, giving Arthur a wistful look as he turns around, readying himself for the oncoming fight.

2 months later

The last 8 weeks of your life had truly been the most traumatic time. But the morning you had just experienced made the whole thing a lot more real.

After the loss of your husband, you had managed to reunite with John, Abigail, and the others. While you were far from safe, it definitely felt a lot more relaxed than the past few months you had gone through. Although you were on the run from the law on a daily basis, you finally had managed to rid yourself of the constant fear of the gang literally killing each other. The remaining portion of the gang had managed to set up a small camp just north of Ambarino, in the state of Oregon. Constantly on the look out of people following you, it was far from relaxing, but felt like a paradise in comparison. If only Arthur was there to see it, you couldn’t help but think.

However, a new fear had come to head. Whilst you originally put the lack of your monthly bleeding down to stress, new symptoms had caused Abigail to start giving you knowing looks. Looks that you didn’t even understand, to begin with. But after a serious conversation, your condition was clear. Pregnancy. With the man who you became a widow to 2 months ago. Due to be born to a life of running, at least until the extensive bounty was off your head. The worst case scenario.

Curse your mind. Your overactive brain couldn’t help to focus on one small light in this dark, dark time. You were getting a part of him back. What if they had his eyes? His laugh? His dry sense of humor? His intense way of caring and loving for anyone that mattered?

If this didn’t make you feel guilty, you didn’t know what would. How could you be finding joy in this time? Knowing that your child would be doomed, and yet still feeling a sense of happiness in it? Knowing that you were to live a life of single parenthood, knowing that your Arthur would never get to even know that his child was ever even a thing?

While your future was terrifying, the chance of having a part of your love back healed a small part of you.

1 month later

As your stomach slowly began to swell, the inevitable change in your life started to dwell on you. Yet still, the only person to know the truth was Abigail. Dear, pure Abigail. You don’t think you could’ve done any of this without her. Her knowing looks and careful tone was all you needed to come to terms with your condition. Speaking of, you knew she was looking for you, knowing that the impossible conversation was long overdue.

As you sat by the edge of your measly lakeside camp in North Western Oregon, gently stroking your tiny bump, you heard Abigail heading towards you, turning to see her striding in your direction with purpose set in her face. “Florence, you ready?” she murmured as she sat down next to you, digging her heels into the sand as she turned to watch you intently.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose”, you sigh, the weight of the world sitting heavily on your shoulders. “What’s the plan?”

Whilst the plan was simple, it was far from ideal. In short, you’d leave. Find a little homestead in the west, with the money Arthur left for you, as far from West Elizabeth and the surrounding areas as possible, and settle down. When the baby has come, move somewhere more temperate, more permanent, and just make your life work. A heartbreaking, lonely life, but the only one that would work.

The second part of the plan was the part that broke you more. When leaving, you’d tell nobody. Abigail would act none the wiser, and not even John, your brother since a child, would know of your situation. Not Sadie, not Charles, not anyone. A life where you were doomed to merely exist as a mother, until luck eventually found its way to you. If that ever was to happen.

You had a week until the end of your life as you knew it.

-x-

Thank you so much for reading, please like, reblog and comment for part 2 <3

[tomorrowscircle]

Deep Character Dive

stolen from: ree and dewa

tagging: teehee :3

NAME: MORGAN

BODY

height: 155 cm / 5′1

strength ★★★☆☆ (still a bit of a squishy mage, but has some muscle memory of her time with Grima and wielding an axe, even if she doesn't actually remember it, so she's actually fairly strong)

dexterity ★★★★★ (nyoom)

health ★★★☆☆ (fairly healthy, but also likes her fair share of snacks)

energy ★★★★★ (too much of it)

beauty ★★★☆☆ (she's more cute than beautiful. squishes her little face)

style ★★☆☆☆ (it's a good thing that her dad's coat is fairly stylish because that's the only thing saving her here)

hygiene ★★★☆☆ (not the best, but she tries at least. sometimes it's just hard)

SKILLS

perception ★★★★★ (on edge a lot of the time due to training and also a natural paranoia that she isn't quite sure where it comes from)

communication ★★★★☆ (chatty gal! she's good at striking up a conversation and just keeping it going for as long as she wants to. she can be a bit dense and rude sometimes though)

persuasion ★★★★☆ (pretty good. studied some diplomatic stuff as part of her training (a good tactician knows ways of winning without having to fight) but she can still fumble her words in stressful situations)

mediation ☆☆☆☆☆ (what's a meditation)

literacy ★★★★★ (she promises she's so good at reading. like, maybe even the best)

creativity ★★★☆☆ (if nothing else, she's creative at coming up with new traps?)

cooking ☆☆☆☆☆ (i don't think she can cook. i don't think she's capable of that)

tech savvy ★★★★★ (teaches grandmas how the new fangled stuff works (read: her dad))

combat ★★★★☆ (pretty good! she's no perfectly trained soldier, but she knows what she's doing at least)

survival ★★★★★ (she will bite to survive if she has to. coming from a ruined future (even if she doesn't know exactly how and why) is hard man!)

stealth ★★★☆☆ (good at it most of the time, but can get careless)

street smarts ★★★★☆ (secret tome in the pocket. gets them every time)

seduction ☆☆☆☆☆

luck ★★☆☆☆ (owo// (fell down her own pitfall))

handling animals ★★★★☆ (fairly good, at least with a pegasi or wyvern. she doesn't know anything about horses though, so don't ask)

pacifying children ★★☆☆☆ (type of person who just makes funny faces at them until they stop crying. she doesn't know if that even really works)

MIND

intelligence ★★★★★ (she has her moments of dumbassary, but overall she's pretty smart)

happiness ★★★★☆ (generally a pretty happy person, most of the time at least)

spirituality ★☆☆☆☆ (perhaps she should be more connected to it, considering where she comes from, but it's complicated, especially considering *gestures at the future past* even if she doesn't remember)

confidence ★★★★★ (can't ever be wrong if you're confident about it)

humor ★★☆☆☆ (she would like to think that she's funny, but she really isn't. side effect of living with grima: her humor can be oddly twisted at times)

anxiety ★☆☆☆☆ (doesn't know her)

patience ☆☆☆☆☆ (also doesn't know her. has literally none of it whatsoever)

passion ★★★★☆ (she's passionate about the things that she likes)

nice         ☆☆★☆☆     mean (she kind of treads the line sometimes, especially with how blunt and crude she can be, but she's usually pretty nice)

brave       ☆★☆☆☆     cowardly (she has moments, but she's pretty brave most of time, or at least putting on a brave face)

pacifist     ☆☆★☆☆     violent 

thoughtful ☆☆☆☆★    impulsive  (she's working on it, but she can still be pretty impulsive in most situations, especially if she does not know what's she's supposed to be doing)

agreeable ☆☆★☆☆     contrary (doesn't like arguing with people unless she's in the mood for it, or something like that)

idealistic   ☆★☆☆☆     pragmatic

frugal        ☆☆★☆☆     big spender

extrovert   ★☆☆☆☆     introvert (she likes people! people good!)

collected   ☆☆☆☆★    wild

SOCIAL

charisma ★★★☆☆ (meh. she's more likely to end up talking herself into a corner honestly)

empathy ★★☆☆☆ (has trouble putting herself exactly in another person's shoes, but that doesn't mean that she doesn't care)

generosity ★★☆☆☆

wealth ☆☆☆☆☆ (#girlie has nothing but her journals and clothes)

honest   ☆☆★☆☆ deceptive (depends on the situations)

leader   ☆☆★☆☆   follower (depends; tactician or servant?)

polite     ☆☆★☆☆  rude (depends on if you've offended her or not. get good if you have)

BELIEFS

higher power ☆☆☆☆☆ (just because naga exists doesn't mean she has to believe in her words)

fate/destiny ★★☆☆☆ (ehhhhhhh)

magic ★★★★★ (sir, this is #fire emblem)

soulmates ☆☆☆☆☆

good and evil ★★★★☆ (*gestures at awakening* how could she not?)

luck ★★☆☆☆

PRIORITIES

family ★★★★☆ (father :D)

friends ★★★★★ (she likes her friends!!! friends good!!!)

love ★☆☆☆☆ (she's good, thanks)

home ★★★★☆ (it's nice to have somewhere to come back to, somewhere that will always be there for you, even if you can't remember where that is)

health ★☆☆☆☆

praise ★★★★☆ (please please please please- she needs it so much. she's such a good tactician please praise her)

justice ★☆☆☆☆

truth ☆☆☆☆☆

power ★☆☆☆☆ (just a little, as a treat)

fame ☆☆☆☆☆

wealth ☆☆☆☆☆

others' opinions ★★★☆☆ (ough)

[author-morgan]

Title: Sweet Caroline

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Rating: M

Summary: One day a man in black comes to take you away and it just happens he’s the best man you’ve ever met. Tagging the crew: @dynamicorbit @kvitravn @wolfxkissed​

Header image by @kvitravn​

BE WARY OF a man in black. In retrospect, you should have heeded your mother’s wisdom and warning —would have saved you a lot of pain and headaches to learn from her mistakes instead of making the same ones. Arthur Morgan had been a man in black when he rode into town at the head of a band of nefarious outlaws one crisp autumn morning. 

The Van der Linde gang left the small town with a dozen bags heavy with gold and silver, a trail of corpses of those who stood in their way lining the streets. That’d been years ago, about seven by your reckoning. You’ve made too many mistakes to count since then but asking Arthur Morgan to take you away from a small-town hell wasn’t one of them. 

Pearson howls like a wolf at the full moon when you dig into the bloody hole on his calf, pulling the slug free. The silver round clinks when you drop it into the washbasin, leaning back with a sigh as John takes your spot, dressing the gunshot wound with a thick salve and torn piece of calico fabric. A quick buck off a set of loaded dice in an alleyway hadn’t turned out in Pearson’s favor —luck saved him from a bullet in the head, just like luck saved him from the loan sharks a few months back. 

Rising, you pat the Fat Man’s cheek, leaving behind a bloody handprint fore wandering off to the edge of camp for a breath of air away from the fire and those gathered around it. Arthur follows after you, not ready to let you out of his sight after he almost lost you in the shootout with the law and those wronged following Pearson’s foolish gamble. There was a reason the camp’s cook was supposed to stay behind on missions and errands —his days as a soldier in the navy were long past. 

You dip your hands into the wash barrel, scrubbing away from blood from beneath your fingertips. Too often, you find yourself with the blood of those you care about on your hands and clothes. Should’ve listened to mother, you think, bitter. Bracing your arms across the barrel, you look down at your reflection —increasingly unhappy with the woman looking back at you. 

“He gone be okay?” Arthur asks, stopping next to you with his arms crossed. He worries about the gang, even if he tries not to show it, but seeing through his hardened exterior is something he almost hates you for. When Arthur Morgan rode out of some rinky-dink town in the middle of nowhere with you on the back of his horse, he would have never guessed it would turn into this. You worked off your debt a hundred times over and still stayed. 

Straightening, you dry your hands with the apron on the front of your shirtwaist and skirt —the finely made ensemble less than a month old and already ruined. “Cooking’ll still be shit,” you laugh, the crooked smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes, “but he’ll live.” 

Broken chords from Javier’s flamenco guitar fill the air as the night’s revelries startup with a song and dance. Arthur reaches for you, his fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling you toward him. You lean your forehead against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the day settle in as the sun sets. “I can’t keep this up, Art,” you breathe, hand twisting into his blue-cotton shirt. First, it had been him, then Sean and John, and now Pearson. “One day, I ain’t gone be able to patch you boys up.” 

This work is dangerous, and it’s just a matter of time before someone makes a dire mistake or the law catches up —losing people is inevitable. You know it, everyone knows it. Arthur props his chin on the crown of your head, arms wrapped tightly around your waist. “Don’t think ‘bout that day then.” Looking at the heart of the camp, he thinks the two of you won’t be missed too much for just the night. He leads you to his black Arabian steed —a handsome mount affectionately named Topthorn— and helps you up into the saddle before mounting behind you and taking the reins. 

Away from camp, the path steepens and grows rockier. Off in the distance, you can hear the burbling of a stream growing closer. “Where we goin’?” You ask, looking over your shoulder.

His arm tightens around your waist, drawing you back flush against his chest. “Ain’t far,” he says at your ear, “promise.” It’s a place he stumbled across north of camp tracking the poor deer who became supper a few nights back. A quiet spot at the base of the mountains —perfect for a swim, a bath, or even contemplating life. The trees part off the rugged trail, and Arthur pulls back on Topthorn’s reins when the small waterfall comes into view —the water almost glowing in the silver light of a full moon. He slides out of the saddle, hands quickly finding your waist to help you down.

“Been a while since it was jus’ you and me,” Arthur notes, hand splayed across your lower back. 

“That it has,” you agree, turning to drape your arms over his shoulders —fingers locking together at the nape of his neck as you look up at him. Kiss me, you think, and it is as though you’ve said the words aloud. Arthur reaches for you, pulling you closer to him by the hips so he can kiss you breathless. You sigh into his kiss, hands sliding down the broad planes of his chest as you tilt your head so your noses don’t bump together. It’s a lazy kind of kiss—slow, unhurried, but with heat, you’re never quite able to describe when talking to the girls about some of your little escapades with him. 

He pulls back too soon for your liking, laughing softly when you make a sound of protest as you chase his mouth with yours. “What’d I do to deserve you?” He asks, lips curving into a lopsided smile as he takes your face in his hands, thumbs softly stroking your cheeks. You run your thumb over the scars on his chin and reach up on your toes, lips brushing against his. It’s all the answer he needs —I love you.  

Stepping back, you work the mother-of-pearl buttons on your shirtwaist free and then the belt of your walking shirt, shrugging both pieces off and into a small heap next to you. “What’re you doin’?” Arthur asks, scratching the back of his neck as he turns his gaze. It’s far from the first time he’s seen you in this state of undress, but ever the gentleman, he still looks away —even if the curve of his lips says he’ll steal a glimpse or two. 

“You can’t bring a lady to a waterfall–” you pluck out the pin holding the twist in your hair in place “–and not expect her to want to freshen up, Mr. Morgan.” Mr. Morgan, he smirks, shaking his head —it’s the way you say his name like a sweet song that does him in every time. “Now–” you push aside your hair, revealing the laces of your corset “–help me?” Arthur steps behind you, hands working the ties of the undergarment. You turn back to him as he drops the corset atop your discarded clothes, his eyes flitting over curves barely hidden under a threadbare chemise. 

Wordlessly, he sinks to his knees and pushes the hem of the chemise up around your waist. Your fingers brush his as you take hold of your skirt —holding it out of the way. Arthur lifts one of your legs from the ground, sliding off your boot as he drags the stubble on his jaw across the inside of your ankle and calf, stopping just at the bend of your knee with a soft kiss. He places your foot back down and repeats the same teasing motions, but this time, his kiss does not stop at the knee. Scooting closer, he lifts your leg over his shoulder —hot breath fanning across your inner thighs. 

Setting his hat aside, he starts with a slow line of open-mouth kisses and listening to how your breathing hitches and body tenses in anticipation. He drags the flat of his tongue over you, stopping to flick the tip against your clit —sweet torture. “Arthur,” you gasp, hand twisting into his honey-colored locks. He repeats the motion, again-and-again until his fingers brush the inside of your thigh, and he shifts. Your honey-sweet taste and moans harden his cock. First, it’s one finger, then two thrusting and curling inside you as his mouth tends to your clit, laving, and suckling. 

His blue eyes flash upwards and meet your desperate gaze, and he grins, sucking your clit into his mouth. That’s all it takes. You tremble, knees wobbling as you breathe Arthur’s name in a broken voice as he holds you up, still lapping at the sweet release like a he’s a man lost in the desert, and you’re an oasis. His lips and stubble on his chin glisten with your essence as he sits back on his haunches, easing your leg from his shoulder.

When he rises, he trails his fingers along the neckline of your chemise, pushing it off your shoulders, leaving your bare in the cool night air as you step out of the puddle of stained cotton and toward him. You can taste yourself on his lips when they finally meet, his tongue sweeping across your bottom lip before kissing you slowly. The kiss is languid and soft, your hands grasping at Arthur’s back to pull his chest to your own. Your hands wander down to his hips, unbuckling his belt and undoing the button and zipper of his pants as he undoes the buttons on his shirt —adding it to the growing pile of clothes.

Arthur curses and groans when your hand slides into his undone pants, fingers wrapping around his hard cock —stroking him slowly as you pepper kisses along his jaw and down his neck, across his chest. “Darlin’,” he chokes, voice wrecked and breathing heavy. It’s a heady feeling, knowing he’s like this because of you. As much as he doesn’t want to, Arthur pushes your hand away and hastily kicks off his boots, stepping out of his pants so he’s just as bare as you. 

You take a moment to admire him. Strong arms and legs, a broad chest covered with a dusting of hair, a real man right down to his hard cock, throbbing and dripping with need —built for riding, fighting, and fucking, you’d told him one night drunk on shine when you crawled into his tent. Arthur pulls you down onto the blanket of moss and grass at the water’s edge. His hands leave your waist and slide up to your breasts, cupping them gently. You moan, feeling his smile against the side of your throat. He trails kisses down to the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down slightly. He kisses down your throat to your chest, stopping when he reaches a rosy nipple. 

His eyes look back up at you, and his grin is devilish before his tongue drags across the sensitive flesh, making you gasp, hips grinding into him. “Arthur, please,” you whisper, back arching as he takes your nipple into his mouth, softly sucking at your flesh. He pulls away after a moment, looking up at you with lust burning bright in his eyes. Settling between your thighs, Arthur braces his weight on one of his forearms —staring down at you as cock presses into your warmth. Your walls flutter around him, and you spread your thighs wider, helping guide him as deep as he can go. 

He groans, rolling his hips into yours as he kisses you again, slow and thorough, mapping out your mouth with his tongue. You moan into his mouth, clutching at his shoulders as he breaks the kiss, eyes looking into yours once again, the lust quelled by something sweeter. Arthur grips your thighs tight, releasing one of them in favor of stroking over your lips and cheek with the rough pad of his thumb. Between the little noises you make, and how your body starts to tense and spasm around him, Arthur knows he won’t last long —not after it’s been so long since he had you proper.

You draw your legs up his sides and push your hands into his hair, clinging to him as his thrusts become faster, harder, more erratic. He slides a hand between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb. “Arthur,” you cry, feeling the budding heat rise in your belly again and control slipping away. “Babe,” you gasp, tugging on his hair. Eyes screwed shut and teeth bared, he ruts into you, even as the wave of fire floods your veins and your walls squeeze his cock. It’s enough to break him as he chases his end.  

He pulls away, hips stuttering, nearing his peak, and buries his face in the juncture where your neck and shoulder meet. Biting down hard, and you feel the warmth of his release spreading in your core as he thrusts weakly a few more times before stilling. Arthur rests his head on your breast as he strokes your side, listening to the frantic beat of your heart as it slows with your breathing. You whine at the empty feeling when slides his softening cock from your cunt, rolling off to the side. He grabs his drawers and shirt —you both can worry with bathing and dressing in the morning. For now, Arthur only wants to keep you at his side. 

Arthur brushes off his hat and sets it on your head. The black hat is a little big, the brim dropping down over your eyes, you tilt it back into place. “Looks good on you,” he muses with a crooked grin. His shirt looks good on you too —the old blue shirt half unbuttoned and hanging off one shoulder. A sight he wouldn’t mind waking up to every morning. 

“Think so?” You ask with a smile. He nods and, it's like you can see the cogs turning in his mind. What’re you even doin’ with an ugly old man like me? You can hear him saying. Sighing, you sit up and swing over into his lap, placing his hat back atop his head. “Well, I think it looks better on you,” you tell him. He won’t argue, not when your lips are brushing against his.

He folds his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky, and smiles to himself when you rest your head on the crook of his arm. Glancing between Arthur and the clear night sky, you start humming the old song your father used to sing about his sweet Caroline. The tune sounds familiar, and after a moment, he knows the words, it’s one he’s heard before in saloons and whispered at babes’ ears like a lullaby. Arthur draws in a slow breath, picking up at the next verse in a low rasp “…the grave and the garden won’t be satisfied till your name is next to mine.” 

You shift, half sitting up. His eyes fixed on you —gaze softer than a bed of summer wildflowers— with a smile tugging at his lips. In these rare moments, Arthur Morgan is at peace. He reaches out for you, calloused hand cupping your cheek as he tries to memorize the lines and curves of your face and how you sigh and lean into his touch, settling back down against him. 

It’s nights like these you long for the most, and every time you wish they could last just a little longer. Just laying under the night sky forever with Arthur Morgan, the man you loved. No more killing. No more stealing. No more running. Just the two of you and the cosmos overhead. You rest your head on his chest, running your fingers along the trail of dark hair down his stomach as he traces lazy shapes on your back, still softly humming the same sweet song. 

Be wary of a man in black, your mother used to say, holding your hand as you both watched from the front porch as your father rode off into the sunset, he’ll steal your heart. She’d been right, of course. 

[rodeo-boots]

if requests are open than requests you shall get! think you could write some sadie and abigail, with a dominant sadie and some denial? thank you!

Thank u so much for this request, writing this was actually a lot of fun!! I hope this is what you've been lookin' for <3

Rating: Explicit

Words: 2837

Warnings: this is set in the epilogue, there's an argument with John in the beginning here, as well as some discussions about John and how not good of a husband he is. I'm sorry John, ily

AO3

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It wasn't rare to see Abigail alone in the ranch house.

Most times when Sadie popped by, the woman was busying herself with chores, took charge of her household better than Sadie ever could and worked without any complaints to begin with. Even though she had every reason to complain.

Her husband was rarely home, stayed out to go on his own little adventures rather than helping his wife. It was a discouraging sight. Not what Sadie's own married life had been like at all.

She had always believed that marriage only deepened the bond between two people. But looking at Abigail and John, that sentiment was clearly wrong.

They had escaped the harsh reality of their gang-life years ago, had chosen a separate path from Sadie by leading what might be called a settled life, while she didn't forget about her roots.

Ever since her own husband had died, it had become increasingly hard for Sadie to sit down, to let the silence consume her and allow a lack of work to weigh her down. She rather put herself out there, used the skills she had acquired over the years and brought in bounties who thought themselves bigger than her.

Occasionally, she just had to return to the Marston household, however.

She had to check in, make sure that everything still ran as harmonically as could be, and most importantly, that Abigail was happy. All those years, she's always had a soft spot for her. Arthur might've teased her about it, might've said she was sweet on the woman.

