#arthur morgan fluffy fic

[danger-r-98-5]

Tender Loving Care

  Read it Here on AO3!

For as long as John had known Arthur, the older man had always known what he needed.

When he was young and needed space, rather than coddling, to feel safe with the dark purple blue bruising still fresh around his throat.

When they were riding from one camp to another in a mad dash away from the law, throwing an apple or dried meat at him and telling him to eat when his body still didn't know it could tell him that he was hungry, a feeling rarely ever sated in his youth before the gang.

Even when he was older and struggling with an infection from the ragged wounds that tore open his face, watching his bandages for signs of healing and dripping ice-cold water through his cracked and dry lips.

And now, years and miles away from the life that always turned on those who lived it, Arthur still knew what John needed.

Never mind that John was always a little less than willing to accept it.

John had injured himself while helping to repair the fences on one of their pastures, wire had sliced through his gloves and into the meat of his palm when it snapped, ricocheting up the inside of his arm even as he tried to pull away.

It was a freak accident, no one's fault, and despite the amount it had bled it had only required a handful of stitches from the local doctor.

It would leave a nasty scar, though, another one to add to his already extensive list.

Maybe that was why Arthur was doing this, ushering him inside and drawing a bath, he noticed under John's annoyance that current of self depreciation that they both seemed to share, that made him short and snappish at even the best intentions, and Arthur did have the best intentions, but John couldn't stop himself from growing annoyed with the gentle way the man was handling him “I don’t need ya coddling me” he eventually snapped when Arthur's hand was resting on his arm, most likely to guild him up from his seat and toward the bath, like it had been his legs injured rather than his arm.

Arthur turned from whatever he had been looking at to face John and lift a brow, “oh?” he questioned mildly, his other hand coming up to John's arm before his demeanor made a subtle shift, chin dipping and smile twisting into a more of a sarcastic smirk.

He used his height to tower over John and his gentle touch grew firm on John's arms, fingers digging in and nearly bruising, making John grow stiff from the sudden shift “well” his voice was more of a growl “ya sure as shit don’t need it rough boah” John flinched at the man's tone and the man's demeanor immediately shifted again, face softening and grip loosening, thumbs brushing over the tender sting where he had gripped moments ago “c’mon” he spoke gently tugging lightly “baths ready”

John's head spun from the was Arthur swapped so quickly, but he didn’t fight it as the man pulled him into the steam filled bathroom, just grumbling mildly as the man helped him get undressed, careful of the angry stitched up wound that still ached on his arm.

When he stepped into the warm water, he shivered at how good it felt, not complaining as Arthur held his shoulders and helped him down into the bath until he was laying chest deep in the steaming water.

He expected the older to leave once he was settled snugly into his bath, but all Arthur did was sit down on the edge of the tub and reach for the soap “ya know” he spoke mildly “ain’t no shame in lettin someone take care of ya”

John huffed and sat forward when Arthur nudged his shoulder “I don’t need someone ta take care of me” he muttered pulling his knees up to rest his chin on them, keeping his injury out of the water as Arthur rubbed the soap against his back, large warm hands making him shiver and flinch before almost involuntarily relaxing into it.

“Ain’t bout need neither” Arthur drawled easily, cupping water over John's back to rinse away the soap before he was encouraging John to lean back again and ducking down “besides, feels good don’t it?” murmured into his ear and making John shiver before the older man was moving and continued to wash him.

He wasn’t in any rush, drawing a sopped up cloth over John's skin in soothing motions, avoiding his most delicate parts and rounding the tub until he was on John's injured side, slowly dabbing at the wound while John looked at him with half open eyes, Arthur looked peaceful, content with taking care of John never mind John couldn’t understand it.

“Why are ya doing this?” he finally voiced his question, unable to wrap his head around what the older man got out of this, out of anything that had happened since that wire had dug into his skin and the older was rushing over to staunch the bleeding with his own bandana.

Arthur hummed and glanced up at him, “what ya mean?” he questioned before going back to the injury, inspecting every stitch like he hadn’t been standing over the doctor's shoulder the entire time.

“Why are ya doing this” he lifted his other hand and motioned between them “takin care of me, s’it cause of what we got going on tween us or” he trailed off, they didn’t really talk about their relationship, the way they had danced around each other before John left and the way they had fallen into bed together at Clemens Point and kept at it, a sort of open secret that no one talked about.

A chuckle from Arthur pulled him out of his thoughts and made him look at the older man who was shaking his head before putting a hand on the edge of the tub for balance and leaning down, hovering over John for a moment with a fond expression, “ya ever think I’m doing it cause I want to?” he challenged before dipping down and pressing their lips together, kissing him softly before curling his spare hand around the back of his neck “lean back”

Dazed by the kiss, John followed the older man's orders, leaning back and tilting his head to wet his hair before sitting back up, closing his eyes as Arthur ran his fingers through the damp locks, slowly working on untangling them before picking up the soap and rubbing it between his hands.

Once he had a good lather, he put the soap down and returned his hands to John's hair, rubbing his scalp and making the younger man hum in pleasure, body finally fully relaxing under the other man's touch.

Because Arthur had always known what John needed, for as long as they had known each other.

Why would this be any different

[johnpriceslamb]

hey! i really love ur writing! are your requests open?? if they are would you maybe write another arthur x reader fic? maybe something with arthur introducing his new girlfriend to the gang for the first time? thank uuu!!😊

𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓯𝓪𝓲𝓻𝔂 ,

❥ ˚₊‧ swishswishswish prattles the pink-tinted brush within your nimble hold. Each delicate tap against the swell of your soft cheeks swell even more with colour, adorning a scent you were far too familiar with— cherry-kissed by love herself. ˚₊‧

𝓑𝓔𝓕𝓞𝓡𝓔 𝓨𝓞𝓤 𝓟𝓡𝓞𝓒𝓔𝓔𝓓 ! ꒰ ❥ hyper-feminine ! reader ❥ female ! reader ❥ reader is mentioned to be physically shorter than characters mentioned below ❥ lovesick Arthur Morgan ❥ super-shy reader ❥ rugged cowboy bf x mini baker gf ❥ fluff ❥ Age gap implied ❥ 7k words ꒱

❥ arthur morgan x female! reader

꒰🍰꒱ “SWEET GATEAU” Written in all bold, the colour pink, carved in cursive. The board swings heavily amidst the top of the pole that sticks out to show off the demure place.

That was the name of your workplace. Located in the most populated city in the state of Lemoyne, Saint Denis. It was an obvious spot for cakes and pastries, considering that the literal meaning of ‘Gateau’ was cake in French. It stands out from most buildings surrounding it as do the connected shops beside it- large windows to display the sweet delicacies of riches on little shelves for those to glance at when passing by.

More-so.. advertising then teasing, you'd say.

The comforting, delicious fragrance of vanilla extract fills the air. You have yet to work on other requests commissioned by customers, though you focus solely on this particular order. Mainly because it was the easiest and much quicker to prepare.

A simple sponge plain cake with vanilla icing. Couldn’t be too hard.

You’re quite tempted to take a little swipe of the wet cream and taste it yourself- fortunately your temptations resist yet again because of repetition and practice. tiktiktik does the whisk in your hand go as it constantly scrapes against the bowl, the mixture hardens and becomes more of a fluffy-like texture rather than a wet clump of nice smelling liquid.

The comforting sound of the fire crackles with faint embers floating amongst the brick-encased oven. Inside the oven lay two lovely little flat cakes. Just exactly twenty minutes ago you’ve bestowed them upon a wooden flat board to dish out near the heat to harden up.

“Ten more minutes..” You mumble to yourself. Enough time to finish whisking the vanilla icing and pour into a pipe-bag.

You admire the prettiness of the sweet-tasting icing which was coated inside the surface of the bowl, before glancing at the paper-filled request again to make sure that you’ve been following the guide correctly. Thankfully enough, the woman who requested the small two layered cake wrote it on a piece of paper rather than verbally out loud. Her hand-writing was lovely, and so was she. At the end of the piece of paper, her signature was written out—

‘Mary-Beth. :-). Please do not forget the cherry on top !!!!’

You can’t help but giggle softly at the absurd amount of exclamation marks she wrote down. She was quite bubbly, and that lady was- very excited. From the looks of her- you were just at least a year or so younger than her. You remember she adorned a long skirt, dark pink in colour.. with her hair in a half down half updo. Freckles prettily placed on her skin. You recall stating to come pick up her order at around 8 in the morning tomorrow. The clock strikes 6 A.M. Two more hours until she can pick up her cake!

Long, dewy lashes tinker at the sound of the bells at the door jingling as a person enters. You were quick on your feet, miniature ribbon-tipped slippers softly tapping on the ceramic floor of this building, curiously peeking your dainty head from the corner. Another rich man seemed to peer around curiously at all the pastries and such inside, pondering if he should buy a few sweets. You weren’t one to really socialise, neither was he- from the looks of it. You could only offer the sweetest smile you could etch onto your face and shyly nod as he turned to you to acknowledge you, before returning back to the kitchen hidden from customers to work on the cake.

He could just ring the bell on the front counter to get your attention.

It was common for people to enter the little bakery, though at around 10-2 is when chatter becomes louder and you become more frantic.

And with that- ten minutes has passed. You clumsily get the cakes out of the oven and place it on the kitchenette's bench. Hot and rough-looking around the edges.. You could probably cover it up with the icing.

Before you do, you cover the first layer with the fluffy icing, before plopping the second layers on. This job was very therapeutic, you considered.

Droop does the vanilla sweetening go as you drown the plain cake with the sweet icing. Delicate swipes of a butter knife allowing it to smoothen amongst the hardened surface of the spongy delicacy. Plop! One little swirl of icing on top. And another.. and another.. Until it surrounds the whole edge of the cake. Oh, don’t forget! One big swirl in the middle of the cake, where the cherry shall be placed upon.

You can’t help but decorate the sides with little frosted hearts, the piping bag in your hand ever so sturdy as it squeezes most of the remaining out and onto the lovely decorated cake.

Was the decoration necessary? No, not really. But did it make you feel bubbly? Yes.

Ding!

You hear the sound of the silver bell reverberating against the metal itself just a few times from outside the kitchenette. You blink a few times, before toddling out and back at the counter. Seemed like the man from earlier had already decided on what to buy.

The sound of your meek, tiny voice can be heard echoing about and bouncing back to you. It was rather empty, considering that it was 6 in the morning-

“Welcome to Sweet Gateau! Where all your tastebuds experience sweet wonder and satisfaction. How may I help you?” Recitation of the same line allows you to memorise the whole thing completely. Sometimes you do change it up a bit just to have a bit of fun.

The man blinks at you.

He looks around before narrowing his eyes at you, sizing you up- albeit.. confused.

You want to ask what's wrong, did he perhaps get the shops wrong?

Perhaps it was his old eyes, or the way he perceived people by appearance. Maybe the tuft of pink on your uniform, or maybe the way you style your hair with ribbons and such. But looking at you, you looked as if you were just a..

“...Does this business support child labour?”

You stammer.

꒰🍰꒱ You are not one to argue with customers. Or argue at all.

But you’ve had to greatly convince the man that this place does not in fact, recruit people under the age of fourteen to work. He stumbles over his words as he realises that you were not actually in early adolescence, and to affirm his apology, he tips you a dollar. The wooden door which was pulled back allows the sweet little bells hung on top to jingle gently yet again as you see his retreating form with the paper bag of biscuits and sugary delicacies.

You smile happily. Another customer satisfied! though.. confused.

The clock strikes 7. One more hour until the lady can pick up her cake.

With a hum that sounded more like a serenade, you pack the cake into a small frilly-looking box, a sort of see-through material shaped in an oval which was built inside the frail box to allow the person to see the decorated cakes. Your beady eyes shimmer at the leftover frosting inside the piping bag.. maybe you could just have a little..

Your temptations are yet again disrupted by a flood of customers coming in. It was a Saturday, of course people were shopping at early dawn. The small crowd amidst the bakery mainly consisted of young ladies in friend groups admiring the pretty delicacies around, rich elderly retrospectively adorning the sweets from their childhood.

A squeak and a babble of incoherence once many line up, you're quick on your tippy toes to heat a tea-pot up with water near the brick-encased oven and organise many distributions of loose tea leaves.

Sometimes, you wonder if people did genuinely acknowledge their health since eating cakes and biscuits and other sweet stuff in the early morning wasn't really considered the healthiest breakfasts. Though, at least you earned a fair paycheck at the end.

A pretty smile feigned on your face until your apple-blossomed cheeks strained, as you recited the line over and over again to many customers who pointed at the delicacies they wanted to buy and eat. The fragrance of chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, it swirls into one and becomes a potent scent which drives more and more to eat up. You can’t help the giddy smile and the apple-blossom swelling with colour on your cheeks as you shyly peer at everyone who eats the pastry with delight. You’ve baked a few of the treats that linger in the bakery, and the soft moan at the end of the bite which signifies great pleasure in eating your own baked sweets allows your tummy to flutter with butterflies.

The tip jar starts to slowly fill every ten minutes. Quarters shine and tinker within the glass container, bidding every donation with a pleased 'thank you!' and a little wink. 

It’s been an hour or so. Mary-Beth has yet to pick up her cake. 