But Arthur Morgan was long gone. And she was only doing what was in her might to make sure his sacrifice wouldn't be for nothing.

Once again, she found herself standing in front of the doors to the ranch house, raised her fist to knock, before brushing sweaty strands of hair out of her face.

It was hot, overwhelmingly so, the climate of the west still not being entirely to her liking.

When the door opened, it was with a bout of yelling, with an air of tension and a stressed John who pushed his way right past her.

"Then do what you want, I ain't listenin' to your nagging no more!" He only passed Sadie a brief look, gave her a short nod though his jaw was still as tense as it had been before.

"John Marston, this conversation is far from over!”

When Abigail marched through the door, her husband had already swung his leg over the back of his horse, didn't waste a second to look back as he rode off.

"Christ," Abigail exhaled, ran her hands over her features before her gaze shifted to the side, where Sadie leaned against the wall of her house.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to greet you quite like this."

Sadie shook her head, nodded towards the chairs upon the porch. "You wanna sit down? Looks like you could use a distraction."

Abigail slung the dishcloth she had held in her hands over her shoulder, sinking down in one of the nearest chairs with a soft sigh.

Pushing herself off the wall, Sadie sauntered to the free chair, sat herself down with her knees parted and her elbows rested upon them. She gazed up at Abigail, only needing to take one look at her face to tell that she had more on her mind than the apparent fight with John.

"Want a smoke?"

The woman gave her a nod, and Sadie offered her one of her last cigarettes, watching as Abigail relaxed a little more once tobacco flooded her lungs.

"I don't understand what's with him– he... he ain't wanna spend time with the boy. But every time he gets home he complains that Jack never does anythin'."

Abigail twisted the cigarette between her fingers, bringing it up to her lips again to take another deep drag.

She looked tired, looked like she had laid awake for a couple nights by now. Realistically, the troublesome times were supposed to be over. But Abigail appeared like they had only just begun.

"All he really does is complain, and lie. I ain't got no idea what he does each time he's out. He brings back no money, and when he does... I ain't wanna know where it's from."

With a frown at her own lips, Sadie reached out, rested a hand on Abigail's knee. "He's tryin'," she said, knowing that John, despite everything, had always only looked after his family.

"I know. I'm bein' ungrateful." Abigail took another drag from her cigarette, passing it over to Sadie while muttering a "I ain't want this no more."

Sadie raised her hand off Abigail's knee, reached for the cigarette to finish it off. She wouldn't waste something she might've paid for.

"You should look after each other," she began to speak again, thoughtfully watching the smoke curl around them. "And work together instead of alone. I know it's gotta be hard, and I ain't think he deserves a woman like you, but... do it for Jack."

Deep down, Sadie didn't want Abigail to be unhappily married, however. She knew that John and her didn't work out as a couple, knew that the one who suffered most between them was their very own son.

The last advice she wanted to give was for Abigail to endure, but what else could she say that wouldn't give her away?

Abigail's eyes were on her by the time she tore herself out of her thoughts. "I'm always doin' everything for Jack. Always. He's everythin' I got."

"You got me."

The woman huffed, averted her eyes to look out onto her yard.

Jack had found a shady spot for himself, sitting underneath a big oak tree with a book in his hands, unbothered by the conflict that had shaped between his parents.

"Do I?" She asked eventually, searching Sadie's expression. "You got a job. You're doin' somethin' you love and can come and go as you please. Maybe you ain't much different than John."

It was Sadie's turn to huff, shaking her head ever so gently at the words that left the other woman's lips. "Do I look like a John to you?" She raised an eyebrow, a lopsided smile at her lips.

Sadie stood, offering Abigail a hand to get to her feet as well. "Let's get outta this heat. You got somethin' to drink?"

*

It wasn't rare for them to sit and talk, for them to lounge on the couch in the Marston's living space and catch up like old friends would.

That's what they were, after all; friends, nothing more, nothing less.

Sadie nursed her glass of water, glad for the hydration even though she had meant liquor by asking for a drink. Maybe being here with a sober mind was best, though.

"I..." Sadie's gaze shifted over to the other woman when she spoke up, inquiry in her expression. She had been quiet all this time, looked deep in thought still, and Sadie couldn't tell what might be going through her head.

"I still love him."

That hadn't been what she had expected to hear.

"No doubt 'bout that, I never meant to–"

But Abigail already shook her head. "I ain't sayin' that because you insinuated anythin', just... I gotta remind myself." And after swallowing she added, "to tell him."

"If it ain't true, y'ain't gotta tell him anything," Sadie pointed out, firmly but patiently. "You don't gotta love him to raise a child together. Jack would do better if you two just... dropped the act."

At that, Abigail's expression tightened once again. "What act?" She had set her glass down by her side, her gaze bordering on angry. "We've been together for years, we're married, I ain't gonna forget all about that."

"But are you happy?"

Abigail's anger deflated, her posture slowly starting to loosen again as she sunk back into the couch cushions.

Despite not receiving an answer, Sadie was sure what it would be, sighing as she put her glass down, and pushed herself off the couch to crouch in front of the other woman.

She took her hands into her own, the gesture kind, though there was no denying the underlying love of it.

Abigail stared down at her, and Sadie met her gaze without any problems.

Encouragingly squeezing Abigail's hands, she spoke up. "You're a strong woman, Abigail. You know what you want, what you need. It ain't John, not as your husband ‘tleast." And while she hadn't intended to speak poorly of him, Sadie only wished to give her friend some good advice.

"You're only together for Jack by now, and he knows that. You know that. It ain't gonna work."

Abigail briefly chewed at the inside of her lip, Sadie's stare dropping to them as she involuntarily licked her own.

"What do you suggest?" The woman asked carefully, not making any move of pulling her hands away from Sadie's.

"Stay friends. Work together around the house, but live your own separate lives. That's kind of what you're doin' already, anyways."

She moved to get up, to push herself back onto her feet, but Abigail stopped her, held onto her hands a little tighter.

"I never knew you had such a way with words, Mrs. Adler."

Sadie snorted, laughed out joyfully and shook her head. "Guess that's what you're doin' to me," she responded without thinking twice, always having felt a little more cheesy around the other woman.

"Oh, is it?" Abigail teased. She seemed to be in a good mood by now, which was surprising, but nothing Sadie would ever complain about. "Is there somethin' else I'm doin' to you?"

It almost sounded like she was flirting with her, Sadie biting back her smile as she sat up on her heels. "You want the truth?" She asked, waiting for Abigail's nod.

Leaning in a little further, she propped her arms up left and right of Abigail's hips, her lips at her ear as she spoke her next, bold words. "You make me so wet," she chuckled, playfully biting down on Abigail's earlobe, pulling away only to catch her expression.

Which wasn't as flustered as she had hoped for. "That it?" The smile still remained on Abigail's lips, but she didn't appear surprised, if anything, she looked happy.

Sadie couldn't stop herself anymore, cradling Abigail's jaw to pull her closer, her eyelids fluttering shut by the time the woman's soft lips met her own, chapped ones.

"Bedroom," she mumbled into the kiss, and without pulling back right away, she shrugged her coat off her shoulders and dropped her hat on top of it, nibbled on Abigail's lower lip one more time before loosening the embrace, and leading her into her bedroom.

*

Abigail landed on her back upon the mattress, Sadie following suit with no intention of ever pulling away again.

She had half-heartedly kicked the door shut behind them, had opened a couple buttons of her blouse before giving up and focusing on something better instead. That being Abigail.

Their lips met once again with apparent urgency, the woman beneath Sadie gasping when she grabbed her skirt and pulled it upwards.

"I never knew you were quite so rough," Abigail chuckled, Sadie pulling back for a second to peer down and into her face.

"You like that?" She asked, tilting her head while her fingers brushed through the other woman's hair, and loosened the tie holding it all together.

Abigail smiled, genuinely for the first time in a while, guiding Sadie down to her again. "I like you," she clarified, her words barely audible.

But they didn't go unnoticed.

"You do?"

Abigail nodded without hesitation, the smile upon Sadie's own lips spreading.

"Now... you spoke about bein' wet before," the woman started, one of her hands trailing down and towards the front of Sadie's pants.

She caught it before Abigail's hand could reach its destination, pinning both of them over her head. Clicking her tongue, she straddled her waist, not caring too much about the boots she had yet to kick off.

"My rules." She kept both of Abigail's wrists pinned with one hand, her other caressing the soft skin of her face. "Understood?"

Abigail swallowed, a rosy blush coloring her cheeks. "I could've guessed." She had spoken quietly once again, though Sadie had picked up her words just the same.

Releasing a questioning hum, her free hand dropped to roam Abigail's body, squeezing her hip appreciatively.

"Could've known you wanna be in control," the other woman finished, biting down on her plush lower lip at Sadie's fleeting touches, squirming beneath her in a need for more.

But from one moment to the next, Sadie let go, sat back and began undressing herself.

"It wouldn't be fun otherwise," she replied with a lopsided grin, Abigail staring up at her in awe, until Sadie clicked her tongue again.

"Go on, undress."

They didn't need long, their bodies soon flush against one another’s again, Sadie taking the lead as she had wished to do before.

Truthfully, she had yearned to touch Abigail for years, ever since their time back at camp, had dreamed about a moment such as this. And now it was finally a reality.

She listened to her sweet moans, her voice like music to her ears when she gasped her name the moment Sadie's fingers dipped down into her tight wet heat.

Fingers started to claw at her shoulders, Sadie keeping herself up with her knees, seated right between Abigail's parted thighs.

"C'mon, I wanna hear you," she encouraged, fingers twisting and crooking until the other woman released a particularly sweet little noise, the smile upon Sadie's lips growing at the sound.

She kissed her once more; her lips, the corner of her mouth, along her jaw and down to her neck. Sadie paid attention to her collarbones, dipping her head lower to envelop one of Abigail's nipples in the heat of her mouth.

Each and every reaction went straight to her head, was soaked up right away to never be let go of again. Sadie's eyes remained glued to Abigail' flushed features, even after she had tossed her head back.

Then she ventured lower, kissed above and below Abigail's navel while her hands held her hips in place, smirking up at her before bringing her mouth right where she might need it the most.

The moment she licked over Abigail's clit, the woman tensed beneath her, curved her spine and tried to raise her hips higher.

"It's alright, nice'n easy," Sadie hummed, tasting her lover on the tip of her tongue.

Steadily, she worked up a rhythm, explored Abigail's sensitive sex until the woman was quaking and trembling. She tried to remember her most responsive spots, the tongue-movements that made Abigail's eyes roll back and her voice grow hoarse.

Once she slipped two fingers into her slick heat, Abigail quivered, and came with a choked-off moan.

Slowing her pace before pulling her fingers out entirely, Sadie crawled over Abigail's body, pushing her hair back out of her face to look her into the eyes. "Pretty good, huh?"

Abigail huffed, bonelessly sprawled out on the mattress. "You ain't too bad," she admitted, though that much was clear. "C'mere." She pulled Sadie in again, prompted her to lay down on top of her as her arms wrapped around her neck.

"Fuck me," she demanded, Sadie huffing out at the words she had never expected to hear from Abigail.

Regardless, she couldn't deny her that request, propping her hands up on both sides of her head before beginning to grind down. Her cunt had been leaking all this time, Abigail’s slick mixing with her own as they moved against each other – with one another.

"Shit–" Sadie's breath stuttered, the heat within her loins only continuing to grow, breaths turning into pants the more she increased the pace of her movements.

Beneath her, Abigail seemed to be in a similar position, still oh-so-sensitive and overstimulated from her last orgasm, shivering and gasping each time Sadie ground down on her.

It didn't take too much, a few more coordinated rolls of Sadie's hips and they both were tipping over the edge. Her hair fell in front of her face, breaths stuttering as she let her release wash over her.

Sadie plopped down by Abigail's side, not hesitating before she pulled her right into her arms.

They laid there for a while, listening to each other's breaths and the hearts beating within both their chests.

"See? You don't need a cock to be happy," Sadie mumbled, turning her head towards the other woman.

Abigail nudged her, unable to bite back her laughter. "Don't talk like that."

"M'only jokin'." The smile remained at Sadie's lips, her gaze a loving and adoring one. "Just talk to him, okay?"

She reached over, taking hold of Abigail's jaw, her thumb caressing her cheekbone.

"I will."

[smallblueandloud]

wow, i have so many thoughts about so many fandoms right now that it is inevitable that i will forget all of them before i can write them down.

anyway, let’s do jenkins immortality headcanons!

i haven’t actually read any arthuriana and i MEANT to but like. who the heck cares. not me. we’re going OFF THE RAILS of canon right now.

okay so finx @aethersea suggested that camelot was a magical kingdom and has lost its tether to reality in the same way that the library lost its tether to reality (...frequently) and i LOVE that so we’re going with that.

camelot was a kingdom of magic, one of the only of its kind, and then it fell. her king was wounded and sent off onto the lake and her knights stayed behind to guard her and she was broken from the world until the day when her king returned (in england’s hour of greatest need) and summoned it back.

the three left outside were: galahad, morgan le fay, and the exiled lancelot. they three are immortal. don’t ask me why. i GUESS the holy grail is supposed to make people immortal, but lancelot never got ahold of it, so like, don’t ask me. maybe they’re immortal since they’re of the magical isle and therefore they’re inherently magic. whatever.

galahad (i’m gonna call him jenkins now for the sake of clarity) sees that magic is running rampant without camelot to organize it, direct it. he watches the rise of the library. when the first librarian starts to collect artifacts, he offers his services. who better to deal with artifacts than a knight of the round table? besides, he is noble, and good, and full of justice, and this is something he can do to help.

lancelot watches the library grow, too. but he craves the power for himself and bides his time, growing his resources. jenkins tries not to think about him too much. this is his wisest decision and his biggest regret.

(morgan le fay, of course, entertains herself. jenkins runs across her about once a century. his reaction depends entirely on his loneliness at the time. he knows she’s evil, he knows, and he hates her for it, but he just... he can’t shake the comfort of being with someone who knows him and knows who he is and has seen the magic isle. the years that he tries to kill her, he fails. he can’t forgive himself for the years when he doesn’t try at all.)

here’s my biggest headcanon: jenkins isn’t a fictional, sure, but it’s a similar process. the stories of camelot live and grow and flourish and jenkins feels it. at first, it’s minor - the styles of clothing he remembers change with the fashions of the time. but then it gets more extreme. he can’t remember how formally his king spoke. he wakes up one morning feeling the clank of spurs on his horse’s side, despite spurs not having been invented for another four hundred years. and one day he realizes that he’s unsure what lancelot looked like.

here is how jenkins is similar to a fictional. jenkins belongs to a place that is more myth than fact, and its image changes to fit the times and the popular versions. jenkins’ memories are changed with them. he gets into the habit of writing down every change he experiences. those records are the only things he keeps, throughout his very (very very) long life. books and books’ worth, crammed into his desk in the library and spilling over into the shelves. his favorite versions - the ones that feel closest to the fact he can no longer reliably identify - are sometimes ones that have been lost to history.

(“in no version!” he hears jake insisting angrily one day, “in no version was the outcast knight kind! that never happens, it ruins the- the- the INTEGRITY of it, and the STRUCTURE of it, and NO one’s EVER argued-”

“actually, mr. stone,” says jenkins as mildly as he can. “actually, there was a mildly popular version in the early 1400s that said something similar. it never got out of germany, or well, it wasn’t germany at the time, but they didn’t like writing things down much. i’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it before.”)

yes, jenkins has annotated copies of every version he can find, and yes he DOES have strong opinions about adaptations. isn’t it hilarious? enjoy it for the moment, because--

it’s not just the facts of the story itself that changes in his mind. the faces shift, too. guinevere always matches the beauty standard of the time, or later the most famous actress to play her. while dulaque’s face doesn’t change, jenkins’ memory of it does, depending on who’s been illustrating him recently.

(most of why he is so grumpy in the early 21st century is because he keeps seeing merlin as this skinny child. he doesn’t know who’s in charge of bbc casting but he is SICK and TIRED of visualizing this MORGAN person every time he thinks back to the great and terrible wizard that introduced him to court.)

arthur, though. arthur’s face changes the most. sometimes he resembles the best and most beloved leader of the time. sometimes he is from a painting, or he looks like jesus, or he is simply a famous actor. whatever it is, his face has changed in jenkins’ mind more times that he can count, and jenkins knows in his heart that he has absolutely no recollection of his king’s true face.

he worries, sometimes, that arthur will return to save england - and he won’t recognize him at all.

[ffakc]

The Weather Outside is Frightful - a Jeffrey Dean Morgan fanfiction

@negans-attagirl @jdmbbycakes @iluvneganandjamie

“For Rhinebeck, we’re looking at up to five inches per hour! Make sure you’ve got your milk and bread, folks, it’s going to be a doozy!” the weather man proclaimed. My husband changes the channel to our favorite trashy reality TV channel.

“I’d like to get five inches per hour,” I mutter for myself with a smirk and snuggle up under a fuzzy blanket.

“What did you just say?” Jeff laughs.

“Oh, nothing,” I sigh. Jeff is still giggling to himself. My silver fox leans over and growls in my ear.

“If you wanted to have sex, all you had to do was say so,” he kisses my neck with an obnoxious “MWAH!” sound.

“You’re so damn cute,” I try my best to climb onto my husband’s lap.

“How are you so hot even in your jammies, baby girl?” I grab his cheeks and kiss him.

“I don’t feel very hot,” I gesture to my VERY pregnant belly. Jeffrey scoffs.

“Nonsense! You’re carrying OUR child, that’s the most badass thing a lady can do!” he kisses my lips sweetly as he rubs the taut skin, “I love my girls.”

“We love you too, Daddy,” I smile and rock my hips against Jeff’s thigh. I moan with delight.

“Think about it this way, you’re rearranging your organs to bring a life into this world! How cool is that?”

“Jeff, that’s gross,” I laugh.

“I guess you’re right,” he chuckles. “So, what do my gals want for dinner, hm?”

“If I had my way, Pizza Hut stuffed crust. I’ve been craving that for a good week now. But I’m not about to make a delivery driver trek through this,” I climb off my man’s lap and rub his knee.

“Sweetheart, I’ve got a massive four wheel drive. Do you want pizza? I’ll get you pizza,” Jeff smiles, standing up off the couch.

“Yes please, Daddy. You’re so sweet.” I pull up the website on my phone, “What do you want?” I run my fingers over my stomach, which is now growling.

“You know I’m not picky,” Jeff grabs his keys and uses his remote start to warm his beast of a truck.

“Extra red onions, black olives, and sausage then,” I reply, Jeff hands me his card and kisses my forehead. “Ooh, and maybe a syrupy sweet fountain Pepsi?”

“You better be suckin’ on a breath mint then before you get near these lips! Also, Pepsi? Really? Oh, you better be fuckin’ messing with me.” I rest my sore feet on the ottoman and nod as Jeff pets my hair. “Fine, whatever. I’ll get you horse piss.” I laugh. That man is hopelessly addicted to his Coca Cola. “Anything else while I’m out?”

“Maybe a pregnancy test? I’ve been feeling weird lately,” I joke.

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” Jeff rolls his eyes with a grin and pulls on his flannel jacket, placing an unlit cigarette between his lips.

“Drive safe! I love you,” I blow him a kiss.

“I love you too, baby girl.”

***

“That’s your Daddy,” I trace my fingers over my belly, watching a rerun of Grey’s Anatomy that happened to be on. “He’s already wrapped around your little finger and he hasn’t even seen you in person yet,” I giggle. “We are so excited to meet you, baby girl.”

“Dinner is served, darlin’!” Jeff calls out and sets the pizza on the counter. I sit myself up a little straighter. Little flutters ripple across my abdomen.

“Jeff! Babe, come here!” I gesture to my stomach.

“Watching Daddy, hm? Wow, I miss my dark hair,” Jeff laughs and gets to his knees on the floor in front of the couch. I place his hand on my stomach and gently press my hand on top of his.

“Do you feel that? As soon as she heard your voice, she started moving.” Jeff gasps as a wide smile crosses his lips.

“I’m so in love with her already,” he kisses the little lumps where I assume a hand or a foot poked through. “That’s my daughter, my fucking daughter. It’s still so surreal to say. I’ve wanted a little girl for God knows how long,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “I’ve loved you since the moment Mama said she was pregnant with you. Don’t you break your daddy’s heart, sweet pea.”

“I can’t imagine bringing a child into this world with anyone else,” I reply and kiss my husband deeply. “Alright, I suppose I should get up!” I grab Jeff’s outstretched hand and he pulls me off the couch. I place my pizza on a paper plate. Jeff looks me up and down.

“Look how fucking cute you are, doll. Daddy loves giving his gal what she wants,” my husband remarks and kisses my cheek. I sink my teeth into the greasy pizza and moan with delight. “Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“God, yes. The grease makes my soul happy,” I laugh. Jeff sits on the barstool at the kitchen counter.

“So, umm, yeah,” my husband clears his throat. “Usually I couldn’t give two shits what people say on social media, but...” Jeff heaves a heavy sigh. “I was scrolling through Twitter while waiting for pizza and I saw a few comments here and there about how I’m too old for this,” he places a hand on my stomach.

“That’s stupid,” I roll my eyes.

“They say I’m too old for you too,” he grabs his phone and adjusts his bifcocals, “‘Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s going to be 72 when that kid graduates and his sugar baby’s going to be 42. You ever think about how weird that is? Ew. Poor kid.’ I keep telling myself it do-“ a single tear falls down his face as he places his phone back on the counter.

“It doesn’t matter, Jeffrey,” I cup his cheek my hand and kiss him. “Aww, baby, come here,” I hold his head against my chest. “You already cherish this baby with every ounce of love you have and that’s literally all our girl could ask for, is a Mommy and Daddy who want nothing more than to love her with all their hearts. Age is but a number, sweetheart. My dad was older when he had us kids and it didn’t affect his parenting one single bit. Also, calling me a sugar baby when anyone who follows me on any social media platform knows I never shut the fuck up about how much I love my husband.” Jeff laughs to himself. “I’d have to be in REALLY deep with the sugar baby thing if I let my sugar daddy put a living, breathing child inside me.”

“Yeah, you are absolutely right,” Jeff sniffles and kisses me. “They can call me ‘old’ all the live long day, but coming for my incredible wife and unborn child? I don’t take too kindly to that. That hurts. I swear, I think your pregnancy hormones are affecting me too,” he teases and flicks his tears away.

“I don’t blame you! That shit is rude and uncalled for!” I exclaim and take a bite of pizza. “Sorry, I got distracted,” I wipe my mouth with a napkin. “What can I say? I’m eating for two.”