As if on cue, the bells attached on-top of the door chimes, producing the same little melodic drag. You look up to see the lady you were thinking about! Mary-Beth, if you recall correctly. You wave at her with a happy smile, and she reciprocates with a big grin obviously excited to see the order. From behind her slightly taller figure in comparison to you was followed by three more ladies, admiring the shop with a soft coo and a gasp.

“I told y'all this bakery was cute!” Said-woman falls with a bemused smile on her face.

“Twenty-five cents for a whole brownie! What a catch,” One nudges another.

“It has caramel in it!! C’mon Abigail, we oughta!” The lady with blonde hair almost whines, “It’ll be a good surprise for lil’ Jack!”

“Mh, I don’t know Karen..”

Mary-Beth eagerly comes to the counter, her dark rosetta coloured skirt swishing around as she does. “Hello, miss [name]!”

You smile in return, wiping your powered-up hands on your frilly light-pink apron, “Hi, Miss Gaskill. Your vanilla glazed cake is done. Are you here to eat in or to take out?” As nimble as you were, you can’t help but be comforted by the lady’s presence. A sunshine amongst a field of closed sun-flowers.

She almost seemed surprised at your words. Perhaps the usual shops that she went in did not offer such things. She ponders, before calling out to the three women who still stare at all the sweets on display, arguing with each other whether or not they should buy a few sweets, “Would you all mind quieting down!?” 

You can’t help but softly giggle under your breath.

You patiently wait for Mary’s answer, that small grin still plastered on your face.

“Hm..” She hums, “Do you perhaps have spare plates and serviettes..?” She meekly asks.

“Of course!” You nod sweetly, “Give me a moment to prepare a table would you?” “Oh! Okay,” She beams. 

As you pass by, all of the girl’s bid you a “hi!”, “lovely place!”  “hello!” You respond to them with a wave and a smile.

“She’s very pretty,” The black-haired girl whispers to Mary-Beth. She nods immediately at her response.

“She really is,” She agrees, “So lovely too! I think she's got to be the nicest girl I've ever met in Saint Denis.”

As the chatter in the bakery by other folks becomes a tad bit louder, you're too busy preparing four serviette-adorned plates. You nod to the lady waiting, she bickers with the others and allows them to toddle on over and take a seat. The legs of the chair scrape at the floorings below, some are mindful about the fact and instead of dragging it, they slightly elevate it to eliminate the scratchings.

“Oh! Right, would you like me to cut the cake?” You graciously ask.

She smiles and politely nods, “Yes please!” 

Their prattling drowns out in silence as you waddle away back in the kitchenette to cut the cake.

Mary-Beth smiles at the other girls.

“So? How do y’all like it here?”

“It’s real fancy in here,” Abigail responds calmly, “Real pretty, though.”

“Mhm. Anywho.. How much did you pay for the cake?” Her blonde haired friend asks. She fiddles with the napkin on the plate, before placing it beside the food holder. She inhales the scent of the bakery, sighing sweetly.

She sheepishly grins, “Err.. five dollar.”

“I— Mary-Beth! My goodness..”

“Tilly, I promise you. It’s gon’ be real good!” She nudges the girl in the yellow dress.

"I better see miracles happening once I take a bite out of the cake," Karen- the blonde haired woman scoffs, allowing herself to get comfortable in the chairs. The two women beside her softly giggle at her bluntness.

The bold, sweet odour of the sugary vanilla glacé hits their nose, arriving with a slight wiggle inside the box as you carefully place it in the middle. Mary-Beth was the first to gently take the lid off, she gasped at the small decorations at the side. Little piped hearts.. "My, oh my.."

"Now, ain’t that just the cutest little thing i’ve ever seen?" Tilly coos.

You do a little curtsey, tipped with a sugary smile and doll your wispy lashes. "Enjoy, ladies!"

"Ah ah, wait a moment now- hold on!" Mary-Beth frantically stammers and tries to get your attention with a squeak once your small back is turned to them. It does, fortunately.

You turn back around, curious. Your head is slightly tilted to embody your confusion, beady eyes staring at the ladies whom seem to also want to keep you back here.

"I've seen you runnin' all about and uhm.. Do you ever take breaks, miss?" She curiously asks.

You blink. Was she offering..?

"I do," You respond truthfully, albeit shyly.

She sheepishly smiles, "Would you perhaps.. Like to enjoy this with us?"

You stammer, "I-I uhm, I'm not sure about that-"

The woman in blonde cuts you off, "Awh, c'mooon! C'mere and sit, girl. You need a damn break."

You hesitate again. "No, really-"

"Ahh, give us a break- c'mere now!" She cuts you off easily. The one whom insisted on you sitting down with them grabs a chair from an empty table, before easily plopping you down.

"What's yer name, lil' lady?" She asks with a smile.

You grin with a docile muse, saying hi to the other girls, "It's [name]."

"Ooh! Purdy name for an even purdier girl." She cheekily pats your pixie-like shoulder. Your cheeks pop with colour at her low-toned flirting

"I'm Karen, that's Tilly, Abigail, and of course, Mary-Beth. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, little miss [name].”

Another girl pipes up, “Do you work here all alone, [name]?” Tilly— the one with the pretty yellow sundress asks with interest. She admires the interior of the building, how the edges of the roof had little floral pastry designs, on-going around the whole building and to the hidden kitchenette behind.

“Mhm!” You nod. Abigail raises her brows up, leaning slightly on the table. She has the mother-like aura which makes you feel ever-so giddy. She’s hushed in her tone, worried that she might make a scene if she spoke too loud, “Excuse me for intrudin’ but.. Ain't you a little… too young to be running this store all by yourself?”

“Ah!” Your cheeks become darker in hue. “I’m of legal age to work, miss. It’s just the frills ‘n the bows.”

Tilly was the first to serve herself a slice. She takes a small bite from the sweet delicacy, icing oozing out inside as she lets out a delightful hum. She finishes chewing it, before her eyes twinkle and she turns to you, “My goodness! And you baked this all by yourself?”

“Uhuh, I’m so glad you like it.” You clasp your hands together happily. Mary-Beth is eager to get a slice, then Abigail, then Karen.

“Okay, maybe the dollar was kind of worth it for this cake..” Karen mumbles quietly, poking her fork at the sweet cake.

Mary-Beth cheekily nudges Tilly’s shoulder, “Seeee? I knew you’d like it.”

You look around, noting yourself that you should give them something to drink to drown that sucrose-filled treat. You excused yourself from the table, the little frills etched on the back of your small skirt bobbling about like a tiny princess toddling about. You’re quick to bringing a teapot over, with a few porcelain-like cups stacked on top as you gently place it on the table.

“Wait- er.. Does the tea cost extra?” Mary-Beth asks, raising a finger before lowering it down as it catches your attention.

You raise a brow, “It’s free.”

“I could quite literally kiss you right now,” She beams, allowing you to pour the hot tea in the cups which were given out to the women around.

The overall vibe amongst the interior was pleasant. The small, gossamer-bunched bonnet on your head tilts a bit as you lean down to tip the fragile teapot.

As you carefully pour the hot liquid, you hear them conversing with each other as usual. Though you tend to take a blind eye- or ear in this case, you can’t help but be a tad bit curious to their little gossip.

“D’you reckon we should’ve invited Molly over?” Abigail asks.

“Oh- Maybe. I feel like she'll like it here, but I also have this feeling she’ll just fan herself away and give us nasty looks the whole time.” Tilly mumbles, delicately cooing out a 'thank you' as you poured a cup of tea for her. The tea swishes and sloshes against the cup as she drinks from it with her pinkie out.

Karen snorts, "You're so right. Just one touch from Dutch, and she's ready to take over the world. Miss primp and polish she is till' mister Dutchie doesn't give her a lick of affection."

Mary-Beth gasps softly, "Karen!" She calls her name as if to scold her, only for a small chuckle to follow after.

Your curiosity is visible, but you don't say anything. You're one to entertain gossip, but you aren't one to prod- considering that you've only met these lovely ladies.

They finished the small cake in another hour. Currently, you were situated behind the mini counter serving a few customers amongst the treats they wanted to buy.

"Ah, that was real good." Abigail wipes her mouth with the napkin provided, in a more rushed sense- an underlying feeling that she wasn’t so used to these kinds of etiquette.

"Maybe we should buy sumthing! We ain't gonna visit 'Denis for a while unless if we like- beg Arthur or sumn' to come wit', so I reckon we should give ourselves a little treat after all the things we've been through."

"We should buy them caramel brownies.."

"C'mon, c'mon! Lets get it then," Karen ushers Tilly and Abigail out of their seats once they've finished up, Mary-Beth following after with a giggle.

"[name]! These brownies cost twenty-five cents a bar don't they?" Mary-Beth calls out, pointing at the display at the front. Oozing with caramel delight, encased with a delicious chocolate coating which makes her swoon at the beautiful sight.

"It does, yes." You nod with a shy smile.

"Goodness, [name]. These prices are kinda high.. Reckon' you can give us a lil'.. discount? Y'know! Since we're friends!" Karen winks.

You shyly ponder, "Mhh.. Alright, why not?" As said before, you weren't really one to argue. Besides, they were sweet girls.

"Woo-hoo!" They cheer with a giggle, before eagerly grabbing the little tong at the side to grab a slice.

"A bar of brownie.. 20 cents." You bargain.

Karen shrugs, "Good enough." And she hands you the coins.

You hear them all bidding you a good-bye, and a cheeky "Expect to see me here again!!"

The door closes, and you're left with the constant conversations on-going. You stare at the shining coins placed in your hands, and can’t help the pleasurable feeling of gentle-tipped joy flood your tummy.

꒰🍰꒱ Morning dawn comes.

Another day at the bakery.

You rise slowly from your beauty sleep. The silky gossamer curtains flow slightly from the wind, as the sun shines pink and yellow lights from the half open windows of your room. The wood creeks beneath your light footsteps as you grumble on to get ready for the morning.

Lazy pats of coloured light pink powder is gently flushed against your cheeks, the small ribbon-tipped brush rattles because of the amount of use it's been through. Your hair is done prettily, silky bows attached to the side which matches the coloured powder you put on your dewy face. It takes you a tad longer to arrange your morning routine into a real situation, until you're out of the door and walking on the path to the bakery.

Pushing past the entrance, you hear those bells chime a little ballad that was always memorable and will never be forgotten.

Though it may be a nuisance to look at the same things constantly, you are always reminded that this place was a safe-zone for anyone or anything. Mainly because at the entrance hangs a low sign on the door handle that entrees prohibit the use of weapons and must take it off before entering the store.

Suddenly, your thoughts are interrupted as the entrance opens to the same women from yesterday. Though, two older men are accompanying them from behind, albeit.. begrudgingly.

"-I don't think this store is the right thing f' me.." He grumbles, you can see from behind the counter that Abigail was holding his hand, perhaps her lover. She glares and hisses at him, pinching his arm. "Quiet, you."

"Y'sure this place sells them biscuits I like?" The one in dirty blonde seemed low-key embarrassed to be in here, scratching at his head as he looks around. His hat is tilted to obscure his eye-sight. Your curious eyes widen a bit as his own stares at yours. You quickly avert your eyes with a soft blush etched on your cheeks.

"They sell all kinds of sweets 'n' delicates," Tilly pipes up, slightly hitching her long skirt up with her thumb and index finger. Shoes clack gently against the floral-designed tiles, eyes wandering around the familiar place. "I'm sure you'll find those dumb biscuits you keep talkin' about!"

"[name]!!" Mary-Beth was the first to run to the counter with a giddy smile, "Told ya I'd be coming back."

You have a small smile on your face, "Welcome back, miss Gaskill!" You do a tiny curtsey with your frill-bunched apron and skirt.

She giggles, "Goodness, [name]. You are too cute for your own good."

She perks up, "Ah! We brought a few friends over. This here's John," She points to the man who grumbled a 'hi', crossing his arms. He clearly does not want to be here. The woman who clings onto his arms scolds him quietly for being so ‘impolite’. You hide your lips behind your hand to stifle your soft giggle.

“That’s Arthur.” Mary-Beth points to the man who looks at the biscuits section. Topped with a black shirt and a vest which had a unique design, he seemed.. very determined to find those biscuits he mentioned earlier when entering the bakery. He looks around curiously, the little flower-y paint-job is something he expected for a small little bakery like this one here.

He’s holding onto his belt whilst striding to the counter lazily, before curiously looking at you. Cold, dark eyes peer at you like a lone wolf about to catch it’s prey for lunch. You meekly shrink just a bit as you feel him size you up with his daring gaze.

“Howdy, miss.” He greets casually.

You slowly nod, very shy with your greeting. Your quiet voice echoes loudly in his ears. He unconsciously has to lean just a bit to even hear you. “Hello, welcome to sweet Gateau..” A smile forms on your face as you see his brows relaxing slightly at your harmless form. Suddenly, he’s as bashful as a kid being told off for causing a ruckus. He looks around with a narrowed gaze, before looking back at you. A soft grunt escapes his lips.

“..Do ya’ll make uh.. Osborne biscuits?” He asks in a low tone.

You brighten up.

“Oh! Yes we do. Would you like a bag?” You ask with that same pixie-like smile which makes him soften up even more. Something.. catches his eye. He’s not sure what though.