“You are indeed,” Jeff smiles, he murmurs something to himself and gives my backside a squeeze. He nibbles his pizza.

“What’s that, Daddy?” I look up at him with innocent eyes and take a long sip of my drink.

“I said, ‘that ass’,” You’ve gotten so curvy, baby. Pregnancy looks real good on you. Who gave you the right to be so damn sexy?” I wiggle my hips as wetness pools between my thighs. “You’re lucky I don’t just shove this pizza off the counter and fuck you right here.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” I smirk. I pull down my top slightly, revealing my overgrown and engorged breasts.

“Baby doll,” Jeff whines. I run my fingers over the zipper of his jeans, earning a moan from my gorgeous older man. He places one veiny, strong hand on my hip and the other in my hair as he kisses me deeply. His hand travels to my belly as his breath shudders against my lips.

“I love these new curves,” Jeff groans. “Why does this big, round pregnant belly turn me on so much?”

“Because you know it means you bred me so good?” I suggest, squeezing my breasts together. “Making my tits bigger, making my hips wider.”

“God yes. What can I do to make my gal feel good tonight?”

“Well, I’ve had another craving that isn’t pizza,” I trail my fingers down his chest, “A hot, steamy shower with my hands in your hair and your mouth on my needy, wet pussy. Oh Daddy, I need you.”

“Oh my,” Jeff clicks his tongue, his face flushing slightly, “You know how much I love devouring that sweet pussy. I could do that all day, every day if you’d let me.”

“I’d let you!” I pipe up, and Jeff laughs, dunking his crust in pizza sauce. “Just don’t put any pepper flakes on your pizza,” I wink and Jeff laughs even harder.

“Good lord, you really think I’d do that to you?”

“I don’t know, maybe! Now, let’s finish dinner, dessert is waiting for you,” I rub my husband’s shoulders and he lets out a satisfied groan. I throw my plate in the trash, “I’ll meet you in the shower,” I whisper against his ear. Jeff shoves the rest of his food in his mouth and chases after me. I crank the shower up as hot as it can go, Jeff grabs me by the waist from behind and rubs against me as he kisses my neck. I can feel how hard he is in his fitted jeans. I slip out of my clothes and my husband does the same, his cock throbbing as he slides out of his underwear.

“Look at what you do to me,” Jeff gestures downward.

“Oops,” I step under the water. I brush two fingers over my clit and whimper, then offer them to Jeff. He sucks them seductively. “Look what you do to ME.”

“Fuck girl, you taste so sweet,” his hands rest on my pregnant belly as I wrap my arms around his neck as we kiss.

“I need to sit down,” I remark and bite my lip. I sit back on the shower bench.

“That’s my good girl. You sit back and relax, pull my hair, and let Daddy enjoy himself. Don’t you move a muscle, let me do all the work, sweetheart,” Jeff ghosts his hot breath against me, smirking up at me. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He lets out a low growl of pleasure.

“You tease,” I whine, “Please Daddy, please. I need it, Jeffrey.” Jeff buries his face in what’s his. The water falls softly against his tanned skin.

“You taste so damn GOOD, girl,” Jeff rasps. A little bit of Negan slipped out with that statement. He breathes heavily as his mouth overtakes my most sensitive parts. His fingers curl inside me. My whole body jerks.

“Jeff! Oh my god!” I gasp. My silver fox groans loudly.

“Oh Princess, I want to make you scream. I want you to make an absolute fucking mess on my face,” he spreads my legs as far as my exhausted body can go and circles my throbbing clit with his ever-flickering tongue. God, what a talented tongue my gorgeous husband has.

“Jeffrey! Jeffrey, oh fuck! I’m so close, baby. Please, baby. Please, I need you so damn bad,” I plead, grasping onto his graying locks. He sucks gently as if I’m his favorite lollipop and smirks up at me. “FUCK!” I cry out, “JEFF! OH MY FUCKING GOD!” I can’t hold back, profanity and filthy, wet mouth sounds fill the air. My orgasm hits me like a powerful earthquake, a tidal wave of pure ecstasy. As if a surge of lightning coursed through my entire body. Jeff pants, planting soft kisses on my inner thighs. I stroke his hair as he kisses me passionately, my legs still trembling.

“Was is it as good for you as it was for me?” Jeff smiles.

“Oh god, better than I could have ever imagined, Daddy. I love you so damn much,” I breathe heavily.

“I love you more than anything. You make me the luckiest, Mrs. Morgan.”

[meowdymista]

Van der Driscoll Pt 3

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Part 2 & Masterlist

Part 4

Word count: 1890

Warnings: threat of domestic violence

Now on AO3 with added soft Morgan loving

The two of you ride in silence. The wagon wheels keep rolling. The pit in your stomach rolls along with them. Which is it going to be, gentlemen? Black or red?

He hasn’t bothered binding your wrists today. You can’t pretend like there’s any possibility of you attempting to escape; an anchor of lethargy has long since made its home in your chest.

The landscape begins to change rapidly as you descend into Lemoyne. The air thickens, choking you, the cries of seagulls filling your ears.

He hasn’t confided his intentions to you yet, but the ride is slow and heavy on both of your shoulders. Saint Denis or Van Horn - both were known for their ports.

"She can't go free. Not with the Pinkertons after us."

"I know. Don’t I goddamn know it...”

The bridge welcomes you with false joy. Fumes pollute the sky, horses clop over cobblestones, beggars call out for pennies from the sidewalks. You look on morosely as he steps off the carriage to speak with the mail man behind the counter. He checks a pocket watch you didn’t know he had and nods, thanking him before rejoining you.

Your lips are sewn shut, even as he rides the cart up to a saloon a couple of streets over. He helps you down, leading you inside wordlessly, paying for a room and a bath for you both. On autopilot, you follow the bath girl to the steaming water, Arthur’s assurances inaudible over your thoughts.

She tries and fails to make conversation with you. You’ve never hired help for a bath - you enjoy the rare splash of solitude too much, especially in the soft steam of hot water. You start to wonder when you last bathed as she scrubs soap into your hair. Usually your wounds aren’t fresh enough to sting.

She guides you to the room Arthur has rented. The bed looks sublimely soft. Even the evening sun gleaming through the windows is gentle and welcoming. You strip to your underclothes and crawl under the duvet, groaning as you fall asleep.

****

You wake up, surprised to find the bed empty. Turning your head, you spot Arthur in a chair, sketching in the leather bound journal you’ve found him writing in on more than one occasion.

He sets the book aside and walks up to the bed hesitantly. You move back, inviting him to sit. After all, his money has paid for this.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. About all of this.”

You shake your head sleepily. “It’s my fault. When I heard the boys had caught a Van der Linde, I let curiosity get the better of me. I wasn’t supposed to be there, I just wanted to see the face of… of one of her murderers.”

You hum as fingers trace your face and neck. “Well, I’m still sorry for everything that happened after.”

You turn your head to kiss his palm, dismissing the hitch in his breathing. “At least it was with you.”

“Because being tied up is preferable in my company?”

“Something like that,” you laugh, smirking into your pillow. His hands lowers hesitantly to your shoulders. You shrug the duvet down, extending his reach. Hearing the bed move, you open your eyes finding his face next to you. Before you can change your mind, you press your lips against his with determination.

His grip tightens as you deepen the kiss, breaking away to kiss his neck as you tug on the buttons of his shirt. He shifts his weight to make it easier for you to push it off him before climbing carefully between your now exposed legs.

Your heart flutters as he kisses the crook of your neck, fingers still tracing your body as though committing them to memory. His boots clatter to the floor, his belt clinking as you tug on his trousers, eager to release him.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says suddenly, his lids heavy as he searches your face. “We didn’t know then-”

“We know now,” you counter, your chest heaving with anticipation. “Do you still want to..?”

“It ain’t about what I want.”

“Then take me, cowboy,” you whisper into his mouth. “Anything, as long as we’re together.”

****

You groan. Something doesn’t feel right. You can feel heartburn building it’s way up into your throat and your stomach is twisting up a storm. A clatter of spurs across floorboards make you sit up.

“O’Driscolls. Downstairs.” Arthur is pulling his trousers up, slipping his arms into the suspenders as he peers down into the street. “We need to leave.”

“They ain’t gonna recognise me,” you mumble, sitting up. What is wrong with you? “I’ve passed them in the street before now and they have never said anything.”

“I’d rather not take the chance.” He gathers your clothes, throwing them at you as you dress slowly. “We overslept anyway. We were supposed to be at the docks for eight.”

“The docks?” Arthur takes over dressing you as you slow to a halt. “Arthur, where are we going?”

His lips press together as he hooks the back of a new dress he had brought from the tailors. Suddenly you’re feeling even more sick than you did before.

You slip out without seeing any familiar faces. The O’Driscolls Arthur saw must have only been passing through. He’s clearly nervous as he rides you both down to the docks, touching your hand, squeezing it, then letting it go before holding it again. You can’t think about what’s happening - your entire focus is spent on not throwing up.

A large ship is waiting to sail. Arthur helps you down, guiding you over to a young gentleman by boarding.

“We ain’t too late, are we?”

“No, sir! Thirty minutes til we set sail!”

“Great.” He pulls out a wad of cash. “A feller down by the stagecoach said you still had space?”

“For yourself, sir?”

You force yourself to take deep breaths. The ringing in your ears, the hot flush and cold sweats - you force yourself to swallow, trying to overcome the knot of nausea.

“For the lady.” Arthur is surprised when he turns to find you leaning against the railings. “Y/N, y’alright?”

“Do you have medical papers?”

He turns back to the man, his hand still on the small of your back. “What for?”

“If anyone is showing signs of ill health at or before the point of boarding, they cannot sail with us.”

"She’s fine. Her fiancé's waitin' on her."

"I'm sorry, sir, but it’s company policy. We can't allow anyone showing signs of ill health to board, especially if it’s contagious." Arthur scoffs loudly, but the boy is looking at you. Your curses are weak. "There's a doctor round the corner - if you're quick he might be able to help you."

"How much to get the lady onboard?" he asks, shuffling the money between his hands, shoving notes into the boy’s chest. "Fifty? A hundred?"

"Sir, I can't-"

"Two hundred?"

"Arthur, stop!" Your heart is ricocheting against your ribs. "Let's just… go to the doctor. Get a note like he said to say it ain't contagious and renegotiate."

Arthur gives the boy a dark look before shoving the money back into his bag. "Fine," he mutters darkly. "But you had better let us on!"

“As long as it ain’t contagious.” The boy wipes his brow in relief.

****

"Pregnant?"

You close your eyes as they leak down your cheeks.

"Yes, sir." He washes his hands in the small basin. "Newly so, but the fetus seems to be a strong one. Congratulations."

"Did you-?" Both of you look to Arthur who is squeezing the bridge of his nose so tightly his fingertips are white. "You do this on purpose, Y/N?"

"The mother doesn’t get much of a choice in all this-"

"Was I talkin' to you?" he snaps, eyes blazing. "Y/N?"

"Of course not, Arthur!"

"You playing me for a fool?"

Your stomach sinks. This was something else. This was the face of a murderer. "Arthur…"

"How much to get rid of it?" he demands, startling the doctor.

"I beg your p-"

"How much to get rid of it?"

"I don’t do that business here-"

Arthur whips out a pistol and points it at your stomach. "How much to deal with a gunshot wound, then?"

Blood drains from your face as you stare down the barrel of the gun, the doctor stammering wildly.

"I understand this may come as a bit of a shock-"

"A bit of a shock?" He pulls back the hammer, still glaring with white hot fury. "She needs to be boarding a ship now!"

“Arthur.” Your voice is barely a whisper.

“There’s nothing stopping a woman sailing whilst pregnant!”

“And when she gets to the other side with a baby?” he growls, eyes wild. “A baby and no family to support her? Then what?”

“Are you not travelling with her?”

“Arthur,” you choke.

His hand falters, but his glare remains steady. “Y/N.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You have to - it’s too dangerous for you here.”

“I’m staying.”

The pistol lowers as his face crumples with indecision. “You can’t. Colm, the Pinkertons…”

“Then come with me!” He drops the pistol on the table, pulling his hair as he walks away to the window. “Leave Dutch - we already have a head start! If you want to leave America, we can do it together-”

“I can’t, Y/N. It ain’t that easy.”

“I swear on my life, I won’t breathe a word to anyone about anything. I’m not going to chase you to be a father, I’ll do it alone!”

“Do you really think I don’t want this baby?” His voice cracks. “We can’t keep it, Y/N. What life can it have with parents like us?”

“I’ll give it a life! I- I’ll go straight. I’ll settle down. It’s not like I can go running back to the O’Driscolls, especially now.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that.” “Why not? You can tell Dutch whatever you want. Just leave me here and pretend we never happened-”

“It ain’t being a father I’m worried about! Y/N, I-” He slumps against the wall, staring into space, his brow riddled with worry. “I’ve done it before. My son… he lived with his Ma and I would visit when I could, gave them money so they had enough to eat, I loved them both and… they died. Killed for ten dollars.” He meets your gaze, begging. “We ain’t made for anythin’ good, Y/N. We do bad things and we get it back tenfold. If you and the baby- if anything happened-”

A bowl appears in front of your face just as your stomach turns. When you’ve finished, Arthur’s handkerchief is there to wipe away the tears and bile. You lean back, panting, eyes closed.

“I’m going to step outside,” the doctor announces as Arthur pushes back your hair, kissing your crown apologetically. “And I’m taking the pistol, sir. You can have it back when you leave.”

Arthur ignores him, crouching beside you to kiss your knuckles gently.

“Please,” you murmur. “Please don’t take the baby.”

“I won’t,” he promises. “I can’t leave America. I have nowhere else to go!”

He hushes you, peppering your face and temples with kisses. “We’ll work it out. I promise.”

[annaphoenix1994]

Colter - Outlaws From the West (1)

𝓑𝔂 1899, 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓸𝓾𝓽𝓵𝓪𝔀𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓼𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓪𝓽 𝓪𝓷 𝓮𝓷𝓭.

𝓐𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓪 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓫𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓵𝓪𝔀𝓼...

𝓔𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓱𝓪𝓭 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭.

𝓐 𝓯𝓮𝔀 𝓰𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓵𝓵 𝓻𝓸𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸𝔂𝓮𝓭.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Gimme that!" Minnie Barlow snarled as she pointed a revolver to a younger man's chest. He was about thirty, with a green scarf and a matching vest on his torso. He hated to admit that she was scaring him, but he failed to have any choice as she was aiming his own revolver at him after their brief brawl.

"Miss, I-" He struggled. "You don't wanna do this! I'm an O'Driscoll and word will get back to Colm!" He pleaded as he clutched a manuscript close to his torso, which held crucial information about a train clearing through Granite Pass, a train in which the O'Driscoll's were going to rob, a train that held many railroad bonds, some gold, and government payroll.

"I don't give a damn who you are!" She hissed. "Gimme that paper and we won't have no problems, ya hear me?"

He nodded his head, but still refused to give her the manuscript. Young Kieran Duffy never wanted harm to come to anybody as he never really wanted to fall in with a band of outlaws in the first place, but after losing his mother and father to Cholera, his dreams of running a large farm in California were demolished. His lip quivered, "Please! I- Please, you don't wanna do this." He begged.

He gulped as he watched her grip on the revolver tighten, her knuckles turning white, wondering why she hadn't pulled the trigger on him yet. Maybe it was the fear in his brown eyes or the quivering of his lip as she had wrestled him in the snow as they were in a region called the Grizzlies. His eyes darted to the small ridge behind the two, seeing his scouting partner taking a perch to get a good shot at her. He knew he was in trouble, but he could not see another person get killed. "Run!" He shouted at her, preparing himself to feel a bullet penetrate his torso, but flinched when the sound of gunpowder did not come from her, but from his partner.

He missed.

Minnie shuttered as she pursed her lips, "You're one lucky bastard." She seethed as she quickly unloaded his revolver before throwing it back onto his lap, selfishly taking his bullets for her own. His breath hitched as he fell back in the snow, trying to relax his breathing as Colm himself couldn't have come close to being as terrifying as Minnie Barlow. He rose his head at the sound of heavy boots thrusting through the snow, seeing his partner lunging at him, pinning him deeper into the snow. "You goddamn idiot! Why'd you tell her to run?! Huh? Why?!" He questioned, his palms gripping tightly around his throat.

"I-I don't know Phil!" He pleaded.

Phil huffed and let Kieran's torso thud back into the snow onto his back, not wanting to demand answers from him. "We're wanted men, Mister Duffy. Do you not know who that woman was?" He scoffed.

"N-No..."

"I'll tell you when we get back. C'mon, some of our boys found a cabin up in the mountains a couple of days ago. It's warm and dry - better than that piece of shit camp we're at now. And with that storm comin', we need to get movin'." He warned as he gestured at the sky, seeing the winter clouds brewing a dark blue, a screeching wind yearning with a haunting gentle hush sweeping the landscape.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Abigail says he's dyin', Dutch!" Orville Swanson said as his arms were crossed over his torso, trudging through the snow to keep in sync with the wagon as the new storm had swept over the caravan. "We'll have to stop some place!" He pleaded as his old mind continued to worry about young Davey Callander, who had been shot.

"Okay. Arthur's out looking. I sent him up ahead!" Dutch van der Linde assured the old man. Orville nodded as he trudged back towards the back of the wagon, quickly jumping on to tend the wounded with Abigail.

"If we don't stop soon, we'll all be dying," Hosea Matthews added. "This weather, it's May... I'm just hopin' the law got as lost as we did." He sighed, looking ahead, his eyes squinting to protect themselves from the darting snow.

"There!" Dutch pointed at the silhouette appearing yards ahead of the caravan. "Arthur! Any luck?"

Arthur Morgan looked up from atop an appaloosa mare, the brim of his hat shielding him from the snow and wind, "I found a place where we can get some shelter!" He croaked. "Let Davey rest while he... you know." He sighed as he remembered the almost fatal gunshot Davey had received during the robbery in Blackwater, a city a couple of states away in which led the gang to flee into the mountains of Ambarino. "An old mining town, abandoned, it ain't far."

Desperate, cold, and surviving souls huddled together as they entered the old cabin, Davey's stiff and cold body being displayed on a table as Abigail examined him for the final time. "Davey's dead." Abigail frowned as her son, Jack, reached for her skirt, clutching it tightly as he too was looking for warmth.

"There was nothing more you could've done," Orville assured her as her frown glowed in the dim light provided by the lantern.

"What're we gonna do? We need supplies." Hosea whispered to Dutch while Arthur stood stoutly behind the old man, shaking his hands before putting them up to his mouth in an attempt to generate heat.

"Well, first of all, you're gonna stay here and you're gonna get yourself warm. Now, I sent John and Micah scouting out ahead. Arthur and I, we're gonna ride out and see if we can find one of 'em."

"In this?" Arthur asked, desperately not wanting to return to the piercing wind.

"Just for a short bit. I don't see what other choice we have," Dutch replied before turning his attention to the peering souls gathered together, looking to him as their leader for guidance in this time of need. "Listen, listen to me all of you, for a moment. Now we've had a bad couple of days. I loved Davey, Jenny, Sean, Mac - they may be okay. We don't know. But we lost some folks. Now, if I could throw myself in the ground in their stead, I'd do it. Gladly, but, we are gonna ride out and we are gonna find some food. Everybody, we're safe now. There ain't nobody followin' us through a storm like this one and by the time they get here, well we're gonna be -we're gonna be long gone. We've been through worse than this before. Mister Pearson, Miss Grimshaw, I need you to turn this place into a camp. We may be here for a few days. Now all of you, all of you, get yourselves warm. Stay strong. Stay with me! We ain't done yet! C'mon, Arthur."

───※ ·❆· ※───

"I thought you said this was an abandoned cabin, Phil?" Kieran asked hesitantly over the obnoxiously loud violin tunes being played by one of the other gang members, Billy, if he had remembered correctly. In fact, all that he could remember of Billy was that he was about as dumb as a billy goat, although almost all of the O'Driscoll boys fit the description.

"It is," One of the gang members replied, propping his feet on the table and clutching a whiskey bottle in his hand. "After we killed the bastard who lived here. We're savin' his wife in the cellar for later." He snickered.

Kieran curled his lip in disgust, "I wasn't askin' you, Billy," Kieran had been wondering to himself as to why he decided to fall in with the O'Driscolls in the first place, knowing that maybe, just maybe, all gangs didn't find pleasure in killing a woman's husband just for the hell of it and storing her in the cellar, robbing elderly folks, doctors, and teachers. He bowed his head in shame, whispering a prayer to himself for his sins to be forgiven. "Who was that woman you were supposed to tell me about?" He asked hesitantly.

"Minnie Barlow is her name. She's wanted in five states that we know of. She ran her own gang a few years back but has been runnin' alone for quite a while by what we know. Colm has a likin' towards her after she threatened his life back in Valentine." Phil explained.

"Why would Colm like that?"

"I'm not sure. I guess he likes women to have a fightin' side to 'em," Phil chuckled. "He tells us to keep an eye out for her when we're not workin'. He wants her bad. I could've gotten her if you didn't tell her to run!" Phil hissed.

"When are we gettin' out of here?" Kieran asked, desperately wanting to avoid the subject of Minnie Barlow.

"You sure do got a lot of questions!" Another gang member hissed in annoyance. "Will you shut up?"

"We're still wonderin' why Colm picked you up-" Phil replied with haste. "Maybe it's because you're the only bastard who takes care of our horses so we don't have to do it."

Kieran gulped and bowed his head, wishing that he was around horses at that moment rather than taking rude remarks from fellow gang members. 'I wonder what'll happen if I just ran away?' He thought to himself.

"Be easy on him, Phil, I'll go tend to the horses out in the barn."

"Hurry up! It's about time to get the girl!" Phil reminded before glaring over at Kieran. "You won't get a turn."

"Didn't want one." He replied.

Just as the thought Phil was having by going to waste the whiskey by bashing the bottle on Kieran's head, all of their heads shot up after hearing an unfamiliar voice outside begging for help. "D-do people just get lost out here?" Kieran asked hesitantly, praying it wasn't another gunfight brewing.

"Hello?" Dutch asked, clutching his coat as he held up a lantern, standing stationary in the knee-high snow.

"Shut up, Billy! Shh, shh, shh!" One of the gang members hushed as he pushed Billy, stopping his playing hastily.

"Excuse me? Hello!" Dutch continued. "Oh well, hello friend."

"What you want?"

"I am very sorry to disturb you. Uh, my friends and I, well we got into some... trouble up the way. Lost in the storm. Ah, gentleman!" Dutch said as Phil and Billy were now descending the three steps of the porch, Billy holding a lantern up to see Dutch's face.

"We can't help you, Mister," Billy warned.

"I got folks dyin' on the trail, I-" Dutch pleaded.

"Aw, folks!" Phil mocked with a chuckle.

"I-I just need cans of food or somethin', please!"

"I think you should go now, buddy!" Phil suggested.

"Now, friend, I ain't asking for much. Please, I am kinda desperate."

"Wait a minute!" Phil interjected, taking Billy's lantern to hold the light for himself to confirm his suspicion. "You're Dutch van-"

Gunsmoke filled the winter air, bullets lodging into the softwood of the cabin. Kieran ducked from any nearby windows as he gathered a can of corn and a tin of biscuits before making his way out of the cabin from the rear. "I ain't gettin' myself shot over some disagreement!" He hissed to himself as he made his way to the cellar to offer freedom to the woman they were holding hostage. "Ma'am, you wanna come with me? Someone is shootin' up the place and we need to leave!" Kieran explained.

"No!" She seethed, backing away from him. "I'm not leaving him!"

"Leaving who?"

"My husband! They killed my husband!" She cried.

"Miss, I-I'm sorry about your husband, but they were gonna do bad things to you. You need to get out of here." Kieran warned, slowly inching towards her.

"Nothing they can do to me will ever amount to the hurt they caused by killing my Jake. Go! Leave me alone, O'Driscoll!" She hissed before lunging at him, smacking him relentlessly as he backed away from her. She reminded him of a rattler, coiling up and lunging as she did, but he tried to understand her situation as her love for her husband was far stronger than what the O'Driscoll gang was going to do to her. Kieran simply nodded before making an exit through the back of the cabin, thrusting his legs through the knee-high snow, clutching the small sack of food he packed in fear of losing it, remembering the way to the main camp was just over the ridge.

"We've got a runner! You see him, Arthur?" He heard a man shout from a few yards away.

Kieran's breath hitched as he heard another shot go off, hearing the whistle of a bullet past him, hitting a rock nearby.

"Can't ya get 'em, Morgan? Losin' your eyesight?" A man who had been pairing with them mocked.

"Shut your goddamn mouth. He got too far!"

Kieran continued to run, forcing his legs to carry him farther, his heart thudding against his chest. "I need to get back to camp!" He encouraged himself. As much as he hated to think it, he needed to get back to Colm. At least his camp was safer than being out in the exposing elements with only a can of corn and a tin of biscuits.

"Goddamn O'Driscoll boys here? Why?" Dutch questioned as he and Arthur regrouped, followed by his newest gang member, Micah Bell.

"I don't know, maybe the same reason as us," Micah replied.

"Micah, go bring the horses closer to the house!" Dutch commanded as he and Arthur made their way up onto the porch of the cabin, searching the corpses for any valuables. "Arthur, let's go search the cabin."

"Smells like a party in here," Arthur said as he sighed in relief to get out of the piercing cold.

"Turn the place upside down. Grab as many supplies as you can. We need the essentials: food, medicine... whiskey!" Dutch chuckled.

"Looks like the poor bastard was married too, at some point," Arthur sighed as he looked at the photo on the hearth, flipping it over to see the names of the couple: JAKE AND SADIE

"If we can't eat it or drink it, put it down," Dutch replied.

Arthur continued to search the cabin, looking in every drawer and opening every cabinet, taking every canned good he could fit into his satchel, eating a biscuit out of a tin that was on the main table as he read a newspaper clipping of a fellow outlaw: Minnie Barlow.

"Looks like Miss Barlow is a ghost. Rumors of her bein' seen robbin' trains around here!" Arthur chuckled as he read the article, detailing a robbery performed a few days prior to their own robbery in Blackwater.

"What did this said Miss Barlow do this time?" Dutch asked as he searched the medicine cabinet before grabbing a blanket.

"Robbed a train out towards Rhodes with government payroll. Looks like it was heading towards Annesburg for the Army." Arthur explained.

Dutch chuckled, "You know, I've never even met the woman and she did robberies by herself and we're over here gettin' a band of fools to rob one!" He teased.

"Well, why don't you just find the woman and replace all of us then?" Arthur retorted, amused, and also offended.

"I would never do such a thing, son," Dutch assured. "Besides, I heard she was killed anyway."

"Whatchu mean?"

"By what I've read, she used to be a government official about a few years ago. She tried going after Leviticus Cornwall a while back trying to make her way in as an attorney, but they wouldn't hire women, so she just went in guns blazing and stole a couple of bonds."

"Damn! When was this?" Arthur asked.

"A couple of years ago I guess before she got killed. Apparently, that's when she went downhill the same time she went after Cornwall. She ran away and made her own gang. A woman like that is scary - workin' for the government like that - knowin' all of their little tricks and then turnin' against it as an outlaw. Nobody can touch her," Dutch explained. "I'll have to get Hosea to tell you all about it. He's obsessed with crime conspiracies."

"Sounds like a plan, then," Arthur replied as he finished his biscuit before continuing to loot the home. His mind kept thinking back to Minnie Barlow, wondering how old she was, what she looked like, and her story. He wanted to sit down and talk to her about her ways and what she's experienced. He was sure she had plenty of experience when it came to gunfights.

"Big ole pool of blood here!" Arthur said as he had accidentally stepped in it.

"I saw," Dutch replied.

"Must've been the poor bastard who lived here. Micah found a dead body in the wagon outside."

"Keep searchin' while I go pack these on the horses," Dutch said as he walked out the front door.

"Sure," Arthur replied as he searched the chest at the foot of the bed before grabbing the newspaper clipping he had been reading to take with him, hoping there was more to the story than what he had already read. He put the clipping in his pocket before walking back into the piercing cold, clutching the collar of his coat closer to his face to block the wind.

"Arthur, go see if there's anything in that barn!" Dutch commanded as he was strapping down a blanket that had wrapped some provisions on the back of Arthur's horse. "Micah, you search the cabin, see what we missed."

"Sure," Arthur croaked as he thrust his way through the snow and to the barn, only to be distracted by the distressed whinnies of a horse before being ambushed from behind by one of the men who was holding up the cabin.

"You bastards shot my cousin!" The man hissed as Arthur had easily thrown the man off of him.

"Well, he started it!" Arthur argued as he scrambled to his feet.

"I'm gonna break your neck!" He threatened.

"Whatever you say!" Arthur replied as he balled his fists before impact. The man tried desperately to hit Arthur, but Arthur was far too experienced in fighting compared to him. Within a minute, Arthur had the man pinned to the ground with his throat clutched by Arthur's strong grip while his other fist was balled.

"What's goin' on?" Dutch asked as he rushed to the scene after hearing the commotion.

"This guy just jumped me!" Arthur grunted.

"Oh, did he now?"

"Sneaky little bastard! Should I kill him?" Arthur asked.

"No, not yet. Find out what they're doing here and where Colm is." Dutch commanded.

"Oh, this son of a bitch'll talk!" Arthur grunted as he threw a punch to the man's temple. "Where's Colm O'Driscoll?" Arthur interrogated.

"With the others at an old mining camp southwest of here, near the lake." He choked.

"What're you bastards doin'?" Arthur continued. "Why are you up here?"

"We're fixing to rob some train, gonna blow the tracks. I don't know more than that, I swear!"

The silent tension between the two was broken by Dutch's sinister chuckle, "Well, it looks like you have this, Arthur. Do what you want with him, I don't care. But bring that horse when you're done!" Dutch said as he walked away. Arthur smirked as he continued to beat the man, knocking him out cold. "You bastard, you got blood on my knuckles!" He chuckled as he shook the numbness from his fist as he made his way over to the horse, who had been spooked by the commotion. As he made his way into the stall, he took note of the patches of white on the horse's coat. "Mahogany Bay," He whispered to himself as he patted the horse's thick neck. "Good boy, it's okay." He assured the animal as he pulled out an oatcake from his satchel, feeding it to the stallion before flipping the reins over the horse's ears to lead him.

"Is that bastard still in there?" Dutch asked through the whistling snow.

"He's dealt with," Arthur replied.

"Good! That looks like a decent horse! You should keep him! Tie him up over there so he doesn't spook."

"Get away from me!" A feminine shout echoed from the cabin.

"What was that?" Arthur asked as he and Dutch looked at the cabin where the noises were coming from.

"Micah! What the hell do you think you're doing?" Dutch intervened.

"Oh, look what I found in the cellar!" Micah teased as he tried to touch the young woman, seeing that it fumed Dutch and Arthur as they never would do such a thing.

"Wild thing ain't you?" Micah mocked as she was now throwing things at the man as he continued to mock and poke at her.

"Leave her alone!" Dutch protested.

"I wasn't doin' nothin'!" Micah argued as he ducked from a thrown object. "She's one of those O'Driscoll's!"

"No she ain't, Micah look at her!" Dutch protested. "Miss, Miss, are you-" He explained, but was soon interrupted by Micah lunging at the woman, flipping the table over and sending the lit lantern to the dry wood floor. "Oh, you fool, Micah!" Dutch scolded as he and Arthur shoved him out of the way.

"Miss, now it's gonna be okay. We mean you no harm," He soothed as he approached her slowly, taking note of the large knife she gripped in her hand. She hitched her breath before weakly lunging at Dutch, but not aiming the knife at him. His gentle touch to her upper arm stopped her, bringing her back to reality. A gentle touch that she hadn't felt in so long. She had almost craved more after being so roughly handled. "Miss, Miss! C'mon, it'll be okay. We need to get outta here and quick!" Dutch said as he gently led her to the front door of the cabin, Arthur following closely behind. "Come on, now." He whispered.

"You okay, Miss?" Dutch asked as they were now outside, draping a spare blanket over her pale shoulders.

"They came three days ago and my husband they, they..." She sobbed, clutching the blanket tighter.

"Okay, Miss. You are safe now and you can't stay here. You come with us. Arthur," He said as he handed the lantern to him.

"Miss, it's okay, alright? We're bad men, but we ain't them, so... It's okay," He soothed her as he led her to the other side of Dutch's horse, effortlessly lifting her up onto the horse's hindquarters. "We'll keep you safe until you figure out what you wanna do." He said as he trudged his way to his new horse.

"What's your name, Miss?" Dutch asked as he, Arthur, and Micah rode away from the engulfing inferno of her former home. "Miss?" He reminded.

"Adler," She replied.

"Adler?" Dutch said.

"Sadie Adler. Missus...I...He... He was my husband!" She croaked, still in shock that he was now deceased. She clutched onto Dutch's coat, looking back to see the top of her husband's head peering out from the sheet he was under on the old wagon, whispering a last 'I love you' to him before the image of him faded away by the density of her tears.

───※ ·❆· ※───

"How'd you get on?" Hosea asked as he met Dutch, Arthur, and Micah as they rode up to the new camp.

"Micah found a homestead, but he weren't the first. Colm O'Driscoll and his scum, they beat us to it. We found some of them there, but there is more about apparently scouting a train." Dutch explained as he dismounted his horse. "Thank you." He nodded to Charles Smith as he held the reins of Dutch's horse to keep the stallion steady.

"That's the last thing we need right now, Dutch," Hosea warned.

"Well, it is what it is, but we found some supplies, some blankets, a little bit of food, and this poor soul, Missus Adler," Dutch said as almost every member of the camp was swarmed around them. Sadie clutched her blanket draped over her shoulders, her teeth chattering. She was scared, but she felt safer in this band of strangers than the ones who had intruded on her home. "Miss Tilly, Miss Karen, would you warm her up? Give her a drink of something? And Missus Adler, it's gonna be okay! You're safe now! " Dutch reminded as Karen and Tilly led her to the cabin where the women slept. "They turned her into a widow... animals!" He said as his lover, Molly O'Shea, clung to him as she held the lantern. "I need some rest. I haven't slept in three days." He sighed.

"You're over here," Susan Grimshaw said, pointing towards the cabin she had prepared for him, Hosea, and Arthur. "Miss O'Shea will show you the way. Mr. Morgan, we put you in a room over here." She explained.

"Thank you, Miss Grimshaw!" Arthur groaned as he forced himself to walk through the snow, the harsh wind hitting him directly in the face.

"Mister Bell, you're with the fellers over there."

"How come Arthur gets a room and I get a bunk bed next to Bill Williamson and a bunch of darkies?" Micah protested, his racism sitting at the hilt of his tongue like venom.

"Get yourself to bed!" Hosea demanded, not putting up with any tension in the camp between members.

[jornthur]

“Unshaken” Chapter II

Originally posted: March 13, 2020

Arthur Morgan x Reader, Slow-Burn Romance

Summary: You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

•••••

A large buck.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he saw the creature in the distance, its head bent to the ground as it nipped at the blades of grass. He could’ve sworn he’d seen it before, but where the hell was he this time?

He looked around, taking in the hazy surroundings. The forest was thick with tall trees and wild foliage, the flora consisting of many different and beautiful colors. He could hear birds tittering high up in the branches as the sun’s rays shined through the trees’ thick canopies.

Was he dreaming again?

Arthur tried moving, taking a single step forward —

The buck jerked its head up from where it was grazing, looking over in his direction, directly into his eyes.

Arthur froze, his entire body going still as he looked into those eyes …

They were his own.

A single heartbeat sounded, and suddenly he felt a strong pull as he was sucked right into the stare.

Arthur jerked awake, his eyes opening as he let out a hard gasp. The sudden inhale caused a sharp pain to stab through his chest and he grimaced, letting out a deep groan.

He blinked, a mysterious bright light nearly blinding him. With a grunt he grimaced as he made an effort to lift his head. Sunlight was shining directly on his face, and he couldn’t see a damn thing. His vision was so blurry and he blinked a few more times in an effort to clear it up. Looking around, he tried to take in his surroundings.

Where the hell was he? The last thing he remembered was the feeling of the unforgiving rocky ground. Now he felt nothing but soft cushions beneath his body.

Arthur looked down and noticed that a thick wool blanket was covering him up from his shoulders down. He seemed to be lying on a large couch … in someone’s house?

He tried to move, but his body didn’t obey. It felt almost as though his limbs were completely paralyzed, as if he’d been drugged. His entire body might as well have been a limp wooden board.

Gathering up all the energy he could, he gradually brought his hand up from his side and lightly gripped the hem of the blanket. Lifting it up slowly, he looked down and saw that he was naked from the waist up, and his entire upper body had been patched up in several areas with thick bandages. Some more bloody than others.

What the hell had happened?

Voices started drifting into his head and he looked around, trying to figure out where they were coming from. He took in the cobblestone fireplace on the other side of the room, a full bookshelf, a couple sitting chairs — whose place was this? There was an open doorway across the room, and the voices seemed to be coming from there. The voices sounded like a man and woman — arguing?

“We can’t afford to be takin’ care of this stranger, Y/N! We’re barely gettin’ by as it is.” The man’s voice sounded angry, having a slight southern touch to his accent.

Stranger? Were they talking about him?

“For the last time, Austin, his name is Arthur! And you need to quit your complainin’!” A woman’s voice that time. Her voice had a somewhat southern lilt to it as well, similar to the man’s but a bit stronger. Who were these people?

Arthur squinted, trying to recall what had happened. He had no clue where he was — how did he get here? No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to remember a damn thing.

Arthur frowned, suddenly realizing that the woman had said his name. How did she know it?

“I don’t give a damn what his name is! You’re wastin’ all our resources on a stranger who’s on the brink of death as it is,” the man snapped.

“This man needed help, Austin. What was I supposed to do? Just leave him there?”

The man named Austin seemed relentless. “You could’ve been killed, Y/N! It could’ve been a trap, what if it’d been an ambush? What would I have told Pa if you’d gotten hurt?”

Y/N … he could’ve sworn he heard that name before. A blurry image of a woman’s face flashed through his mind, and he groaned as the vision caused a sharp stabbing pain in his head.

“I’m sick and tired of arguin’ with you on this, Austin. Nothing bad happened, and I don’t know what else to tell you. You need to get over this already!”

The voices stopped then, and the woman Arthur had been hearing suddenly appeared in the doorway across the room. She stilled right in her tracks, seeming to notice that he had woken up.

•••••

You were getting weary of Austin’s squabbles.

No matter how many times you tried to make your brother see reason he absolutely refused to hear it. Austin had completely lost all rational thought when it came to Arthur’s presence in the cabin, and he took every opportunity he could to remind you how stupid he thought you were for what you did.

You were tired of his behavior, though. Of course, you knew Austin loved you — though he sure had a funny way of showing it sometimes — but his over-protective nature could get a little grating, more often than not. However, he was family, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep you safe.

Still, though, his bellyaching was getting rather annoying. For the past three days Austin had been constantly on your back about you taking the injured man into your cabin and caring for him, and his anger was really starting to irk you.

Really, what else could you have possibly done?

This man … Arthur … he would’ve died on that mountain had you not found him. He’d looked so defenseless, so cold and weak, lying on that unforgiving ground. You knew deep down that you would not have been able to live with yourself had you just left him there.

You turned away from Austin, ready to storm right out of the cabin. There would never be any persuading your brother, and you could no longer stand to be in the same room with him anymore.

Planning to step outside to walk off your frustrations and get some fresh air, you abruptly halted in the doorway to the sitting room at the sight before you.

Arthur was awake, his eyes staring directly at you from across the room. You smiled and walked over to him, kneeling down by his side so that you were face-to-face. “Mornin’, Arthur,” you said in a gentle tone, “How’re you feelin’?”

He didn’t answer right away, seeming to examine you further with his blue-green eyes.

After several seconds passed, he opened his mouth but Austin suddenly came rushing into the room, addressing Arthur with an aggressive tone, “If you dare try anythin’ stupid, cowpoke, I’ll make sure you — ”

You’d had enough, you snapped your head around and glared at your brother, “Get out of here, Austin! Go check on the horses, clean the stables. I don’t care, just get the hell out!”

Austin gave you a pained look, “Y/N, I don’t want you near this man, especially when he’s awake,” he said, adding the last part through gritted teeth. Then he lowered his voice, his tone sounding worried, “What if he tries to harm you?”

You almost felt the strong need to roll your eyes. “Does he look like the sort of man that would try to harm me?”

Austin shot his gaze at Arthur and then back at you, “Yes.”

A short laugh escaped you at the disgusted expression he was making. You couldn’t help it, your brother’s lack of hesitation and how quick he’d been with his answer was almost comical. “Austin, the man is unwell and drugged. He’s not going to try anything on me, not even if he wanted to.”

Austin looked a bit skeptical, but finally gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, I’ll be outside choppin’ wood and takin’ care of the horses,” he shot another glare at Arthur as if in warning, adding darkly, “Shout if you need anythin’.”

You let out a sigh, and gave your brother a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Just let me take care of him, please.”

Austin let out a hard grunt, then turned away and left the cabin through the front door, finally leaving you and the conscious Arthur alone.

You looked back down at Arthur to see that he was staring up at you with a confused expression on his face, those thick brows drawn down tight over his blue-green eyes.

“I’ve got — ” he took a deep breath and let out a long groan “ — so many damn questions.” Another big breath, his chest rising and falling as he flinched. He sounded exasperated, his tone dark and rough, “What the hell’s … goin’ on?”

His voice was much stronger than it had been before, having a heavily accented western drawl to it. It was deep, heavy … how in the world could any man possess such a voice?

You shook yourself away from that thought, focusing on what he’d just said. “Can you remember anything about what happened?” You asked, reaching out and lifting up the thick blanket to examine the old bandages.

Arthur just shook his head in response, “No … can’t say I can.”

After he’d given you his name the other day, he’d passed out soon afterwards from the drug you’d given him. You’d gone to work immediately on examining, cleaning and dressing the wounds on the rest of his body. Since then you’d changed the dressing a couple more times, and now it looked like it was time to do it again.

“Where am I?” He asked you as you stood up to walk into the kitchen and wash your hands in the sink.

The drugs that were being given to him were messing with his memory, but that was to be expected. The anesthetic on top of the herbs you had been treating him with for the past few days were having side effects on him, temporarily clouding up his mind. The medicinal properties tended to have strange and similar side effects on animals you’d treated in the past, making them behave rather strangely.

Treating a human … it was almost foreign.

“You’re in our cabin,” you answered him, “just north of Roanoke Ridge, we live right above Cerberus Falls, near Brandywine.” Once you finished drying your hands with a fresh cloth, you went over to your office, gathering fresh medicinal supplies from your desk.

“How’d I get here?” He asked, taking another deep breath. He let out a hard cough, and you looked over your shoulder to see that he was trying to sit up.

Rushing back over to him, you quickly set the supplies on the side table and placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing to urge him to lay back down.

“You need to lie still.” Keeping you tone soft in an effort to soothe him, you wondered about his last question. Had he forgotten everything from the other night? “We heard gunshots and my brother Austin and I found you on a mountain near O’Creagh’s Run.” You urged him down with your hand until he was lying flat on his back again. “We brought you back here, and I’ve been taking care of you for the past few days — but you have a long while until you’re well enough to get back on your feet.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if he were trying to remember the events of that night. “You found me on the mountain?” He asked, his voice graveled.

“Yes.” You took the blanket off of him and set it on the floor, getting to work on taking off the old bandages. “You were extremely weak, you were bleeding and having trouble breathing.”

Those last words made his eyes widen, as if he was suddenly frightened by something.

Instantly Arthur tried to sit up again, his upper body shooting up and startling you, but you quickly overcame your surprise and tried to get him to settle down. Placing a firm hand on his chest, you pushed him back down, trying to get him to relax. “Please, Arthur, I need you to stay still.”

“Get away from me, woman,” he snapped, struggling against your hold. You weren’t all that strong to hold such a large man down, but the state he was in helped in your favor.

You glared at him then, “My name is Y/N, not ‘woman.’ Everything is alright, Arthur, please calm down.” You were trying to keep your voice low in an effort to calm his nerves, but it wasn’t helping. “Please, you really need to rest.”

“No,” he said firmly, almost sounding fearful as he let out another cough. “I got TB, I don’t want … you gettin’ sick cuz of me.”

His unexpected words touched you, almost taking you aback. Here he was, hurt and bare, and he was trying to put you before his own health … even though he barely knew you.

“Arthur, it’s alright,” you said softly, “You won’t get me sick. I got treatments to prevent that from happening.”

Arthur suddenly stopped his struggles, his head turning back to you with a mixed look of surprise and confusion plastered on his face. “Treatments?” He asked, his voice matching the expression he made.

You nodded, “Yes, I’m a doctor that specializes in experimenting on natural remedies for diseases. Tuberculosis is one of them.” You began washing his wounds and redressing them with fresh bandages. Some of them were still more raw than others, but they were already looking much better than they’d had before.