“Ah, um.. Yes please, miss.” He tilts his head to obscure his eyes from your view.

You mumble a little ‘excuse me,’ to push yourself off your shoes to retrieve his request. He watches the way your fluffy-frilled skirt bobbles up and down.

Very.. cute.

A tap to his shoulder, and a soft snicker catches his attention. He turns around.

“Whuh.. What?” Arthur blinks at the three ladies who stare at him with a big grin. He was stunned at the abnormal behaviour they were currently showing off.

“Yer cheeks are real red.” Mary-Beth comments. Tilly has to hide her soft chuckle with her hand the corner of her eyes becoming alike of a crows feet to acknowledge her amusement.

“They are?” He quirks a brow, crossing his arms. Though imposing, he’s as docile as a lamb when it comes to the ladies, “Yer jokin’ with me.”

“Are not!” Karen laughs, “Don’t tell me you like her already. Ya’ll only just met!”

Arthur looks defensive, he narrows his eyes at the women in-front of him. “The hell you talkin’ bout?” He rests on the soles of his feet, nervously looking around. Anywhere but in their eyes.

“It’s as plain as daylight, cowpoke. No shame in hidin’ it, she’s real cute.”

Unaware of their conversations lingering in the background, you come back with the bag of Osborne biscuits. located within a transparent plastic bag and secured with a ribbon. A sticker in the middle with the bakery's emblem on it It rests delicately in your palm as you blithely toddle up front. The chatting suddenly ceases when you return.

“Apologies for taking a while,” You apologise sweetly, placing the biscuits on the counter. He brightens up entirely at the cute packaging of the biscuits he was craving for for so long.

“Don’t sweat it,” He opens the satchel hanging over his shoulder, “How much?”

“Fifty cents for a bag.” You watch him throw a few coins onto the counter. You smile sweetly, counting the coins before placing them inside the cash register. The swelling of your cheeks become just a tad bit more prominent as his fingers linger on yours to grab the bag out of your hand once you push it lightly in his direction.

You do a tiny curtsy. So much alike of a princess who expresses their gratitude to a king. “Thank you for ordering!”

He could only nod, scratching at his stubble as he awkwardly looked away. “Yeah. Uh.. No problem.”

“Do we really needa be feedin’ Jack all this? He’s gon’ be diabetic once he grows up if we keep feeding him this stuff..” John and Abigail bicker in the background which catches both of your attention. You can’t help the amused smile on your face at his comment. Though he was trying to be quiet, these walls echoed right back at you.

“Are.. They always like this?” You can’t help but question the sweet- or.. something couple from the back. It was cute in your eyes. Arthur can’t help the grin forming on his face.

“Their way of showing love I guess,” He leans on the counter with the biscuits in his hand. Then, he slowly turns his head to you, “Er.. What’s yer name?”

“[name],” You squeak in response to the handsome man.

He blinks. Without hesitation, he says with a soft hum— “Purdy name.”

Your cheeks become the same pigment of powder you apply on your temples. You look down at the ground, your hands behind your back as you can’t help the giddy smile on your face, “Thank you..”

Arthur is curious to learn more. He's fascinated by the personality you portray. With a pixie-like physique and a timid mindset akin to a doe, a stark contrast to his.

“How uh.. How long have you been workin’ here? In sweet..” He pauses awkwardly, trying to think of a way to say the final word in a mumble without looking or sounding ignorant.

“Gateau,” You finish his sentence for him with a light smile. He’s thankful that he didn’t hear a soft giggle at the end. Perhaps you were trying to save him from looking pitiful. Or maybe you were really just a decent-hearted girlie.

You do not notice the way the other ladies looked back at you and Arthur with a cheeky smile.

“Ah, yeah. Sweet Gateau,” He clears his throat with an oafish, low beam.

You can’t really remember the exact date you started working in this petite patisserie, but you give him a rough estimation of when you started. He nods with an interested hum, seemingly curious about your story. He didn’t seem like a man who would indulge in small-chat. But for you, he did.

“We’re leavin’, Arthur! We all got what we wanted!” One of the women calls out to him, causing him to be startled at the abrupt calling.

He clears his throat shyly again. “Ah.. Um.. I should get goin’. Only came here to see if ya’ll had ‘em in stock. Glad you guys did.” His words were nothing but gentle- waving even. As if Arthur didn’t want to leave just yet. You nod kindly, letting a tiny blossom of adoration to slowly develop inside your tummy. 

“Come back next time,” You faintly add, shyly waving at him with a sweet beam. 

He has a low smile, “Oh, I will.”

Your heart stammers a bit.

The door closes. The sound of multiple footsteps creaking amongst wooden floorboards is heard.

John’s looks at the cowpoke who strides next to him. He’s careful not linger near the dirt-path, noting to himself to not get his boots so dirty. A nudge to his arm is what gets Arthur away from his thoughts.

“What the hell was that?”

Arthur glowers. “What’s what?”

“Don’t play dumb, cowpoke. Saw how you looked at ‘er.”

“I don’t know what yer’ talkin’ about.”

The conversation ends there. Either John was becoming frustrated with his ignorance his words were stuck in his throat, or he gave up entirely to persuade the man’s attraction to the girl behind those doors.

꒰🍰꒱ To your utmost surprise, Arthur Morgan slowly yet surely becomes a common face within Sweet Gateau.

It’s not to say he was unwelcome in the premises, rather more.. how should you say this, amusing to say the least.

A man who stands firm and tall at a whopping 6’4 in height, who carries a gun at his side with a rifle almost as big as you- with a sharp gaze that could pierce your heart as quick as a glance in your direction, stands in a small bakery with light pink fairy-like cakes and floral themed walls. Perched up on a table with his little snack whilst scribbling down things on that journal he always took. You wonder what he writes about.

With his constant visits, it’s clear that you’ve down packed his order to your brain.

Osborne biscuits with a small cup of coffee.

You wonder if that man likes to torture himself with such blandness. No sugar, no milk, just coffee. It’s as bitter as it can be- if you can smell that bittersweet scent from just a few centimetres away.

Sometimes he would come up to you for a small chat to probably make you feel less lonely as you sweep away at a dusty corner for a few minutes straight. Other times he would just mind his own business, munching away on those plain biscuits he always orders.

It’s been a few weeks since seeing the other girls. Sometimes you ask Arthur to say hi to them for you, and he always comes back with a lazy grin saying that they miss you and hope you’re doing well despite only knowing each other for a few days.

The bell rings up front.

You know it’s him from the way he slowly strides to the counter, a quiet grunt escaping his lips as a faint jingle of spurs become evident the more he walks closely.

You truly cannot help the blossoming smile which etches on your face.

“Good afternoon, Mister Morgan. Welcome to sweet Gateau,” You welcome him with a slight lean on the counter. You can’t help that cheeky expression, “The usual?”

“Y’know me.” He nods at your words, “The usual, please.” Baritone and deep, his voice was. It almost sends a shiver down your spine.

You watch him turn his back to go sit at one of the more secluded spots in the bakery, deep into a corner. A diary in hand, with a pencil busily being worn down on the papers. The sounds of led scratching at the fibres of the white expansion of pages is heard easily from afar. It’s calming to say the least.

You’re quick with the order, almost giddy as you place the plate of those plain biscuits on his table with his bitter coffee. He gives you a small ‘thank ya’ kindly.’ before returning back to his sketching on something.

In just under twenty minutes will the bakery close. It’s quiet, with only a few people including Arthur relaxing in the wooden chairs placed within the interior.

You’re busy within the kitchenette, allowing the brick-encased oven to be put out completely. Washing up all the equipment you’ve used to make and create such food, soapy bubbles floating everywhere. The sounds of the door opening and closing is heard, many of the customers served leaving with a small tip inside that jar of yours up front.

Slowly yet surely, you wipe down the benches of the kitchenette before putting the rag back down. You walk up to the counter with a soft yawn from the tiring day.

A soft clearing of a throat catches your attention. You blink a few times and see Arthur.

“Oh! I thought you would’ve left a while ago,” You smile. Though you’re not very keen on customers staying five minutes before closing time, you’ll be very glad to make an exception for Arthur.

“Sorry, uh..” He awkwardly scratches at the back of his head, “Reckoned It’d be better to give this to you in private.”

You tilt your head sweetly, almost puppy-like. His heart squeezes at the simple yet innocent gesture. What was he giving you?

With that, he hands you a piece of paper, folded in half just once with a small heart at the corner. Your eyes light up immediately, as you shyly take the piece of paper- one which was from his diary he probably torn off, considering that one edge of the paper was bumpy and rough.

You mumble out a shy ‘thank you’, very curious and opening it with one simple hand gesture.

You feel like the luckiest girl alive.

A pretty led-based sketch of you. You were drawn with your usual frilly outfit on, the bakery drawn in the background. He drew every single detail on your face so accurately, it sort of amazes you. The small beauty mark was in the correct spot, with your eyes big and sparkly.

You softly gasp, putting a small hand over your mouth to not look like a dummy in front of him, “Arthur..”

“It ain’t the best but..” He averts his gaze, “I couldn’t help but draw ya. You just looked..” Pretty. Beautiful. Adorable. Cute. “—..Lovely.”

“Ain’t the best?” You scoff. “This is so beautiful, Arthur. Y—You got the bow, too! And the outfit, and the background..” You beam sweetly.

“Thank you so much,” You keep the drawing close to your chest. You note to yourself mentally to buy a picture frame, “This is so beautiful, Arthur. I love it!”

He holds his gaze low, cheeks slowly burning from the praise you squeaked out. He awkwardly shifts, before bidding you a goodbye.

You open the piece of paper one last time, flipping it over to see a message written in cursive which read:

‘Kinda weird to write this but I heard you were free tomorrow. Would you like to walk around the park nearby with me? I’ll probably be around there at 8 in the morning, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. —A.M ◡̈’

For a man like him, you’d never thought his handwriting was alike of a fairy tale novel.

꒰🍰꒱ swishswishswish prattles the pink-tinted brush within your nimble hold. Each delicate tap against the swell of your soft cheeks swell even more with colour, adorning a scent you were far too familiar with— cherry-kissed by love herself.

You are very adamant in looking like a right pixie for today.

Last night you could not get much sleep because of the excitement your heart held. You were dying to meet Arthur again without being in the same frilly uniform you always wore, a face coated with powder not from your beauty products but from pastries you make and serve.

You adorn a floral patterned dress, with a pretty pearl necklace. The hat you wore was similar to a southern belle darling sun-hat, but less brim and less flowers, a simple laced bow tied around the rim instead. And of course, your signature laced bows clipped in your hair.

As pretty as a porcelain doll you were.

Your ballerina-like flats click gently on the cemented pavement down towards the park. The scent of steam and machine slowly transition to more of a petrichor-like smell as you near the park.

There he was, standing around the entrance, admiring the flowers from beyond. You can’t help the soft giggle escaping your lips as he looked behind him and went immediately silent at the sight of your beauty. It was almost coincidental on how the flowers around gently wavered by and shined more brighter once you passed by with a shy smile.

“Hi,” You greet him softly- almost too gentle for his liking. Your hands are positioned behind your back, with the soles of your feet resting on the ground as you tilt your head to maintain eye contact with him. You notice his hair was slicked back a bit, and his attire was more cleaner than usual.

“Hey,” He replies back. He lends out an arm for you to hold, and you do so happily. He looks everywhere but your direction.

He clears his throat with a bit of hesitancy. “Thought you weren’t comin’. Hell, I thought you didn’t even see the message I wrote on the back.”

“Why wouldn’t I go?” You smile eagerly, “It’s nice to be somewhere else for a change. Being cooped up in that bakery can sometimes make me feel dizzy.” That was the longest sentence he’s ever heard you mutter.

“I reckon smelling the same sweets over ‘n’ over again would make ya go crazy” He replies cheekily. His eyes size you up again. Slowly yet surely. A little fairy you were, with beauty no other. He opens his mouth to say something, anything- but he slowly shuts it.

And suddenly, he builds up enough courage to say something.

“You look.. Real pretty.” He quietly mutters. Lovely doe-like eyes stare up at him again- and how quick did his knees almost buckle was a good comparison to his latest duel.

“..You think I look pretty?”

He slowly nods, scratching at the stubble on his chiselled jaw with his other hand, “The prettiest.”

He’s not sure if the glittering pink powder on your cheeks becomes more prominent as seconds pass by. He watches you slowly become sheepish and giddy under his sharp gaze. You fight the curled corner of your lips to turn downwards, but alas you give up immediately as you quite literally melt under his touch.

You shyly stutter out a small “Thank you.” The grip on his arm becomes just a tad bit tighter.

The silence was nothing but comfortable despite it being a bit awkward at the start. After his compliment, you can’t help that fluttering feeling of love bursting inside, up in the skies lays an imaginary cherubim whom shoots those heart-shaped arrows quickly into your heart as you glance at him another time.

And it seemed that the cherubim shot his arrow in his heart, too.

“I loved that drawing you made f’ me yesterday,” You mutter. High-pitched yet so soothing in tone- was your voice. Almost mellifluous, like a serenade similar to those soft jingles heard in the entrance of the bakery, “I never knew you could draw.”

He chuckles lightly, “Yeah, figured. I don’t really look like the type to draw, do I?”