As you worked on securing the bandages, you felt Arthur’s gaze on you. You tried to ignore the stare at first as you finished patching him up, but it went on for so long you couldn’t help but start to feel a little uncomfortable.

“What?” You asked, finally allowing yourself to look up at him as you finished the last patch.

“You … you treat TB?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, “Yes, kind of … though this is my first time doing it on a human.”

His squinted at that, so you were quick to jump in and explain. “It’s the same process. Most species’ lungs are similar to each other,” You started rambling, talking faster and faster as you pretended to be busy with checking his bandages, even though they were already secure. All the while you could feel his scrutinizing gaze on you. “You were about to die, so I didn’t see the harm in trying to treat you — I gave you different doses based on your size —and I … and I needed to flush your lungs out with a special medicine — I just had to use slightly different doses — I mean, herbs because different species tolerate different herbs and I thought that maybe with a human I could — ”

You heard a deep chuckle and looked back up at his face.

He was smiling at you.

That grin had you stop in your tracks and lose all your train of thought right then and there. It was like nothing you’d ever seen on any man, causing a shiver to go through your body.

Arthur took another deep breath, and spoke his next words softly, “So you been treatin’ my TB, huh?”

After a few heartbeats passed, you nodded.

Arthur’s grin widened, but then quickly faded as a thought seemed to occur to him. “How the hell — ” his chest rose and fell, “ — d’you know all this?”

You lifted a brow at his question, “What do you mean?”

“The herbs … natural remedies, as you put them — ” His body convulsed as another coughing fit took over, and he turned his head away until it passed. He didn’t need to since you took some medicine yourself to fight off any possible bacteria, but you appreciated his kind thought. He turned to face you again, “How d’you know … how to treat somethin’ like this?”

You grabbed the hem of the wool blanket and pulled it over his body, tucking it just over his shoulders. “My father, well he was a busy man, but he had a lot of love for animals. My mother was a doctor like me, though I swear to you you’d think she was an herbalist around the clock. Her passion in life had always been about plants and researching their different properties. What they could do, what benefits they gave … ” You laughed then, thinking back, “She would always come to me excited whenever she found something new that a plant or flower could do.”

You thought back to your childhood, unable to hold back a smile as you recalled the memories.

Having grown up on a plantation with a large farm that your grandmother had owned, you knew a lot about all kinds of animals thanks to your parents. Your father had taught you all about the animals and how to take care of them, while your mother would always teach you about all the plants she’d found and what she’d discovered about them.

Your parents had taken in so many sick animals, both wild and owned, caring for and nursing them all back to health. They’d found great joy in aiding the creatures, and you enjoyed learning what you could from them.

Life had been so simple back then.

But … all of that had come to a crashing end when a gang of outlaws had raided your home in the dark of night.

You instantly lost your smile then, the terrible memory flooding your mind against your will.

Both you and your mother had been in the kitchen discussing chores. Your father had been out of town on business with a client, and your brother had been riding out in the country with his horse.

Several of the plantation’s guards had been killed before anyone was able to send out a warning, and the outlaws had managed to break into the house, tying up you and your mother as others ransacked every room as if they’d been searching for something. They’d interrogated and beaten her, only to kill her with a shotgun right in front of you.

If it hadn’t been for the lawmen charging in when they had, you had no doubt the outlaws would’ve done away with you as well. They’d gotten away, though, riding away on their horses and disappearing into the thick forest across the fields.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek. Your brother and father had been absolutely broken at the news when they’d come back. To hear that the woman you all loved more than anything in the world was now gone, and the outlaws responsible for her death had never been found.

No one had ever found out what they’d been after, and since that night, you and your family had never been the same.

And of course, having lost your mother due to a gang, you’d grown up despising outlaws with every ounce of your being to this day. They were monsters. Killers. Thieves. All they ever did was hurt and destroy innocent people and their families.

Your mother had found a passion in saving lives.

You wanted to do the same, and so you’d dedicated your life into carrying on her work.

Gathering yourself so as not to get carried away with your emotions, you took a deep breath and forced a smile, looking back down at the man lying on your couch. “They taught me everything I know, but my mother was the one who encouraged me the most.”

Arthur looked at you for what felt like ages, the silence stretching between the two of you as those blue eyes of his seemed to study you for the longest time. Finally, he took a deep breath, “Your mother sounds … like she were an amazin’ woman,” he said softly.

You didn’t know why, but this man’s deep western drawl and what he said comforted you somewhat.

Nodding, you replied softly. “She was.”

He gave you a gentle smile as if to try and comfort you, “I’m real sorry, Y/N.” His soft tone seemed to melt your nerves, helping you to relax a small bit.

You returned his smile with another one of your own. “Well, she’s in a much better place now.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Arthur replied.

There was another long moment of silence, and it seemed to go on forever, the clock on the wall making the only sound in the quiet room.

Shaking yourself mentally, you stood up quickly and cleared your throat, quickly changing the subject to switch up the mood, “It’s time for another dose.”

Arthur raised those dark brows of his, “What’re you talkin’ ’about?” He asked, your sudden change seeming to have surprised him.

Walking over to your desk again, you grabbed the same vial and an empty syringe, a bottle of alcohol along with cotton and gauze, and finally a spoon and a pot of honey. While you gathered everything you explained it all to him. “You need another shot to help treat your Tuberculosis, Arthur. All of this is supposed to help kill off the bacteria that’s still left in your body. Once that’s done, your lungs and any other effected areas you have can finally start healing.”

“How d’you know all these things?” He asked.

“I had a few farm animals and a couple horses while I was growing up that were struck with the disease,” you answered, “both my mother and father showed me how to do the treatments on some of them.” You came back over with everything, kneeling back down by his side.

“Of course, horse lungs are much bigger and more resistant to Tuberculosis, but that made it easier for us to examine them so we could treat it. Unlike the smaller animals. They were a bit more difficult,” you stated. “My mother made a journal at that time to take notes whenever she would perform these treatments. All the research that she and Pa ever did she wrote down in that journal. It’s now in my desk, and over the last few years I’ve come across other animals struck with all kinds of diseases, including Tuberculosis. Her journal has guided me through all of my treatments.” You met his eyes then, “I haven’t failed in curing one yet.” You added lightly, trying to give off a bit of humor to lighten the mood.

But the effort was in vain, as Arthur just looked at you, almost as if he were questioning the situation. “And I’m the first … human you’ve ever treated?” He asked skeptically, almost sounding concerned.

“Well,” you said with a bit of annoyance from the doubt in his voice, “You were about to die so I guess there was no harm in me tryin’, was there?”

That succeeded in making him let out a sudden burst of laughter, which Arthur regretted instantly. You flinched in sympathy as the pain ran through his entire body. “Son of a bitch,” he swore through gritted teeth, cursing more underneath his breath.

You gave him a sympathetic smile as you prepped the syringe, drawing the liquid from the vial into the barrel.

“What the hell’s that?” He asked you as he stared at the vial of medicine as if it were alien to him.

You almost wanted to laugh at the expression he was making as he stared at the syringe with a strange look. “This is a special remedy that I made myself to treat TB. I need to insert it into you arm now, if that’s alright with you?”

Arthur didn’t answer as he just stared at the needle for the longest time.

“Arthur?”

He seemed to be thinking about whether or not he should trust you.

After several more seconds passed, he finally gave you a small nod, “Sure.”

The way he said that single word sent a shiver down your spine.

Letting out a small sigh, you smiled at him. The fact that he was trusting you like this, especially with putting something he didn’t know of in his own body, it meant a lot more to you than you thought it would.

You gripped his wrist gently and turned his arm until it was facing palm-up. “Alright, Arthur, this is going to sting a bit,” you said as you began prepping his inner arm, rubbing the alcohol into his skin to disinfect the area.

Arthur didn’t say a word, only giving you a small nod.

Once you found the large vein, you brought the point of the sharp needle to his skin and pushed it in. His whole body jerked, and he let out a deep grunt of pain, his eyes squeezing shut as his lips pulled back over his teeth in a hiss.

“Almost done,” you said as you pushed down slowly on the plunger, letting the medicine make its way into his body. After it was empty, you took the needle out and patched him up immediately. “Now don’t go messin’ with that, Arthur,” you said in a firm voice, gesturing at the bandage, “It needs to sit there for a few hours so don’t you go makin’ a mess.”

Arthur chuckled at your authoritative voice. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied teasingly, making you blush.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle from his playfulness as you put the syringe away. “Alright, now for the fun part,” you teased back as you picked up the honey pot. Lifting the lid and dipping the spoon in, you scooped out a heaping dose of honey and held it out to him, close to his lips.

“And what’s this for?” He asked, not opening his mouth to take the honey even though he knew you expected him to.

You nearly wanted to roll your eyes as you smiled again. “It’s honey.”

Arthur shot you an annoyed look, “I know it’s honey, dammit.” He snapped, “But why … are you givin’ it to me?”

“It’s a natural remedy to help kill off Tuberculosis bacteria,” you replied impatiently, pressing the spoon to his lips in an effort to get him to open them. “Now open up, here comes the choo-choo train — choo-chooooo!” You made train noises as you moved the spoon around in the air like a train coming down the tracks. Destination: Arthur’s mouth.

At that very moment the look in those blue-green eyes of his would’ve set a forest on fire. “I ain’t a little kid, missy,” he growled at you, that deep western drawl of his sounding dark and threatening.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, completely unphased by the threat, “But where’s the fun in treatin’ you like an adult if you’re not gonna act like one?”

He growled at that, and with great reluctance parted his lips and accepted the honey as you placed it in his mouth. You waited for him to swallow. Once he did, you took out another spoonful and held it out to him. He took five more more after that, each bite either more or less stubborn than the last. When he was done, you placed the lid back on the honey pot and placed it on the side table.

“All finished!” You said to him cheerfully.

Arthur just snorted at you and looked up at the ceiling. “And how long you been … torturin’ me like this, Y/N?” He asked in an accusing but playful tone.

“A few days now, though it hasn’t been easy. Had to feed that honey to you through a tube to make sure it made its way to your stomach.”

He grimaced at that, looking disgusted. “Really wish you hadn’t … told me that part, ma’am.”

You gave him another sympathetic smile, “Well, Arthur, I don’t think we need to do that anymore now that you’re back with us again.”

He chuckled softly at that, the low laughter rumbling deep in his chest, “Let’s hope not, … honey.”

•••••

— To Be Continued

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

First Meetings - Arthur Morgan/Elizabeth McGill

Series: Call it Fate or Call it Chance 

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Elizabeth McGill (Plus size, Female OC) 

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Summary: Arthur Morgan hears someone in distress in the woods and goes to help. It’s a small world though and soon finds himself meeting a friend of one of his acquaintances. Little does he know it’s the start of a relationship that might just change his fate.  

Warning: Talks of hunting, wolves get killed because they’re trying to eat OC, sorry! Talks of canon character death, spoilers? 

Rating: T

Notes: So, I don’t have the energy these days to write a full fic, but I figured if I write a series of interconnecting one-shots then I can write for these two, get the story there, but without needed them all to lead off from one another like chapters. This series will document that relationship between Arthur Morgan and Elizabeth McGill, a plus size, English OC of mine who’s basically the online character but with less of the outlaw stuff. I hope you love her as much as I do and I hope you enjoy this first part in the series.

Archiveofourown

I’m always happy for requests, suggestions, prompts, questions about this two even if my normal requests are closed. Feel free to draw my characters, feel free to write stuff for them, feel free to ask me questions about them. 

“Oh, go away you bloody little blighters! Shoo! I said shoo!” Arthur heard the call over all else, a lilting English accent, soft but scolding, like a mother to a troublesome child. He shifts Dave, the large black shire who he’d allowed Jack to name, forward, just breaching the tree line to see a woman standing on the lower branch of a tree, arms wrapped around the trunk. Wolves circled the base, baying, waiting, biding their time, hoping she’d slip. They were so entirely focused on her that they gave Arthur and the large horse no mind, not caring much for them at the moment. Clearly they had decided this woman was dinner and had some sort of spiteful vendetta, if wolves could feel spite that is. 

She was a plump thing, short in height, round in figure with dark chestnut hair piled high in a gibson style pompadour atop her head. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips painted a poppy red, heavy skirt falling around her feet, kicking up every now and then as a wolf attempted to jump high enough to reach her, to try for a bite. He watched her kick one a way, a well aimed kick that set the wolf flopping to the ground with a yelp before it got back up again growling. A pretty thing, for sure. 

Elizabeth McGill very rarely cursed out her horse, Scrawny, but today she was certainly doing so, mentally of course. She loved her big, doofus of a horse, the gypsy cob was anything but scrawny and he was gentle natured. He was, however, a coward when it came to wolves. He had bucked her so hard she’d lost her glasses, and in her haste to climb a tree hadn’t been able to find them again. If she could see she’d just shoot the bloody wolves circling her, unfortunately, she was blind as a, well, person without her glasses, and she did not trust that she’d hit a single one. She was usually a fine shot, hunting had become part of her trade, but...she usually could see while doing it. It also didn’t help that Scrawny had run off with all but her revolver, leaving her there. His loyalty was astounding. 

“Y’alright, miss?” She can’t see much, just a blurry shape at the edge of the trees, big enough to be a man on a horse, big and dark coloured. The voice is deep, a heavy southern drawl that is pleasant on the ears, even more so because she’s been waiting desperately for a helping hand. 

“I could do with a little assistance, sir!” She was usually the one helping others, but today, the tables had turned and she was not going to turn down the one person who’d arrived in the last half hour. She was fed up of clinging to a tree trunk especially in a heavy autumn skirt. She hadn’t been planning on hunting that day, she’d already done quite enough on the journey down from the Adler Ranch and had been close to Valentine, expecting to simply sell the pelts, teeth, claws, and the like that she’d gathered. Her first mistake was expecting a simple, calm journey of course. Things never were simple or calm, if it wasn’t a cougar attempting to eat her, an ambush by some local gang, or some fellow in need of help, then it was bad weather or snakes. The latter of which Scrawny hated even more than wolves, if that was possible. 

She didn’t so much as watch the man circle around on his horse, shooting the wolves, as much as squint ineffectively and listen to the sound of hooves clipping the dirt, snorts from a remarkably brave horse, and the dying yelps of wolves. Part of her was envious that Scrawny wasn’t that brave, had he been she could have easily dealt with the wolves herself and never ended up in this damnable tree.

“You can come down now, miss.” The man proffers a hand and Elizabeth takes it using its strength and a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she clambers down from her perch, she’s still blind and the help is appreciated. She doesn’t doubt that she’d easily take quite the tumble without guidance. He is nothing if not respectful, the other hand that rests at her waist to help down is placed just so as not to cause offence and is removed the moment her feet are on stable ground. 

What he truly notices is just how short she really is, now she’s beside him her head barely comes to his shoulder. He feels suddenly too imposing, large, and feels the urge to make himself smaller if only to appear less intimidating. 

“I...thank you, do you happen to see a pair of spectacles on the ground? My horse bucked me and I lost them...otherwise I would have handled the wolves myself but, i’m rather blind like this.” Arthur finally notices the way her hazel eyes don’t quite focus on him or her surroundings, when he speaks she can’t quite look him in the eye, but instead moves her gaze around as if trying to. Her squint is also more noticeable all of a sudden and he finds himself hastening to find her spectacles, looking across the ground careful to mind his step. 

“You probably shouldn’t go telling strange men that, ma’am, some might take advantage.” He doesn’t say it to be intimidating or the like, simply out of concern. She clearly couldn’t see well without them and a lesser man, someone like Micah, would surely take advantage. Her trust in him is refreshing but concerning at the same time. He, after all, does not consider himself to be a good man.

“Well, it’s a good thing that a gentleman like yourself happened by instead then, Mr…?” She knows he is concerned for her, she is sure like many men before he thinks her too naïve, too sweet, and perhaps he isn’t wrong on some of those counts. But, she preferred not to live life assuming the worst of everyone, even if people tended to prove that they were indeed rather rotten inside. The amount of strangers in need of help she’d stopped by only to be ambushed was rather alarming at times. But, she did pride herself on her own ability to look after herself, except when she found herself without her glasses. 

“Morgan, Arthur Morgan.” 

“Elizabeth McGill, a pleasure. Thank you, for stopping. I might have been up there for hours otherwise, until they got bored that is, but...I’ve known wolves to bide their time.” She pretends to help because really her running her hands along the grass isn’t doing much, she can’t see after all. 

“Uh, here, Miss McGill, your glasses.” He finds them a ways away from the tree, far enough that he knows she’d have never found them on her own. They’re round and surprisingly unbroken which he is oddly relieved to see for a man not at all invested in them. He passes them to her, watches them change the shape of her face, the clarity coming to her eyes as she blinks up at him with a soft smile. They suit her, feel like something she’s supposed to be wearing, not something that she has to wear. 

For the first time Elizabeth can see her saviour clearly and the man certainly impressed. He was tall, that she already knew even without her glasses, and he was broad, strong, the sort of man that could clearly lift a heavy weight, tackle a man to the ground or hold his own in a fist fight. Mr Morgan had a weathered, but handsome face, little freckles marked his skin, signs of spending time in the sun, his beard was long but neat, but most striking of all were his eyes. He had the most gentle bluish-green eyes she’d seen on a man of his size. 

“You gonna be okay? Your horse still around?” His brows pulled together in the middle out of concern and she found herself smiling at him without much thought. He had been kinder to her in the last 15 minutes than most people were. It warmed her heart just a little more. 

“He’ll be around,” She stops and whistles, sharp, and high. Clear as crystal, and waits a few beats before whistling again. This time Arthur can hear the sound of heavy hooves galloping forward and moves just in time to avoid a large palomino gypsy cob that comes careening out from behind some trees. The horse is lumbering and large as any draft horse is, white and cream dappled coat, dirty from his escape. His hindquarters are covered in pelts, more pelts than Arthur has ever seen, and it’s clear to him that this Miss McGill is a skilled hunter and, if not for her spectacle issue, would have been just fine on her own. It changes his opinion of her, shapes it from a naive, delicate woman, to someone more capable, though still seemingly sweet and lady-like. If possible his interest in her peaked further. 

She places her hands on her wide hips, scowling up at the horse, who’s nodding his head up and down at her in greeting with little nickering sounds, “Scrawny. I hope you know I’m terribly disappointed in you. Leaving me like that. I thought we agreed we were going to work on this wolf phobia of yours, or were you just conning me out of all those oatcakes?”

The horse huffs in a decidedly human way that makes Arthur grin, he doesn’t doubt the big thing had been making away with as many oatcakes as possible with absolutely no understanding or intention of facing a pack of wolves anytime soon.

“You’re lucky that kind Mr Morgan here was happy to help, what would you do if I was eaten by a ferocious pack of wolves?” The horse nickers and presses his large head against her, bumping into her hard enough for her to let out an ouph and take a few steps back. Her back hitting Arthur’s chest, he raised his hands to the tops of her arms to steady her before taking a polite step back, aware he could easily crowd her. 

“I was just doing what anyone would, Miss McGill.” She turns to raise an eyebrow at his words and he feels decidedly admonished before she’s even parted those red lips.

“I think we both know that’s not true, Mr Morgan. I’ve stopped to help enough people who’ve turned a gun on me to know that you are one of a small minority of good folk, whether you want to believe you are or not.” She watches him rub the back of his neck, worn hat tilting forward to hide half his face, but she can still see the beginning flush to his skin from the attention and the creeping little smile twisting at the corners of his mouth. It makes her smile in return, this large, imposing man, bashful at a little compliment like that. 

“What are you doing out here anyways, Miss?”

“I just came down from the mountains. I was visiting a friend who...well, she wasn’t there and her...her husband was dead.” There is a shaky pause, he can see her hand trembling slightly at the thought of her friend and her husband before she bunches it up in her skirt, “Did some hunting on the way down, figured I'd make my usual stop in Valentine to Ted, the butcher, usually gives me a fair price for the things I bring him.” 

Elizabeth can still see poor Jake’s face, cold, frozen solid in the back of a wagon. Some animals had gotten to him before he’d frozen completely and she’d spent a whole day just digging him a grave, hard work considering the ground was almost completely solid itself. But she couldn’t leave him like that and she knew he’d prefer being buried on his own property to burned or some such. She still had blisters on her palms from the digging, despite gloves the hard work had rubbed her hands raw. Made it a tad more difficult to hunt on the way down with her bow, but she’d managed. 

“What was your friend's name?”

“Mrs Adler, Sadie Adler. Used to do jobs for her and her husband when I visited...why?”

“Well, it’s a small world, Miss McGill.” He looks almost surprised at the name she’d thrown out, before smiling at her softly and elaborating, “Me and my friends, we found her oh about...3 weeks back? She was in a pretty bad state, but she’s been with us since. Awful business that with her husband, some O’Driscolls killed him.” Arthur looks apologetic and it soothes her distress to know that at least Sadie is safe, that at least despite all the bad luck in the world something had gone right for her. She hadn’t been found by someone else, someone who would hurt her and that was a small blessing in a world full of problems and bad people. 

“You and your friends?” It’s said with a raised eyebrow and all he can do is rub the back of his neck and look away from her. It doesn’t feel right to lie to her, when she clearly suspects his friends aren’t just his drinking buddies. But, he’s not entirely sure if he can trust her. She seems nice enough, but plenty of people seem nice enough till they find out you have a bounty on your head. Not that Elizabeth could take him in, he doubts given the sheer difference in size that she’d manage it on her own. But, he wouldn’t put it past her to try...if she were so inclined. To him she seems both gentle, delicate, and formidable, words that seem like they shouldn’t work together until you look at her. 

“Well…”

“Relax, Mr Morgan. I understand.” She does, she’s known enough ‘gangs’ of ‘outlaws’ to know that not all are as bad or dishonourable as they seem and that the need to protect their made family was great. She had her suspicions but if they had helped Sadie as Arthur had helped her then she had little doubt that they were the honourable sort of outlaw that she had little problem with. So long as innocent people weren’t getting hurt and the poor weren’t being robbed from she had few objections, even if she personally wasn’t comfortable with robbing or lying, herself. 

The world was a harsh place, few could support themselves on simple law abiding trades like hunting. She was lucky in that respect. One mouth to feed was different to 20. 