“No, not really.” You softly giggle, “But it’s.. it’s cute.” The way your tone changes pitch at the end makes him conclude of how your intentions were supposed to be.

He quirks a brow. A slow smirk curling on his face.

You catch on immediately. Your cheeks become the same pigment of blush you used, “I-I didn’t mean it like that—”

His soft laugh interrupts you. “No, no. I get ya, I get ya.”

You can’t help but look away from embarrassment. Just a few minutes in and he’s unconsciously teasing you.

“Hey.. Look at me.” He narrows his eyes at your little show.

You don’t.

“C’mooon, it ain’t such a big deal..” He’s about to grab your chin to make you look his way. Though his hand backs away when he sees those beady eyes of yours slowly coming back to maintain eye contact.

He smiles unconsciously at your sweetness. “Yeah. Good girl.”

He unconsciously brushes your cheek with his thumb. You puff your cheeks out immediately, heart hammering in your chest at the title. You cross your arms in-front of your chest, hand resting on your fore-arm. He quietly notes to himself how pretty your hand would be if a ring was seen on your ring finger.

Suddenly, you feel your heart drop. You want to say something, anything.

“Arthur?” Your hand suddenly goes to his sleeve, tugging it softly to get his attention.

“Mhm?” He responds, tilting his head down to meet your gaze.

Suddenly, you feel like your tongues all tied up inside your mouth. Your mind is in shambles and you’ve suddenly forgotten every word in the English dictionary as his pretty eyes stare at you as if you were an ethereal being.

“I.. er,” You fiddle with the small frills of the end of your dress, “N—nevermind.”

“Hey, now.” He comes a bit closer with that boyish charm smile. The faint scent of hair pomade and wood makes you swoon just a bit more, “You can’t just back off like that, c’mon.. tell me.”

“I..” You hesitantly start off. “What.. What are we, Arthur?”

He seemed to be a bit caught off guard with the abrupt question. You catch onto his quietness, and immediately you shrink out of embarrassment. You feel ashamed, flustered for even asking that!

You dare try to look at him in the eyes once more, “I- I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologise.”

You slowly blink when he cuts you off.

He’s a bit difficult to read at this moment as he processes his words. He looks at you a few times, gosh did his heart beat fast.

Then, he slowly opens his mouth. “I.. I ain’t so sure myself. But I just..” He takes a deep breath, “I like you, a lot. Yer a real lovely girl, a good girl. But you shouldn’t be with a man like me, miss.”

You feel yourself falter, “Wh— What? Why?”

He shakes his head. He’s hesitant. He doesn’t want to answer, but for your sake he does.

“I.. ain’t a good man, [name].” He tries to explain to you. “Never was in the start. ‘N I don’t want you gettin’ into trouble just cuz people seen you with me.”

You narrow your eyes, allowing him to continue on and elaborate. You feel like the happiest woman alive, but the saddest.

“I’m..” He looks around to see if anyone was listening, and he leans in just a bit, “I’m an outlaw, sweetheart.”

“…And?”

He’s taken aback once again. The garden amongst you quietens as soon as you uttered out that single word. You feel awfully thankful because of the fact that no one was around you.

You feel like this’ll be the most stupidest decision in your life. Your heart and brain yearns for the man that stands in front of you, who holds you like a porcelain doll and who treats you like the prettiest princess alive.

“I— I don’t care if.. if yer an outlaw.” You stutter out, “You’ve made me feel things I’ve never felt before and I..”

Both his hands come to yours, fingers coming to intertwine with yours. The bold contrast between your skin and size told you everything. Calloused filled, scar-stricken hairy hands paired with hands that were always smoothened, delicately cared with little to no blemishes. He squeezes your hands firmly.

“Darlin’..” He sighs, “I don’t want you to get hurt ‘cuz of me, ‘s all I’m saying.”

“Please, Arthur.” You plead silently. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for at this moment. You want him, and he wants you. He looks so conflicted, his demeanour falls as soon as you use those puppy eyes you were blessed with. Long lashes slowly fall down, which rises and shows those glistening pearls of coloured irises.

“..Damn.” He kisses his teeth out of pure irritation over the situation. Not because of you, never. But because of the decisions which ultimately resulted in the worst. He looks at you one more time.

“You’re real needy thing y’know that?” He grunts lowly before leaning in slowly to press his lips on your forehead. Immediately do you melt in his arms, you cling onto him like the princess you were.

He holds you closely. Your face meets his chest, and his arms are wrapped around your waist, “You really wanna get with me huh?”

“Yes,” You reply, out of breath at the touch. “More than anything.” You continue on with a sweet whimper which makes his desires go crazy in his mind.

“You’re gon’ be in for a real long ride, sweetheart.” He mutters softly in your ear.

You don’t hesitate to answer back. “I don’t mind.”

“You really sure?” He asks one more time, “Y’can’t back out once yer with me. You’re mine from then on, y’hear?”

“All yours.” You nod once again.

꒰🍰꒱ “I’ve been thinking.”

The brush in your hand is slow in movement, before placed down gently on the table below. A brow is quirked at the sound of your beau’s voice which rattled in your head.

It’s been over few months or so since you’ve gotten together. When he couldn’t visit, he’d send letters with the sweetest words. You’ve kept them all in a small box which cheekily peaked out in the corner of your room, right on top of your mahogany wardrobe.

“You oughta meet m’ family.” He bluntly states.

“Your family?” You tilt your head.

He nods, scratching at the stubble on his angular jaw. Your eyes catch the slight tremble his hand had when it was coming to his jaw, and you can’t help but be even more curious.

“Lemme rephrase that.. Reckon you should come meet my gang. They’re my family, in a way.”

You hesitate at the word ‘gang’. Obviously, by that word alone it insinuated meanings which you were taught to be aware.

“Don’t you worry, they’re all nice people,” He brings up a hand to place on-top of yours, “You don’t have meet ‘em if you don’t feel ready yet, ‘m just saying.”

You shyly smile up at him.

“I’ll meet them.”

His crinkled eyes widen in surprise, “You will?”

“Mhm,” You nod, “Oh- Just give me some time to prepare, will you?”

“Right, right. You go do your little princess activities which’ll span for over a whole five hours.” He teases. He earns a glare from your puppy face, something he’s all too familiar with.

“Quiet, you.”

“The hell are you even doing in there? Does it really have to take you a whole two hours to pick an outfi— Ouch.” A sock clumsily hits his face.

Surprisingly, it didn’t take you a whole five hours to get ready. Before you could grab the necklace on your desk, Arthur reaches from behind to grab those dainty pearls of yours before clasping it behind your neck himself. He slowly leans in to delicately place a soft kiss on your sensitive neck before standing up to dust himself.

“Y’ready, sweetheart?” He asks with a low drawl.