“Could I...I hesitate to ask, after all you’ve done for me, Mr Morgan...but could I see her? I...I can’t imagine what she’s going through and I’d like her to know Jake had a proper burial. I did rites and all. She deserves to know.” She twists her hands together, nervous of his answer. She could understand if he said no, he clearly needed to protect his gang and she was a stranger to him. But, she wanted to see her friend and most of all she wanted her friend to know that Jake wasn’t left out there to be eaten or for someone else to find. She’d even managed to gather some of Sadie’s things from the ranch in the end. Photos and trinkets that she’d hoped at the time to be able to give her if she was still alive. 

Arthur rubbed a large scarred hand across his beard, the hairs scratching at his skin as he looked at her. She was small in stature, soft in body, and those hazel eyes held honest intentions. Taking her back to camp wasn’t without risk, but a liar knew a liar when he saw one. She didn’t care about his gang, she wasn’t hunting them down for a fat bounty, she just wanted to see her friend and after everything Mrs Adler had been through he thought she might want to see her friend too. 

With a deep sigh and a quick thought that he hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, Arthur pulled the black bandana from his back pocket. “I’d have to blindfold you, Miss...I gotta...I gotta protect them and I can’t be havin’ you know where we’re at. You understand?”

She could walk away, that was the offer. Be blindfolded by this stranger, this tall, broad, imposing figure or walk away. It was an easy decision to make. He was large and he was imposing, but the gentle way he held out the piece of cloth, the soft furrow to his brow, the way he hunched his shoulders to look smaller, all those things told her he was a good man. Not a pure man, not devoid of wrongdoing or bad deeds, but good in the sort of way that a man out here could be good. She would be safe with him. She could trust his intentions towards her. 

“I understand, Mr Morgan.” She consents taking the fabric from him, it is softer than she expects, “Before we go, I'd suggest we skin those wolves. Your camp needs food I'm sure and those pelts’ll fetch you a good bit of coin, waste not want not.”

“Are you sure?” She’s the hunter after all, or it seems that way and part of Arthur can’t help but feel like she’d have done just fine without him had her glasses not been knocked off. Maybe, she’d been wanting to hunt the four wolves in the first place. He doesn’t want to offend her by taking what she might see as hers, but she just gives him another one of those looks that reminds him of a prettier, younger, much more amicable Ms. Grimshaw. 

 “Mr Morgan, you shot them, they’re yours to plunder. I have enough bloody pelts as it is, Scrawny here would probably complain if he had a few more to carry, right boy?” As if in answer the big cob nods his head up and down with a huff, clearly used to be used as a pack horse. He’s not sure the horse really understands the question, but it’s clear he’s a responsive horse used to a talkative owner, not like Dave who’s stood quietly behind Arthur, only occasionally nudging him with his nose and nibbling at strands of his hair as if expecting a sugar cube to be there. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” She helps him skin them, while she hadn’t intended to do any skinning today and her blouse would certainly hate her for it, sharing the work would make it go quicker and she could offer a few tips as they went. Not much seeing as Mr Morgan was already a skilled hunter by the looks of things. The pelts were in fine condition, he was clearly a good shot, one rifle round to each wolf’s head, no mess, no unnecessary injuries or wasted ammunition. While they had wanted to kill her, she held a healthy respect for wolves and was glad that they didn’t die slowly. Quickly, cleanly, and humanely, something she held dear when it came to hunting. 

Elizabeth grabbed a ratty cloth from her saddlebag, using it and some water from a canteen to clean her arms, it was never smart to leave blood on you and it wasn’t particularly nice either. She offered both to Arthur who gladly did the same, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick forearms being cleaned of blood. It was startling to her in that moment that she didn’t feel scared or worried at all. Here she was in the woods with a stranger, a broad, striking and clearly strong stranger, who had multiple guns, a hunting knife, and a bow all on hand. Yet, she didn’t feel a lick of apprehension or worry. 

“Who’s this beautiful boy then?” There was a split second when Arthur, despite himself, almost thought she was talking to him. That was clearly not the case when he looked up startled to see her approaching Dave. The large shire usually disliked others, but was only watching the woman cautiously, deciding whether to bite, kick, or con her out of some food. When Hosea had given him the large beast claiming he was hard to handle and that he’d be better off selling him, something in Arthur had understood. The horse was a bit like him, he was a bit world weary, cautious of others, afraid of getting hurt, but underneath it all a soft hearted thing. 

“...Dave.” He wished in that moment that he hadn’t allowed Jack to name the shire, he loved Dave. Had bonded well with him, but telling a pretty lady that your horse was named Dave rather than Boadicea was a might embarrassing especially when that horse was 17 hands high and capable of trampling wolves underfoot. 

“He’s beautiful.” She likes his name, not that she says that, but it’s clear from the flush to Arthur’s cheeks that he’s not confident in the name choice. She thinks it suits. The shire is beautiful, giant compared to her and larger than Scrawny who was an impressive 15 hands high, especially considering his breed. The Shire pawed at the ground as she got closer, but she hushed him, little quiet comments and soothing sounds, a hand pulling a sugar cube from a skirt pocket. 

There was always something special about getting a horse like that to trust you, to eat from your palm and accept the touch of your hand to their neck. Dave was clearly a distrusting animal, but he let her pat his neck and brush his forehead. He let her tie Scrawny’s reins to his saddlehorn knowing she couldn’t guide herself blindfolded. 

“He don’t usually take to people too well…”

“Well, he just needs a kind touch that’s all. Someone hurt him real bad and he just needs to know that won’t happen again, right, sweetheart?” She says to the horse in a gentle tone, low and quiet. Arthur feels as if she’s talking about him, he thinks on the times he’s been bitten, the way he’s drawn back from people and he understands a little bit more why he and Dave work so well together. They’re two sides of the same damn coin and this woman had a way with both of them already. 

She takes a few steps back, before turning and clambering up into her own saddle. Despite the sheer size of her own horse, she manages well enough to clamber on up even in a thick, heavy skirt. She settles herself, arranges her skirt and takes those delicate round spectacles off and pockets them before grabbing the fabric he’d given her. 

“You’ll make sure Scrawny doesn’t run into any trees?” 

“I got you, miss. Don’t you worry.” It’s with that that Elizabeth wraps the blindfold around her eyes and tightens it at the back of her head, hand holding onto the saddlehorn as they begin to move. 

Arthur cannot help but be a little bit in awe at the trust she has decided to place in him.

[the-mill-kat]

Unshaken Chapter II

Arthur Morgan x Reader

Posted March 13, 2020

“Unshaken” Masterlist  “Unshaken” AO3

A/N: It’s finally here! I’m so excited to be moving this story along, please enjoy and let me know what you think. I can’t wait to write more! 🤠🦌

You save a mysterious man who is dying on a mountain. Finding out he has Tuberculosis, you use your knowledge and skills with herbs and natural remedies to save him from death and help nurse him back to health. As he slowly starts to recover, you can’t help but wonder: Who is this man? Why had you found him the way that you did, beaten and ill? Only time, patience … and perhaps love … will tell.

A large buck.

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he saw the creature in the distance, its head bent to the ground as it nipped at the blades of grass. He could’ve sworn he’d seen it before, but where the hell was he this time?

He looked around, taking in the hazy surroundings. The forest was thick with tall trees and wild foliage, the flora consisting of many different and beautiful colors. He could hear birds tittering high up in the branches as the sun’s rays shined through the trees’ thick canopies.

Was he dreaming again?

Arthur tried moving, taking a single step forward —

The buck jerked its head up from where it was grazing, looking over in his direction, directly into his eyes.

Arthur froze, his entire body going still as he looked into those eyes …

They were his own.

A single heartbeat sounded, and suddenly he felt a strong pull as he was sucked right into the stare.

Arthur jerked awake, his eyes opening as he let out a hard gasp. The sudden inhale caused a sharp pain to stab through his chest and he grimaced, letting out a deep groan.

He blinked, a mysterious bright light nearly blinding him. With a grunt he grimaced as he made an effort to lift his head. Sunlight was shining directly on his face, and he couldn’t see a damn thing. His vision was so blurry and he blinked a few more times in an effort to clear it up. Looking around, he tried to take in his surroundings.

Where the hell was he? The last thing he remembered was the feeling of the unforgiving rocky ground. Now he felt nothing but soft cushions beneath his body.

Arthur looked down and noticed that a thick wool blanket was covering him up from his shoulders down. He seemed to be lying on a large couch ... in someone’s house?

He tried to move, but his body didn’t obey. It felt almost as though his limbs were completely paralyzed, as if he’d been drugged. His entire body might as well have been a limp wooden board.

Gathering up all the energy he could, he gradually brought his hand up from his side and lightly gripped the hem of the blanket. Lifting it up slowly, he looked down and saw that he was naked from the waist up, and his entire upper body had been patched up in several areas with thick bandages. Some more bloody than others.

What the hell had happened?

Voices started drifting into his head and he looked around, trying to figure out where they were coming from. He took in the cobblestone fireplace on the other side of the room, a full bookshelf, a couple sitting chairs — whose place was this? There was an open doorway across the room, and the voices seemed to be coming from there. The voices sounded like a man and woman — arguing?

“We can’t afford to be takin’ care of this stranger, Y/N! We’re barely gettin’ by as it is.” The man’s voice sounded angry, having a slight southern touch to his accent.

Stranger? Were they talking about him?

“For the last time, Austin, his name is Arthur! And you need to quit your complainin’!” A woman’s voice that time. Her voice had a somewhat southern lilt to it as well, similar to the man’s but a bit stronger. Who were these people?

Arthur squinted, trying to recall what had happened. He had no clue where he was — how did he get here? No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t seem to remember a damn thing.

Arthur frowned, suddenly realizing that the woman had said his name. How did she know it?

“I don’t give a damn what his name is! You’re wastin’ all our resources on a stranger who’s on the brink of death as it is,” the man snapped.

“This man needed help, Austin. What was I supposed to do? Just leave him there?”

The man named Austin seemed relentless. “You could’ve been killed, Y/N! It could’ve been a trap, what if it’d been an ambush? What would I have told Pa if you’d gotten hurt?”

Y/N … he could’ve sworn he heard that name before. A blurry image of a woman’s face flashed through his mind, and he groaned as the vision caused a sharp stabbing pain in his head.

“I’m sick and tired of arguin’ with you on this, Austin. Nothing bad happened, and I don’t know what else to tell you. You need to get over this already!”

The voices stopped then, and the woman Arthur had been hearing suddenly appeared in the doorway across the room. She stilled right in her tracks, seeming to notice that he had woken up.

•••••

You were getting weary of Austin’s squabbles.

No matter how many times you tried to make your brother see reason he absolutely refused to hear it. Austin had completely lost all rational thought when it came to Arthur’s presence in the cabin, and he took every opportunity he could to remind you how stupid he thought you were for what you did.

You were tired of his behavior, though. Of course, you knew Austin loved you — though he sure had a funny way of showing it sometimes — but his over-protective nature could get a little grating, more often than not. However, he was family, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to keep you safe.

Still, though, his bellyaching was getting rather annoying. For the past three days Austin had been constantly on your back about you taking the injured man into your cabin and caring for him, and his anger was really starting to irk you.

Really, what else could you have possibly done?

This man … Arthur … he would’ve died on that mountain had you not found him. He’d looked so defenseless, so cold and weak, lying on that unforgiving ground. You knew deep down that you would not have been able to live with yourself had you just left him there.

You turned away from Austin, ready to storm right out of the cabin. There would never be any persuading your brother, and you could no longer stand to be in the same room with him anymore.

Planning to step outside to walk off your frustrations and get some fresh air, you abruptly halted in the doorway to the sitting room at the sight before you.

Arthur was awake, his eyes staring directly at you from across the room. You smiled and walked over to him, kneeling down by his side so that you were face-to-face. “Mornin’, Arthur,” you said in a gentle tone, “How’re you feelin’?”

He didn’t answer right away, seeming to examine you further with his blue-green eyes.

After several seconds passed, he opened his mouth but Austin suddenly came rushing into the room, addressing Arthur with an aggressive tone, “If you dare try anythin’ stupid, cowpoke, I’ll make sure you — ”

You’d had enough, you snapped your head around and glared at your brother, “Get out of here, Austin! Go check on the horses, clean the stables. I don’t care, just get the hell out!”

Austin gave you a pained look, “Y/N, I don’t want you near this man, especially when he’s awake,” he said, adding the last part through gritted teeth. Then he lowered his voice, his tone sounding worried, “What if he tries to harm you?”

You almost felt the strong need to roll your eyes. “Does he look like the sort of man that would try to harm me?”

Austin shot his gaze at Arthur and then back at you, “Yes.”

A short laugh escaped you at the disgusted expression he was making. You couldn’t help it, your brother’s lack of hesitation and how quick he’d been with his answer was almost comical. “Austin, the man is unwell and drugged. He’s not going to try anything on me, not even if he wanted to.”

Austin looked a bit skeptical, but finally gave a reluctant nod. “Fine, I’ll be outside choppin’ wood and takin’ care of the horses,” he shot another glare at Arthur as if in warning, adding darkly, “Shout if you need anythin’.”

You let out a sigh, and gave your brother a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine. Just let me take care of him, please.”

Austin let out a hard grunt, then turned away and left the cabin through the front door, finally leaving you and the conscious Arthur alone.

You looked back down at Arthur to see that he was staring up at you with a confused expression on his face, those thick brows drawn down tight over his blue-green eyes.

“I’ve got — ” he took a deep breath and let out a long groan “ — so many damn questions.” Another big breath, his chest rising and falling as he flinched. He sounded exasperated, his tone dark and rough, “What the hell’s … goin’ on?”

His voice was much stronger than it had been before, having a heavily accented western drawl to it. It was deep, heavy … how in the world could any man possess such a voice?

You shook yourself away from that thought, focusing on what he’d just said. “Can you remember anything about what happened?” You asked, reaching out and lifting up the thick blanket to examine the old bandages.

Arthur just shook his head in response, “No … can’t say I can.”

After he’d given you his name the other day, he’d passed out soon afterwards from the drug you’d given him. You’d gone to work immediately on examining, cleaning and dressing the wounds on the rest of his body. Since then you’d changed the dressing a couple more times, and now it looked like it was time to do it again.

“Where am I?” He asked you as you stood up to walk into the kitchen and wash your hands in the sink.

The drugs that were being given to him were messing with his memory, but that was to be expected. The anesthetic on top of the herbs you had been treating him with for the past few days were having side effects on him, temporarily clouding up his mind. The medicinal properties tended to have strange and similar side effects on animals you’d treated in the past, making them behave rather strangely.

Treating a human … it was almost foreign.

“You’re in our cabin,” you answered him, “just north of Roanoke Ridge, we live right above Cerberus Falls, near Brandywine.” Once you finished drying your hands with a fresh cloth, you went over to your office, gathering fresh medicinal supplies from your desk.

“How’d I get here?” He asked, taking another deep breath. He let out a hard cough, and you looked over your shoulder to see that he was trying to sit up.

Rushing back over to him, you quickly set the supplies on the side table and placed a hand on his chest, gently pushing to urge him to lay back down.

“You need to lie still.” Keeping you tone soft in an effort to soothe him, you wondered about his last question. Had he forgotten everything from the other night? “We heard gunshots and my brother Austin and I found you on a mountain near O’Creagh’s Run.” You urged him down with your hand until he was lying flat on his back again. “We brought you back here, and I’ve been taking care of you for the past few days — but you have a long while until you’re well enough to get back on your feet.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, as if he were trying to remember the events of that night. “You found me on the mountain?” He asked, his voice graveled.

“Yes.” You took the blanket off of him and set it on the floor, getting to work on taking off the old bandages. “You were extremely weak, you were bleeding and having trouble breathing.”

Those last words made his eyes widen, as if he was suddenly frightened by something.

Instantly Arthur tried to sit up again, his upper body shooting up and startling you, but you quickly overcame your surprise and tried to get him to settle down. Placing a firm hand on his chest, you pushed him back down, trying to get him to relax. “Please, Arthur, I need you to stay still.”

“Get away from me, woman,” he snapped, struggling against your hold. You weren’t all that strong to hold such a large man down, but the state he was in helped in your favor.

You glared at him then, “My name is Y/N, not ‘woman.’ Everything is alright, Arthur, please calm down.” You were trying to keep your voice low in an effort to calm his nerves, but it wasn’t helping. “Please, you really need to rest.”

“No,” he said firmly, almost sounding fearful as he let out another cough. “I got TB, I don’t want … you gettin’ sick cuz of me.”

His unexpected words touched you, almost taking you aback. Here he was, hurt and bare, and he was trying to put you before his own health … even though he barely knew you.

“Arthur, it’s alright,” you said softly, “You won’t get me sick. I got treatments to prevent that from happening.”

Arthur suddenly stopped his struggles, his head turning back to you with a mixed look of surprise and confusion plastered on his face. “Treatments?” He asked, his voice matching the expression he made.

You nodded, “Yes, I’m a doctor that specializes in experimenting on natural remedies for diseases. Tuberculosis is one of them.” You began washing his wounds and redressing them with fresh bandages. Some of them were still more raw than others, but they were already looking much better than they’d had before.

As you worked on securing the bandages, you felt Arthur’s gaze on you. You tried to ignore the stare at first as you finished patching him up, but it went on for so long you couldn’t help but start to feel a little uncomfortable.

“What?” You asked, finally allowing yourself to look up at him as you finished the last patch.

“You … you treat TB?”

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded, “Yes, kind of … though this is my first time doing it on a human.”

His squinted at that, so you were quick to jump in and explain. “It’s the same process. Most species’ lungs are similar to each other,” You started rambling, talking faster and faster as you pretended to be busy with checking his bandages, even though they were already secure. All the while you could feel his scrutinizing gaze on you. “You were about to die, so I didn’t see the harm in trying to treat you — I gave you different doses based on your size —and I … and I needed to flush your lungs out with a special medicine — I just had to use slightly different doses — I mean, herbs because different species tolerate different herbs and I thought that maybe with a human I could — ”

You heard a deep chuckle and looked back up at his face.

He was smiling at you.

That grin had you stop in your tracks and lose all your train of thought right then and there. It was like nothing you’d ever seen on any man, causing a shiver to go through your body.

Arthur took another deep breath, and spoke his next words softly, “So you been treatin’ my TB, huh?”

After a few heartbeats passed, you nodded.

Arthur’s grin widened, but then quickly faded as a thought seemed to occur to him. “How the hell — ” his chest rose and fell, “ — d’you know all this?”

You lifted a brow at his question, “What do you mean?”

“The herbs … natural remedies, as you put them — ” His body convulsed as another coughing fit took over, and he turned his head away until it passed. He didn’t need to since you took some medicine yourself to fight off any possible bacteria, but you appreciated his kind thought. He turned to face you again, “How d’you know … how to treat somethin’ like this?”

You grabbed the hem of the wool blanket and pulled it over his body, tucking it just over his shoulders. “My father, well he was a busy man, but he had a lot of love for animals. My mother was a doctor like me, though I swear to you you’d think she was an herbalist around the clock. Her passion in life had always been about plants and researching their different properties. What they could do, what benefits they gave … ” You laughed then, thinking back, “She would always come to me excited whenever she found something new that a plant or flower could do.”

You thought back to your childhood, unable to hold back a smile as you recalled the memories.

Having grown up on a plantation with a large farm that your grandmother had owned, you knew a lot about all kinds of animals thanks to your parents. Your father had taught you all about the animals and how to take care of them, while your mother would always teach you about all the plants she’d found and what she’d discovered about them.

Your parents had taken in so many sick animals, both wild and owned, caring for and nursing them all back to health. They’d found great joy in aiding the creatures, and you enjoyed learning what you could from them.

Life had been so simple back then.

But … all of that had come to a crashing end when a gang of outlaws had raided your home in the dark of night.

You instantly lost your smile then, the terrible memory flooding your mind against your will.

Both you and your mother had been in the kitchen discussing chores. Your father had been out of town on business with a client, and your brother had been riding out in the country with his horse.

Several of the plantation’s guards had been killed before anyone was able to send out a warning, and the outlaws had managed to break into the house, tying up you and your mother as others ransacked every room as if they’d been searching for something. They’d interrogated and beaten her, only to kill her with a shotgun right in front of you.

If it hadn’t been for the lawmen charging in when they had, you had no doubt the outlaws would’ve done away with you as well. They’d gotten away, though, riding away on their horses and disappearing into the thick forest across the fields.

You felt a tear roll down your cheek. Your brother and father had been absolutely broken at the news when they’d come back. To hear that the woman you all loved more than anything in the world was now gone, and the outlaws responsible for her death had never been found.

No one had ever found out what they’d been after, and since that night, you and your family had never been the same.

And of course, having lost your mother due to a gang, you’d grown up despising outlaws with every ounce of your being to this day. They were monsters. Killers. Thieves. All they ever did was hurt and destroy innocent people and their families.

Your mother had found a passion in saving lives.

You wanted to do the same, and so you’d dedicated your life into carrying on her work.

Gathering yourself so as not to get carried away with your emotions, you took a deep breath and forced a smile, looking back down at the man lying on your couch. “They taught me everything I know, but my mother was the one who encouraged me the most.”

Arthur looked at you for what felt like ages, the silence stretching between the two of you as those blue eyes of his seemed to study you for the longest time. Finally, he took a deep breath, “Your mother sounds … like she were an amazin’ woman,” he said softly.

You didn’t know why, but this man’s deep western drawl and what he said comforted you somewhat.

Nodding, you replied softly. “She was.”

He gave you a gentle smile as if to try and comfort you, “I’m real sorry, Y/N.” His soft tone seemed to melt your nerves, helping you to relax a small bit.

You returned his smile with another one of your own. “Well, she’s in a much better place now.”

“I’ve no doubt,” Arthur replied.

There was another long moment of silence, and it seemed to go on forever, the clock on the wall making the only sound in the quiet room.

Shaking yourself mentally, you stood up quickly and cleared your throat, quickly changing the subject to switch up the mood, “It’s time for another dose.”

Arthur raised those dark brows of his, “What’re you talkin’ ’about?” He asked, your sudden change seeming to have surprised him.

Walking over to your desk again, you grabbed the same vial and an empty syringe, a bottle of alcohol along with cotton and gauze, and finally a spoon and a pot of honey. While you gathered everything you explained it all to him. “You need another shot to help treat your Tuberculosis, Arthur. All of this is supposed to help kill off the bacteria that’s still left in your body. Once that’s done, your lungs and any other effected areas you have can finally start healing.”

“How d’you know all these things?” He asked.

“I had a few farm animals and a couple horses while I was growing up that were struck with the disease,” you answered, “both my mother and father showed me how to do the treatments on some of them.” You came back over with everything, kneeling back down by his side.

“Of course, horse lungs are much bigger and more resistant to Tuberculosis, but that made it easier for us to examine them so we could treat it. Unlike the smaller animals. They were a bit more difficult,” you stated. “My mother made a journal at that time to take notes whenever she would perform these treatments. All the research that she and Pa ever did she wrote down in that journal. It’s now in my desk, and over the last few years I’ve come across other animals struck with all kinds of diseases, including Tuberculosis. Her journal has guided me through all of my treatments.” You met his eyes then, “I haven’t failed in curing one yet.” You added lightly, trying to give off a bit of humor to lighten the mood.

But the effort was in vain, as Arthur just looked at you, almost as if he were questioning the situation. “And I’m the first … human you’ve ever treated?” He asked skeptically, almost sounding concerned.

“Well,” you said with a bit of annoyance from the doubt in his voice, “You were about to die so I guess there was no harm in me tryin’, was there?”

That succeeded in making him let out a sudden burst of laughter, which Arthur regretted instantly. You flinched in sympathy as the pain ran through his entire body. “Son of a bitch,” he swore through gritted teeth, cursing more underneath his breath.

You gave him a sympathetic smile as you prepped the syringe, drawing the liquid from the vial into the barrel.

“What the hell’s that?” He asked you as he stared at the vial of medicine as if it were alien to him.

You almost wanted to laugh at the expression he was making as he stared at the syringe with a strange look. “This is a special remedy that I made myself to treat TB. I need to insert it into you arm now, if that’s alright with you?”

Arthur didn’t answer as he just stared at the needle for the longest time.

“Arthur?”

He seemed to be thinking about whether or not he should trust you.

After several more seconds passed, he finally gave you a small nod, “Sure.”

The way he said that single word sent a shiver down your spine.

Letting out a small sigh, you smiled at him. The fact that he was trusting you like this, especially with putting something he didn’t know of in his own body, it meant a lot more to you than you thought it would.

You gripped his wrist gently and turned his arm until it was facing palm-up. “Alright, Arthur, this is going to sting a bit,” you said as you began prepping his inner arm, rubbing the alcohol into his skin to disinfect the area.

Arthur didn’t say a word, only giving you a small nod.

Once you found the large vein, you brought the point of the sharp needle to his skin and pushed it in. His whole body jerked, and he let out a deep grunt of pain, his eyes squeezing shut as his lips pulled back over his teeth in a hiss.

“Almost done,” you said as you pushed down slowly on the plunger, letting the medicine make its way into his body. After it was empty, you took the needle out and patched him up immediately. “Now don’t go messin’ with that, Arthur,” you said in a firm voice, gesturing at the bandage, “It needs to sit there for a few hours so don’t you go makin’ a mess.”

Arthur chuckled at your authoritative voice. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied teasingly, making you blush.

You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle from his playfulness as you put the syringe away. “Alright, now for the fun part,” you teased back as you picked up the honey pot. Lifting the lid and dipping the spoon in, you scooped out a heaping dose of honey and held it out to him, close to his lips.

“And what’s this for?” He asked, not opening his mouth to take the honey even though he knew you expected him to.

You nearly wanted to roll your eyes as you smiled again. “It’s honey.”

Arthur shot you an annoyed look, “I know it’s honey, dammit.” He snapped, “But why ... are you givin’ it to me?”

“It’s a natural remedy to help kill off Tuberculosis bacteria,” you replied impatiently, pressing the spoon to his lips in an effort to get him to open them. “Now open up, here comes the choo-choo train — choo-chooooo!” You made train noises as you moved the spoon around in the air like a train coming down the tracks. Destination: Arthur’s mouth.

At that very moment the look in those blue-green eyes of his would’ve set a forest on fire. “I ain’t a little kid, missy,” he growled at you, that deep western drawl of his sounding dark and threatening.

“Oh, I know,” you replied, completely unphased by the threat, “But where’s the fun in treatin’ you like an adult if you’re not gonna act like one?”

He growled at that, and with great reluctance parted his lips and accepted the honey as you placed it in his mouth. You waited for him to swallow. Once he did, you took out another spoonful and held it out to him. He took five more more after that, each bite either more or less stubborn than the last. When he was done, you placed the lid back on the honey pot and placed it on the side table.

“All finished!” You said to him cheerfully.

Arthur just snorted at you and looked up at the ceiling. “And how long you been ... torturin’ me like this, Y/N?” He asked in an accusing but playful tone.

“A few days now, though it hasn’t been easy. Had to feed that honey to you through a tube to make sure it made its way to your stomach.”

He grimaced at that, looking disgusted. “Really wish you hadn’t ... told me that part, ma’am.”

You gave him another sympathetic smile, “Well, Arthur, I don’t think we need to do that anymore now that you’re back with us again.”

He chuckled softly at that, the low laughter rumbling deep in his chest, “Let’s hope not, … honey.”

— To Be Continued

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 60

I was walking with Daryl when the call came through about a longer run to DC. Arat, the Savior who had killed Olivia and another named Justin were trying to use a walker as a scarecrow. I sighed, thinking that being well meaning and yet stuck in the past were both going to get these people killed by one of the men I loved. Sure enough, Daryl put it down, and warned them, again that this wasn’t how things would run from now on.

Laura, another Savior, yet a far more malleable one, had warned us and that’s what brought us outside to the crops. Eugene and Rosita were working inside on something very science oriented, and I hoped that Daryl understood more of their ramblings than I did, because science was not my strong suit. As we’re making our way around the perimeter, enjoying a moment to ourselves, quiet and without a demand on either of us, he lets me know that a run’s planned.

“We gotta head to DC.” I nodded, this run had been mentioned before. Seeds, farming equipment, things that were necessary for survival in this harsher new world. “You comin’ or-”

Ah, he wanted to know if I was going with or would I stay behind here? “Someone has to keep Eugene in line.” I smiled, knowing that Eugene could get ahead of himself if no one was here to temper his more rash impulses. “Unless you want me to go?” Maybe he’d prefer I head out with him.

He huffed a big breath and a sliver of fear ran through me. “I thought if ya wanted to, ya could go to Alexandria and stay with Judith.” Oh, wait, what?

“Alone?” I asked, confused. Daryl hadn’t let me go out on my own since I came back to him. Aside from the few times I had bow practice in Hilltop, he found time to go with me, or keep me by his side. Being with him at the Sanctuary was disturbingly similar to my time here with Negan.

“Gotta meet them at the midway point, figured ya go ride with me there, then ya could head on to Alexandria while we go on.” I nodded, yeah, it sounded simple, but this wasn’t what I had learned to expect from Daryl Dixon since I’d returned. “I trust ya, Jessi, I know it don’t seem like I do-”

I smiled up at him. “I know you do, Daryl.” I wrapped my hands around his neck and pulled him down to my level. Brushing my lips against his, I felt him relax. He was so tense. “You’re just really really protective.”

He chuckled against my mouth and then dipped in for a more passionate kiss. Our inspection had taken us to one of the more private outdoor spots, and no one was around, which is why I didn’t mind when his hands ran down my back and started pulling up my shirt. Tossing it onto the ground next to us, I had his unbuttoned and added on top of mine in no time with his vest tangled in the mess. My hands fell to his belt as he went to the button of my jeans. Suddenly it was an urgency of need. The need for his skin on mine, the need for my mouth on his chest.

He pressed me against the building we were standing next to, and then he was inside of me and our mouths were locked together tasting one another like we couldn’t get enough. Since I’d come back, since I’d chosen him, love making between the two of us had become more frenzied at times, and we didn’t pull away anymore when Daryl was about to finish. We’d found it, I supposed, as he rocked into me, pulling his mouth from mine to bury his head in my neck to nip and suckle at my skin. We found the safety and security we’d wanted before trying to start our family.

My nails were biting into the skin of his shoulders as my climax roared through me, and his moan as his own rushed out of him made my skin tingle where his mouth was attached to my collarbone. He held me tight, feeling my legs shaking and knowing me well enough to know I wouldn’t be steady enough on my own. I felt as he grew limp within me, slowly leaving my body. My head fell back against the bricks of the building behind me and my hands brushed his flopping hair away from his face. I leaned forward and kissed him slow and sweet. I loved Daryl Dixon. If only, if only I didn’t love Negan too.

We dressed not long after, and Daryl’s hand met mine and our fingers linked automatically. Walking back into the building, I wondered what had brought on this newfound respect for my independence. I didn’t ask. I was just happy he understood that I could and would take care of myself and that I was WITH HIM.

The plan for the run was simple enough. Seeds, farm plow to use as a prototype for Hilltop’s blacksmiths, and whatever else could seemingly come in handy for our continued survival. I could sense that Hilltop’s relationship with the other communities, or at least with the Sanctuary was growing strained. Our fuel production wasn’t as high as our need for food supplies seemed to be. Add in the fact that Maggie and Glenn wanted Negan dead and buried, and well, there was some strain.

I hopped on the back of Daryl’s bike, knowing that Dad would bring me a horse to get to Alexandria from the meeting point. Leaning into Daryl’s body, smelling the leather of his vest, feeling the hard muscles of his stomach under my fingers made me remember leaving the CDC. Before our first time together, before Sofia, before the Greene Farm. Before.

“Remember,” Daryl started, and I smiled against his back. “No ticklin’.” I giggled. He took one of my hands from his stomach and drew it to his mouth for a kiss on my knuckles. “Love ya, Jessi Grimes.”

“Love you, Daryl Dixon,” I yelled over the roar of the engine as he kicked it alive. And we were off.

I didn’t have a long parting with Dad, Daryl, and the others. I wanted to get to Alexandria and Judith. So kissing Daryl soundly, and promising to be safe while getting his own back to me, I hugged Dad and Michonne and got on the horse they’d brought for me.

“I’ll come pick ya up,” Daryl started, and I smiled down at him. “Don’t wanna steal one of Rick’s horses, would ya?”

“Wouldn’t be the first horse either of us stole, Daryl.” Which made Maggie chuckle, and I smiled down at her in return. “Y’all be careful!” And then I turned and headed back the way Dad and Michonne had come.

I made good time, the horse being far quieter than the bike meant that I didn’t get sidetracked by many walkers. And the ones that came too close for comfort were easily taken down by an arrow from my seat. I enjoyed the peace of riding alone into Alexandria. The guard at the gate barely sniffed in my direction, so I supposed I could count that as a win. I made way to Dad’s house, not the same house we’d lived in together as a family, since it wasn’t there anymore. The horse was left with the people that Dad had put in charge of them, and I walked alone through the streets of Alexandria.

In eighteen months time, they’d rebuilt the community. When I first visited after they started to build it back up, I was shocked by the damage. Houses burnt, or fire damaged. The gazebo that Carl had hidden himself away at, torched and charred in places. So much destruction, and for what? To prove who was a bigger man? To be king of a mountain that no longer existed?

I’m sure Dad, and Daryl, not to mention the rest of our people, would have thought that seeing the carnage that Negan and the Saviors had inflicted would turn my heart from him. It hadn’t. Not even slightly. There were no rights or wrongs to this ‘war’. It was two groups of people led by two men who kept hitting and hitting. It was bound to go this way. I should have seen it in the clearing. I should have known somehow that me offering my life wasn’t going to be enough. I hadn’t, and that was something that I couldn’t take back. Nor would I.

I climbed the steps up the porch of Dad’s house, smiling at the easel that Michonne had set up in the corner for her and Judith to paint on. A painting still attached that had Judith, Carl, and me in her tiny scrawl. I took a moment to smile over it before I opened the door and walked inside.

“Hey!” I called out and my grin grew as I heard her tiny feet beating down the hallway to launch herself into my arms. Judith, my little sister, a tiny blonde angelic dynamo. The woman they left her in the care of smiled at the two of us on the floor, and I nodded as she said goodbye. “Now, baby Jude, what are we gonna do today?”

We spent time playing. Painting was something she and Michonne shared, so I played games with her. Finding a deck of cards and playing a version of memory, I laughed at how smart she was, clever. After lunch, she pulled me toward the door and asked to take a walk. Walks with Judith meant that she got story time, and that she got to tell me stories. I listened at her story about the birds who flew up high and smiled when she asked if she could fly too.

“I think, my little Jude, that would be a bad thing for a little girl to try.” She pouted and I giggled. “Want me to give you a piggyback ride?” Her grin returned with a nod and I crouched down and let her climb on. “You’re heavier than you look,” I grunted, standing up and swaying with her.

We walked along the streets, and when we got close to Negan’s jail, she pulled my braid. Ah, she wanted to visit the boogie man. “Go.” She demanded, and I saw her little fist pointing at the building.

I rolled my eyes, but went along with her demands. I planned on visiting him anyway, and she’d come with me plenty of times before. The guard gave me a look, and I sighed, but they didn’t stop me. They couldn’t. I didn’t have a key. I couldn’t have freed him if I wanted to. And Dad had let them all know that I was granted the right to visit. So screw you, asshole, I thought. I knelt down inside the house, letting Judith get on her feet, and take my hand.

When I came into the room where his cell was, the cell that Morgan had built, I had to let my eyes adjust slightly. There was light, but it wasn’t complete. And there he was. Sitting on the mat on the floor with a ball in his hand. My heart lurched. Even down here, looking like the prisoner he was, his power still radiated off of him, his pull still strong.

“Oh my goodness, I’ve been granted the pleasure of seeing TWO princesses today.” He smiled and stood up. I walked to the bars and my free hand reached for his. “Missed you, sweetheart.”

“I know,” I answered, looking down at Judith. “She wanted to come visit. Demanded an audience.”

Judith was smiling up at us. “You did?” He let my hand go so he could kneel in front of her at her level. “Well, I feel very special that you wanted to come see me, Princess Judith.” She giggled and he reached his hand out to touch her silky blonde hair. “You are an angel, aren’t you?”

She sat on the floor and he knew exactly what she wanted. What she wanted every single time she came with me to visit him. They started playing ball through the bars as I sat down with my legs outstretched around her. Saving the need to run after a batted ball.

They played and he talked to me. “You look beautiful, Jessi.” His eyes flicked to mine. “As always.”

“You look tired, Negan.” I said, feeling the worry creep into my voice. “No one has-”

He shook his head. No attempts had come on his life yet. “Floor’s hard as hell, but I’m fine, don’t worry.” I bit my lip. “Give just about anything to be the one doing that to your lip, sweetheart.” I felt my chest flush. Jesus.

“I think Daryl’s going to ask for us to be allowed to leave the Sanctuary.” I knew he was. He hated it there. Hated walking the same path as Negan with me by his side. “Not sure if he’d want to come back here.”

Negan nodded, smiling when Judith caught the ball perfectly. “Good job, princess.” His eyes met mine. “Where do you think he’d want to go?”

I shook my head. “Hilltop, probably.�� I cringed. I had no fond memories of Hilltop. “Either spot is further away than-”

“I know.” Further away from him. A longer trip. Longer time between visits. “I know, Jessi.” His eyes were soft and I wanted nothing more than to hold him. To sit on his lap as he was playing with Judith, to take comfort from him and give it right back. I missed it. His casual touches, how it had been getting so natural between us. Until. I sighed.

“I should go,” I said, and Judith looked up at me with a pout. “I promise we’ll come back,” it was a promise to both of them. To two pieces of my heart. I stood and took her hand. Moving closer to the bars, Negan stood and pressed his face into one of the spaces, and our lips met. Not close enough, not nearly enough. “Bye.”

“Bye, sweetheart.” And then, quiet so Judith couldn’t hear, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I whispered. “Jude, can you say ‘bye’ to Negan?”

“Bye, Uncle-” I stopped her.

“Jude, you know you can’t call him that.” I admonished, pain flashing through me at the thought of it. “Just say ‘bye’.”

“Bye,” she looked confused, and I knew she was. She was a child, but she knew what she saw. Her big sister and this man in a cell had the same thing that she saw her have with Uncle Daryl. Shit.

My eyes met Negan and his smile was sad. He wanted it. To have the title. To have the same standing as Daryl, with me and my family, but without losing himself for it. We’d talked about it a few times. Going in circles. “Bye.” I said, fighting against the urge to scream.

Judith and I spent the day playing. She told me about the races her and Dad had, and how she won. How Mom would help her hide, how much fun she had with them. She chattered and I listened, loving that she wanted to share everything I missed during the time between visits. I missed her so much when I wasn’t here, but I also loved the fact that I got to JUST be her big sister now. Not a parent, just what I’d been to Carl.

We’d just started making dinner when I heard a knock on the door. Opening it, I saw Aaron standing there smiling. I liked Aaron, he and Daryl had easily become friends early on, and he never seemed to show as much animosity toward me as some of the others.

“Daryl and your dad wanted me to tell you that they’ll be back tomorrow.” I must have looked concerned because he hurried on. “Nothing bad, well, nothing overly bad.”

“What happened?” I felt Judith’s arms wrap around my legs and my hand absently went to her head and brushed through her curls.

“The bridge is out.” Shit. That wasn’t good. “They wanted to go back to the Sanctuary while we pushed on.” I let out a breath I was holding and nodded. “I’ve got to go home and see Grace.” My smile came back. “Have a good night, ladies.”

“Night, Aaron, thanks for letting me know.” And as Judith offered her own goodbye, we went back inside. “Guess we’re having a sleepover, baby Jude.” Her giggles carried me through the night.

[iam-kenough]

Will  you ever notice me? Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character

Summary:  During they wandering in deep snowstorm, man from van  der Linde gang found odd looking girl and Dutch decides to take her to  camp to see if she can be any use, leading life of outlaw with them.  Quickly, new girl develops feelings towards Arthur, but he sees her just  as a kid...and she won't take that! It's an original character story  that starts in the place where Arthur, Dutch and Micah were supposed to  first meet with Sadie. Instead she's already with them.

Authors notes: It’s another chapter and you can find the rest of chapter on my blog if you want to read more of my fanfiction. I decided to post all parts I have at once so the fic could catch more attention. Word count: 2702 Chapter 3 In few long days she started accepting her fate, to call it this way.  Iris told herself that it was fast crush and it will disappear also fast. They could be friends after all and she hasn't manage to make it awkward yet. It was just really strange that Arthur had zero interest in any woman, not saying only about her. Once they went to saloon after one of errands and two working girls was throwing themselves on Arthur. ''That's not a way to talk a lady!'' said one of them after he snapped something at her. ''I didn't know I was talking to a lady!' he laughed, swallowing a glass of whiskey at once. Yea, Arthur Morgan was weird. And all those things about getting baths with dogs and being old and awkward, they seemed to be true. Iris accepted the fact her crush will never notice her the way she noticed him and she moved on. She just felt little bit sad looking at him and not sharing all her thoughts with him, but days were still the same. She was listening to him every evening.It was beautiful, warm day that smelled like forest and sun and everything Iris loved. She never understood why her family choosed to live in mountains. She was dressed in blouse without arms and sun kissed them, making it easier for freckles to appear. Deeply in her head, admiring everything around she was riding her horse towards Saint Denis. And she had her lovely companion. - Everything alright, Mr Morgan? You seem worried. - It's stupid - he said, scratching his chin. So he was embarassed, Iris assumed. - You always ask about my stupid things. You can tell me, you are my friend - she smiled brightly. Forgetting about those romantic feelings towards him was easier when she remided herself that ''he's just a friend''. - It's the thing that Mary asked me for help. I saw her few times in last weeks...And I don't know, kid. She seems to want me back again. Iris remembered Mary, Arthur shared his tales about her with Iris during one of their nigh talks. It was the same woman who left him, 'cause daddy forbid her to be with some dirty outlaw.  Now she needed to behave mature, even if she hated that woman already just for stealing Arthur's heart - she couldn't do it so far. - You know, Mr Morgan, remember how it finished between you two last time. - She seems to be a little different woman now. I don't even know if I'm not overthinking it, maybe she was just nice, ya know. - One way or another, you need to see yourself if she's worthy second chance. And if you are not sure about her feelings - tell her. You both adults - Iris fixed her hair, now it was streaming down her back. Every man would look at her now, dreaming about their hands on small of her back. But if was Arthur Morgan. He scratched his chin again and nodded. - You smart with those things. Feelings I mean. - I just know what happens when you hide your feelings. Especially if you are bad at it, Mr Morgan. - Ya say I'm bad at keeping my emotions? - he seemed offended. She smiled sweetely. He was charming, especially when he was honest. - No, I'm just saying that you seem to honest and straight forward to play some weird games with anyone. You shouldn't lie to Mary or hide your feelings towards her - she chewed her lip, 'cause next sentence could wreck her. But it won't, not anymore - Especially if you really love her, Mr Morgan. - I- I don't know, kid - he stuttered - you seem to know everything so I will trust you but I don't know if she wants to be loved by me. Look at me. And she looked, oh she did. She looked at his gentle face covered in scars, his honey-blond hair, his emerald eyes and his big frame. He's larger than life. - I'm looking and I need to say that Mary would be stupid turning you down. Even if you're an outlaw, Mr Morgan, you deserve better than you think - she muttered. Iris was glad they were already in Saint Denis 'cause she would cry if she would talk to him more. She wanted visit town to buy herself more clothes, she saved big money from what gang stole since she joined them and she needed dresses, a comb, maybe some other stupid, girly things. They hitched their horses and splited.Hours later Iris had everything. Few nice dresses and other things that lifted her spirit. She even attended hairdresser and now her locks were a little bit shorter. She stopped to look at herself in shop's window. She wasn't that bad...One day probably some man will fall for her and she will settle for him and give him kids. Romance's from Mary-Beth books seemed beautiful but her prince charming wasn't hers and that was it. She stopped at corner of the street when she saw them. Arthur was talking to woman who had to be Mary. And she was gorgeous. Iris started envy her right away.  Her cute dress, her big, doe eyes, her neatly arranged her and...and of course she envied her Arthur. Brunette hid herself and with strong shame feeling started eavesdropping at them. It seemed they just left theater, which meant Arthur took Mary for a date. So it was really her fault she didn't deserved him, 'cause obviously he liked woman despite what girls in camp was saying. - I really miss you, Mary - he said and Iris's heart dropped on the floor. But she wanted to listen, she wanted to know every small detail Mary had but she lacked. - I miss you two, Arthur.  Ah, you still something, aren't you. - You seem to be the only one to think that - he laughed nervously. He fancied her, oh he did. Iris's lips became thin line. Their heads was close, now closer and then they kissed. She covered her mouth as she watched. She shouldn't to save her heart and it was creepy what she was doing but couldn't stop. Their mouth seemed to fit each other perfectly. If Iris's heart dropped on the floor, now it was just sad puddle and all she saw was fireworks but in very bad way. Like she almost fainted. Quickly and swiftly she backed out of area and marched towards their horses. Big clock on one of building said that if she's gonna get back to them, Arthur will also come soon and they will be back to camp. Few minutes passed and she saw him coming in her direction. Arthur's face seemed so happy and he looked directly at her face. Two of them grabbed their horses and headed back to the camp. - You were right, kid - Arthur started out of the blue. - About Mary? - Iris was looking directly in front of her. Glad her pop was alcoholic who couldn't stand tears and she learned to hold them back other way she would cry by now. - Yes, 'bout her. She seems to share feelings with me, you know. Brunette noded, smiling at him. It wasn't his fault he was oblivious and that she was crybaby and...and a kid. And what's more Arthurs mood was lifted. - But I don't think I'm gonna push her further. She would like me to work decent job, you know. Sleep in bed every night. Move to Saint Denis. - Well - she took the deepest, the most calming breath as she said - that's probably because she loves you and want to be close. - But that ain't who I am. I will always be like that and probably die ugly some day. It would be easier if she joined us like you. But she won't. - It's not for everybody, I get her.  She is town girl and from what you said her father has big influence on her. That's not good. - Yea, you right kid - he cleared his throat - No woman would want this life for herself just to be with man like me. - I would - she bursted out. She almost panicked but he missed sense of her words, he wasn't shoked at all.   So Iris continued. - When I lived with my pop and brother I wanted town life for myself. My father always was telling me that no man would like skinny chicken like me and that I won't get married. So I decided I'm gonna move to town and enroll to university. In this time...he was already drinking too much and we were poor, Olgierd's the only one who provided us with food and I started stealing books - her hands was shaking a little bit as she reminded herself those embarassing stuff - and I learned from them to enroll and become a doctor. From then father was saying not only I'm skinny chicken who lacks any womanhood but also that no one would go to female doctor.  I wasn't stupid kid, you know Mr Morgan. Just born in wrong family, or some shit like that. And I knew that if I'm gonna work hard and steal, I will make my dreams come true. One day pop was really angry and when I wasn't home he grabbed all those books, threw them on the ground in front of our house, poured whisky on them and set them on fire. Arthur was looking at her differently now. Like she scarred him. But Iris smiled and him and finished: - What was my point is that I won't be any town girl who goes to school. I won't be anybody's wife too, too late for me to look after a husband since now, among town people I'm considered too old to marry. But I started liking living like we live, Mr Morgan. At least we can be free and our feelings are free, we can love whoever we want among our kind. - You seem sad, kiddo. Like y'didn't mean those things you saying. - I do...I just met this person we were talking about one day. I think he turned me down. - I-I am sorry - his horse catched up hers and Arthur caressed her back. She shivered like she was supposed to fall apart under his touch. He never touched her before and even though it was platonic touch her heart skipped a beat - I am no good with words, ya know. I can listen to ya tho. - There isn't much to listen. We are clear now. Friends it is. - Am sorry, ya very beautiful a-and smart ya know, ya don't deserve to be pushed around like this. It was too much. He just called her smart and beautiful after he kissed love of his life and he didn't even know for real why she was  so upset and he was saying all those things after many weeks when he turned her down calling her a kid and not noticing how sweet she was on him. - Thank you, Arthur. You saying those things...it means a lot for me - it was first time she called him by his name. Big knot in her stomach ached and she was glad they entered the camp. She ran away from him immediately, throwing things she bought inside her tent. Almost everyone from camp seemed to be gathered around the campfire, someone played the guitar and she noticed crate of beer. Iris felt like getting drunk, really drunk and fall asleep wasted so she won't have to talk with Arthur tonight. She grabbed one beer and downed it immediately, Mary-Beth throwing her look full of questions when Arthur also joined the gathering. He sat on the log and made space for Iris, patting it softly. Iris saw it but decided to play dumb and blind as she sat next to Dutch. - Where's ya girl, Dutchy? Almost miss her throwing daggers at me- She patted his arm and passed him bottle of beer. - Not my girl anymore and thanks God for that, crazy bitch. - Sorry to hear that. But I need to tell you my heart is also broken. Love's a bitch, ain't it? - she smirked as she raised a toast and their bottles clicked together. - Love is a bitch, indeed - he said slowly as his arm suddenly wandered around her waist. She blushed. Arthur didn't like that. Something felt off with Iris and he couldn't tell what. She was nice to him as always and she really helped him out with settling things with Mary down but she seemed to drift apart from him. Of course, you old fool, you lied to yourself you are her closest friend here when actually she just pity you.  And he didn't like that she and Dutch were so close right now. She was only 20, looking out for her 21st birthday and she let this man who's even older than Arthur himself throwing his hands around her body. Who saved him from getting up and saying one word too much was Mary- Beth who catched Iris's arm and dragged her away. He saw them disappearing in a distance behind the trees. Arthur decided to listen to them. - Hey, you've been gone whole day and now I see you try to get drunk as quickly as possible. I don't have to say I am your girlfriend and I know when something's up. Spill the beans then, don't make it harded for me - Blonde was caressing Iris's back as they sat down on wooden log. - He turned me down today - she said and then she become whispering, making it even harder for Arthur to understand. - H-him? Are we talking about the same person? He wouldn't say anything mean toward a horse, not saying girl like you! - Well...it wasn't the way you think it was. I just...I just saw him with somebody else and it is clear for me now. - You don't say! - Mary's eyes became big and she covered her mouth. - Am saying what am saying. But I am not mad at him, you know. Can't compare myself to sweetie he's in love with. - Is she...is she older than you? - For sure! Better looking, too - she looked down at her bust as she squeezed them - And obviously she's curvy and she has those big, doe eyes, you know. No wonder he fancy her. Then Arthur heard her muffled crying. Who was she talking about? Is the guy she's seeing cheating on her? Why would she talk with him then? - So...now you at least know he's not made for you, sweetheart - Mary-Berth murmured, holding her closely. - I am not made for anyone, look at me! She even wears black hair better than me and I was born with it, Mary-Beth! - Shh, you gonna be loved...Look at Dutch, he's totally sweet for you.   Molly left him few days ago and I heard it was because he wanted you . - No! No, don't say that, please. I am the reason they argued this much lately? That's even worse - now she was ugly crying - I have no interest in Dutch! What a mess! It was so bad. She didn't told him about all those things? Arthur felt like he needed to ask so he hid carefuly, seeing Mary-Beth leaving so Iris could cry herself in peace as she asked. He waited few minutes and then decided to walk on her. - Hey, kiddo, you okay there? She started crying even uglier when she heard him. He wouldn't tell it's because of him anyway now. - Yes, yes - she waved his hand, wiping her face with muslin tissue - Just small melt down. - Can you tell me about it? I-I know I am not much of a friend but I said I can listen. She inhaled sharply and decided. It's do or die. If he will turn her down it will be easier for her to left the camp, like she planned last night. - Arthur, I-

[verai-marcel]

Giving Up Ain’t So Bad (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur x Fem!Reader, 18+, DubCon)

Summary: You swear you know what you’re doing. This time, this job, it’s going to be done right, and you’re going to impress Arthur fucking Morgan, that overbearing, hot as hell, intimidating, infuriating man. Will you succeed? What will be the consequences if you don’t?

Author’s Notes: Oh my dear reader, this Low Honor Arthur is a selfish prick, but he still cares about people. Especially you. Even if he uses selfish means to show it.

Tags: low honor arthur morgan, dubcon, rough sex, punishment, dirty talk, tied up, very gentle doggy style, breeding kink, very possessive Arthur

AO3 Link is here, pardner.

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“Leave everything to me, I got this handled.”

Arthur looked at you with a wagon full of skepticism in his one raised eyebrow.

You gestured excitedly as you spoke. “The house has been empty for two nights; the couple that lives there is gone on some trip or something. Tonight’s the night, I go in, rob it for everything it’s worth, and get out ten times richer. No problem.”

He tilted his head, thinking for a bit before asking you, “Why is it such a big house for just a couple?”

“Does it matter? I’ve only ever seen the two of them,” you replied hastily.

“You didn’t poke around town, ask who they were?”

“Why? I saw what I needed to see.”

Arthur’s eyebrow could not have gone up any further on his forehead. “Maybe I should take this one, show you how it should be done.”

“No! I told you, I have this handled!”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, you lead. But I’m comin’ with ya.”

You glared at him. Ever since you joined the gang, Arthur had always kept an eye on you and your actions. At first, you thought it was because the gang didn’t trust you yet, which might have been the case in the beginning, but time and time again you proved your loyalty. Now you thought he felt like he had to babysit you because of your relative newness to this kind of life. But you knew what you were doing; sure, you didn’t have the decade plus of experience, but you’d been on your own long enough to know how to get money when times were tough.

If you could just prove yourself to him, maybe you’d impress him enough to let you go on jobs without him hounding your back.

Then maybe you could stop feeling this heated tension you felt every time he was near you. 

***

The two of you rode through Ambarino, through the forest and up hillsides until you reached the large house tucked away off the main path. It was perfect for the taking, with no one left to guard the estate.

You got off your horse and strutted into the main house, immediately taking everything of value. Arthur, following you quietly, went upstairs to start grabbing valuables. 

After about ten minutes, he came bounding back downstairs and found you.

“Turn off the lantern!”

You did so immediately, and crawled to a window. Peeking out, you saw a large wagon filled with people coming back up the road towards the house, accompanied by a few men on horseback. Of course, they were armed.

“Shit!” you muttered as you grabbed a few more items before you ran outside with Arthur to get to the horses and bail. Unfortunately, there was only one way up to the house; you’d have to either charge past or risk going down the steep hillside. Pulling your bandanas on and getting on your horses, you led the mad dash down the road, hoping to get to a place where you could get your horse down the hill. 

The escape attempt was poorly planned, as you barrelled past the wagon, the people inside gasping and some of them immediately pointing their guns at you.

“Thieves! Git’em!”

“Split up!” you yelled to Arthur as you veered off the main path and escaped, men on horseback chasing you far enough that you knew it would take a while to get back to camp. 

"Wait!" Arthur roared, but it was too late, you had already took off in the opposite direction, zig-zagging through the forest at a speed much faster than Arthur's draft horse could go, especially through the dense underbrush. You were grateful that your horse was small and nimble. 

As bullets whipped past you, you prayed that you’d both make it back in one piece.

***

A day later, with a few grazes haphazardly bandaged up, you made it back to camp. It seemed that the people on horseback had mostly gone after you, and had given up when it was clear that you were heading up into Wapiti territory. Once you noticed them leaving you alone, you made your way back to camp the long way, hoping to avoid anyone on the road that might question your beleaguered appearance.

You still had all the valuables on your person, so it wasn’t like you were coming back empty handed. You did, however, waste a day traveling, so there was that.

As you were giving your horse a carrot, you heard a loud bellow.

“Where the HELL have you been?”

You turned around to see Arthur stomping towards you, a furious look on his face. You’d seen that look directed at men twice your size and seen them flinch at the aura of pure wrath emanating from him.

So of course, you flipped your hair back and stood your ground.

“Been trying to get back without being followed. Where the hell else would I be?”

Arthur came up to you and stood toe to toe with you, glaring, attempting to use his size to force you back.

You didn’t move an inch.

“Maybe you shoulda planned things better, gotten more information before headin’ up into a damn welcome party,” he growled.

“How was I supposed to know that they’d be bringing their whole damn family back?”

“Maybe if you had asked around, you woulda found out.” His tone stayed relatively calm, but his voice was low, almost snarling. He was definitely controlling himself.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “We got out just fine. I’d say that’s a win.”

He suddenly grabbed your wrist and started dragging you away.

“Hey, wait!” You dug your heels into the ground, but it was no use; he was far too strong and just kept pulling on you towards his horse. 

“Arthur, wait, where are you taking me?” you asked as you pulled your arm one last futile time.

“Somewhere private,” he uttered in a threatening tone.

Without another word, he put you on his horse, climbed up behind you, and charged off into the setting sun.

***

A few hours later, as you strained your eyes through the darkness, you saw a small abandoned cabin.

You swallowed. Hard. Turning back to look at Arthur, you paled at the hard glare in his eyes as he glanced at you. The light from the lantern painted his face with harsh shadows; you felt like he was your personal grim reaper, and he was about to bring you to the next world.

He got off the horse and hitched it, put the lantern down, and held his arms out to you.

“C’mon.”

Your heart pounded rapidly. Why did he bring you here?

He sighed at the look on your face. “I ain’t gonna kill you. Be a waste of a life. Now c’mere.”

You let him help you down from his horse, but you shivered uncontrollably. 

“You finally showin’ some sense?” he asked, taking your hand and leading you into the cabin, the lantern revealing a sparsely furnished space.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you retorted, getting some of your sass back, but still feeling the underlying fear in your belly.

He shut the door behind you and then shoved you against it. “I mean, you understand how your impatience got us in trouble?”

You couldn’t say a word. He was right. You hadn’t exactly done a deep dive into the situation; you saw that there was a couple living in that house, you saw that they had left and had not come back two nights in a row. You didn’t investigate beyond that.

Looking up at Arthur, who had grown up doing this kind of thing, with his years of experience and his cool, collected demeanor, you bit your lip in frustration and looked away. He made all of this look easy. You just wanted to be on his level; you wanted to impress him. 

Because all you wanted was for him to look at you as more than just someone to chaperone. You weren’t that much younger than him, maybe just a few years. You lived a different life before you were thrust into this one a few years ago; but you had other skills, transferable skills that usually helped. Your impatience got in the way this time, that was all. 

Arthur sighed. “I’m tryin’ ta protect you. Don’t make it harder for me to keep you alive.”

“Fine,” you muttered. "I understand. I'm sorry. Can we go back now?" 

When Arthur was silent for too long, you looked back at him. Your eyes widened at the feral look in his eyes. You had never seen him like this before; it was as if he had taken off a mask and was revealing something deep down that he kept hidden from everyone else at camp.

“Arthur?” you said in a very small voice.

“When you didn’t come back after I did…” he trailed off. He dropped the lantern and stared at you for a few moments, as if he were coming to a decision. Taking you by the wrists, he dragged you towards the bed. You let him lead you, knowing it was useless trying to fight against his strength. He shoved you on the bed and straddled you, keeping you from moving.

Then he started to tie your wrists to the bedpost.

You thrashed under him as panic welled up in your chest. “Arthur, wait, wait, what are you doing?”

“Stay still,” he snarled, and you immediately stilled. “You’re gonna feel how I felt yesterday.” He finished tying your wrists, then he grabbed one of your ankles and tied it to the bedpost at the foot of the bed.

“How is this like how you felt?” you said, your voice high pitched.

“Helpless,” he said.

You held your breath. Arthur Morgan, felt helpless?

“I didn’t know where you were, didn’t know where to even start lookin’ for ya.” He finished tying your ankle.

Then he covered your body, burying his face in your hair, nipping at your earlobe. He ground his hips against yours, and you felt a stirring in your body. 

"Nearly lost my mind, worryin’," he mumbled into your ear. 

Your fear melted away as he kissed your neck and your cheek and your temple. He held your face in his hands and forced you to look up at him as he stared intensely into your eyes. 

"Don't ever disobey me again." He pressed his forehead to yours, as if he was trying to will you into doing his bidding. 

That command bristled against your very nature. "I'll do what I need to do," you gritted out. 

"And what you need to do is listen to me," he said pointedly, and kissed you before you could respond. 

"No!" you breathed when he finally let you up for air. 

Arthur glared at you. "You need to learn when to let someone else take charge."

You huffed and looked away. Hearing a chuckle, you glanced back at him. A wry smile was on his lips, amusement in his eyes, as he began to unbutton your blouse.

“A-Arthur?”

“Hmm?”

“Are… are you serious?”

“Very,” he rasped as he pulled your blouse up your arms, exposing your chemise. He pulled that up and over your head too, sliding all the fabric up to your bound wrists. He made quick work of your pants and drawers as well, sliding them off your free leg and down your bound one. Leaning back, he took in your naked form with an admiring eye. Meanwhile, you burned from embarrassment.

“Arthur, please…” you trailed off. You weren’t sure what you were begging for, especially once he started to brush his fingers on your exposed skin. He traced unseen patterns down your sides, across your hips, and back up around your breasts, avoiding the peaks where you wanted to be touched the most. He leaned down, kissing different parts of you, nipping at you and licking every once in a while as you whimpered. His mouth was just another tool he used to torture you as he kissed your inner thigh.

“You gonna listen?” he said from between your legs. When you remained silent, he lightly stroked your slit, back and forth, barely enough pressure to alleviate the desire that was flooding your veins.

“Okay, yes, I’ll listen!” you finally said, exasperated. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please, touch me!”

He laughed softly as he crawled back up your body to look you in the eyes. “Oh, but I am touchin’ you, sweetheart.”

“More!”

Arthur leaned in to nuzzle noses with you. “So greedy.” He finally slipped one finger inside of your dripping pussy, and you moaned as you felt him slowly pulse his finger in and out of you.

“Is this what you wanted?”

“More!” you begged again.

His laugh was almost sadistic as he pushed another finger into you and continued his slow tease of your body. His other hand gently plucked your nipples, lazily drawing circles around them before tweaking them gently. He watched you writhe as you tried to push yourself into his touch, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

“Lie still,” he commanded. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to let him take over, to just obey. It was against everything you believed in, to just blindly do as you were told, but when Arthur’s glare turned dangerous once more, you let out a shaky breath and stayed still.

Assured that you would stay still, he pulled away from you and started taking off his clothes. You watched in awe as you saw all of him revealed to you as he stripped off everything, letting you see how aroused he was.

Oh dear. You didn’t know he was that big.

You started trembling when he came back to you, an intensity to his presence that made your heart rate spike and your breathing speed up. He hummed low as he nipped at your throat, the sound vibrating through you as he rubbed his cock along your slit.

You gasped as he nudged your opening.

“W-wait,” you breathed.

“You didn’t wait for me,” he growled, and started forcing you open.

You groaned, his thickness penetrating you slowly, burning like fire as he grabbed your neck and forced you to look at him as he took you. You writhed, using your free leg to push at him so you could get a moment to get used to his size, but it was like trying to stop a train; he was too strong, too intent on making you completely his, right now, right at this moment.

His cock slid all the way in, and he grabbed your free leg and wrapped it around his waist. His eyes sparked with lust in the dim lantern light, his grin wolfish, with a hint of cruel glee. 

"Can't do nothin' 'cept ride it out," he said in a low tone as he started to roll his hips, drawing out sounds of reluctant pleasure from your throat. He kept a hold of your neck as he fucked you, his grip letting you know you were his to control as he kissed you everywhere he could reach. Your neck and shoulder were peppered with red marks from where he sucked on your skin, and your lips were swollen from his breathtaking kisses. 

When your body grew taut with your impending climax, he rode you harder; he made low, guttural sounds as each stroke came with the sound of flesh thumping against flesh and the soft creak of the bed below you.

“You’ll be much happier if you understand that yer mine, sweetheart,” he rumbled. Then he leaned in to your ear and licked your earlobe before he whispered, “All mine.”

Letting go was so easy, after handing control over to him. You cried out his name as your climax exploded through your body, the blissful sensations washing your mind of everything else. With your one free leg, you clung tightly to him, using your heel to keep him inside of you. All you wanted was this deep connection, this warmth surrounding you, filling you up and making you feel safe and protected.

“Feel good, darlin’?”

You nodded.

“Good. My turn.” He pulled out of you to flip you over, roughly moving you onto your elbows and knees. 

You started to shiver. You weren’t a fan of this position; you couldn’t see him, and you didn’t like having anyone behind you like this. Perhaps it was a control thing like Arthur had said, but the worst feeling in the world to you was when someone was right behind you. It was why you always positioned yourself to have your back against a wall or a tree, or if you were out in the open, you always moved to where you could see everyone.

“Easy, girl,” he crooned. “S’okay. I’ve got you.” Gripping your neck with one hand, he leaned over you and stroked your body, petting you as if he were calming a skittish animal, uttering  calming phrases lovingly in your ear.

“There you go, just trust me. You’re alright.”

When you had finally stopped shivering, he lay a sensual kiss on the back of your neck. “Good girl.”

Pressing down on the small of your back, he slowly buried himself inside of you, a steady invasion that made you let out a low moan as you felt every inch of him. Once he was all the way in, he slowly moved out again as the grip on your neck tightened, as if he wanted to remind you who was in charge. His thrusts were controlled and smooth.

“How’s it feel?”

You just moaned.

“That good, huh?”

You nodded.

He kissed your shoulder as he moved faster. “You tell me if it hurts, darlin’,” he said softly.

He sped up, though his thrusts felt ever in control as he leaned over and wrapped an arm across your shoulders, grabbing the headboard to keep himself steady as he covered you with his broad body. He made you feel like he was shielding you from the world as he buried his face into your neck, his breathing becoming hard and unsteady. You could feel him reaching his limits as his pounding intensified.

“Gonna make you mine,” he growled before he thrust deep inside of you with a long moan. You felt his spend flooding you, spilling from where the two of you were joined so intimately. His hips moved in short, jerky strokes for a little while afterwards as he wrung out every last drop inside of you as you collapsed down to the mattress. He slid out from you as you fell, and he casually lay on his side next to you, running his hand up and down your back, petting you lazily as one would a cat.

You finally turned to your side to look at him with a questioning expression. You were too tired to form words at the moment.

“I told you I’d make you mine,” he said as he continued to run his hands along your waist, then down to your belly. “And I’ll do it over and over again ‘til it takes.”

You swallowed, feeling your arousal flutter back to life at the thought of him finishing inside you, and then finally found enough brain cells to speak. “Since when?”

“Since you joined. Saw that fire in your eyes. Had to make you mine.” He shifted closer to you, holding your chin between his thumb and fingers. “Didn’t want anyone else gettin’ close to you.”

You suddenly understood his behavior now. His constant need to watch you, claiming at first that you were new and not to be trusted, and then later on, his insistence that you were new to the outlaw life and needed guidance. That tension you had felt when the two of you were alone, when the two of you were waiting for nightfall for a robbery, or when the two of you were heading back to camp, the intense stares that made your heart beat like crazy, they were all because Arthur wanted to make you his.

Completely, inescapably his.

As he untied you and pulled you close, he stroked your hair tenderly like his treasured pet. You fell asleep, thinking that if this was what it felt like to be owned by Arthur Morgan, maybe giving up control wasn’t so bad, after all.

--------------------

End Notes: Uh, this went in a slightly different direction than what I had initially planned… but as long as someone gets hot and bothered by the idea, then I guess it’s okay? Hope you like this @highlandcowgirl!