“Mhm!” You smile happily, clinging to his arm.

Outside from the building you lived in has a small horse post outside to hitch said animals. He leads you to a horse far more taller than him, quite literally towering over you. With the least of efforts, he picks you up from the waist to plop you on the saddle, before he himself hitches on the magnificent mare.

It took over an hour to travel to some sort of densely packed trail. You can’t help but tilt your head at the location, tilting your head up to question the man who lazily rode the horse behind you. His chest was quite a good alternative for a pillow.

“..You live here?”

He snorts, “Er.. Kinda. You’ll see.”

Not long do you see a large campsite, you feel yourself shrink at the sound of.. new people.

Sure you worked at a job where you had to talk to people. But you weren’t the best at keeping up a conversation with.. criminals, you could say.

“Arthur’s back, Arthur’s back!” A little boy’s voice rings through your ears, you can’t help but curiously peak from his shoulder to see whom it was. A young boy with brown hair- blue coat and a tooth missing. He eagerly points to the man as he enters in the vicinity.

“Ooh, ‘n he’s brought a girl..” The young boy ushers a woman far too familiar to come over.

“He what now?” The sound of a few footsteps were heard- oh gosh did you feel as nervous as a doe trying to not stumble on its legs.

“A girl?”

“Don’t tell me we’ve got another mouth to feed.”

“She’s real purdy.”

“She seems fancy..”

“[name]?”

You jump at the sound of your name being called- you look behind to see.. Mary-Beth!

“Oh!” Arthur hops down, picking you up from the horse to settle you onto the ground. You eagerly smile at the woman you knew well.

“What are you doing here?!” The book-worm asks with a squeal, rushing to you for a hug.

“I— I could ask you the same thing!” You stammer as you feel yourself getting lifted up a bit from the ground, hugging her tightly back.

Arthur coughs to interrupt the soft chattering, “I’d like you all to meet m’ girl. No touching, ‘cept for the girls ‘n Jack.”

“Ha! Knew you had a thing for her—” You hear a raspy voice from afar, near the little boy you presumed was named Jack. You’ve seen him before, and if you could recall.. His name was John. A flick to the forehead is what you see between your beloved and him.

“Tilly ‘n the others are here somewhere finishing chores up,” Mary-Beth beckons a few of the girls to come over. Karen was the first to bid you a ‘hello!!!’

“Y’got any cake for us?” She jokingly asks. Her eyes widen when she realises she’s spoken too soon when she sees the few boxes of treats which were stacked and tied with a pink bow neatly on top of Arthur’s horse.

“[name], I think ‘m gonna kiss you.” Karen walks away to grab one box for herself. You let out a giggle as you go and greet the other girls.

Fortunately for you, everyone was welcoming and homey well um, except for one. But you’ve heard from most that he’s always like that.

“It’s quite a surprise for Arthur to bring a woman back to camp,” An old man to which you’ve became comfortable talking with for a while sits next to you. Hosea was his name, for some reason does he remind you of your grandfather.

“Oh? How so?” You shyly question. His warm eyes stare at your figure endearingly.

“Well for starters, he usually scares them off.”

“Hosea.” Your love comes to your side, embarrassed at his words.

“It’s quite true! Here, let me tell her about the story of when you…”

For the rest of the day, you were treated carefully and lovingly. You weren’t sure what you’d expect from a gang filled with criminals and thieves, but you could surely say that they were a sweet group of people.

You’ll be expecting a large sum of visitors on the following days, and perhaps a small ring soon enough.

[twola]

If it’s not too much trouble could you write a small fluffy piece about Arthur and a reader who has chronic pain in her hips? Please and thank you! 💗

(As author projects bc having a baby def causes pain in the hips!)

Useless

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader  Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You wince, leaning your elbow above your head against the wagon, your other hand digging into the side of your hip, trying to alleviate the soreness there. The nagging pain in your hips has always been there, but after days in the saddle as the camp moved down from Horseshoe, it was near unbearable now.

The night has fallen on this new camp alongside the lakeshore. It’s warm here, none of the chill of up north. People mull around the campfire while the cicadas chirp in the evening darkness.

“Hey there darlin’, what’s got you back-”

You frown as you look over at him, still leaning up against his wagon.

Arthur’s brow raises in a concerned manner, and he steps quickly toward you, his warm, large hand gently batting yours away before he spreads it wide over the crest of your hipbone, his fingers slowly kneading at you through skirts.

“Actin’ up?”

You close your eyes and sigh, squeezing them tightly to stave off the tears you know are coming. Leaning your forehead against your arm, you don’t even want to look at the disquiet in his gaze.

“Christ, I can barely go a few days ridin’ a horse. I’m just dead weight ‘round here.” You sputter out, exasperated at this pain that never seems to go away.

Arthur’s other arm rounds your back and spreads over your side, pulling you gently away from the wagon. “C’mon now, don’t be silly. You’re worth more than several of these fools combined. Now let’s getcha layin’ down ‘nd off your feet.”

You allow him to help you around the wagon, and he only lets you go to pull open the canvas to his tent and close it behind the two of you.

You groan as you sit down on the cot, and he immediately starts pulling at your boots, tossing them to the ground as he unlaces them.

He pushes gently at your shoulder to get you to lay down, and you huff in exasperation as he pulls at the ties of your skirt. You move to shimmy it down and unbutton your shirt, leaving you in your chemise for the night.

Tossing your clothes to the ground, you frown again up at Arthur, who has settled into sitting at the side of the cot, hovering over you.

“Useless.”

“Uncle is useless,” he counters, a ghost of a smile flickers across his face in the light cast from the lantern.

“Still.”

Those large, warm hands spread out over your hips and knead again, the pressure easing some of the pain. His thumb presses in against the curve of your bone, and you suck in a breath as the pain crests.

“Want me to stop?” He questions, his grip loosening.

You nod your head no, letting out that breath slowly.

He digs his thumb in again, and the rest of his fingers press against your hips, kneading, rolling, working. After several minutes, he pulls away as he notices the absence of the tension in your brow.

“Better?”

You nod, a smile finally crossing your face as the pain as been alleviated, at least for the moment. “Yes, thank you.”

Arthur smirks before yanking his hat from his head, “Good, cause I ain’t done yet.”

You can barely quirk an eyebrow before he lifts your chemise hem and dives underneath it.

[sugaredrhubarb]

Reading with Ru: Aug/Sept Fic Recs

I know I'm certainly in need of some positivity and escapism lately, so I'm gonna try to do semi-regular fic and book recs! Starting with a retroactive what I've been reading from the past couple of months with this account! (I might go back in time and make an all-time rec list later)

COD

starting with cod because i know most of you go here

Sergeant Squeaks by @charliemwrites - (series of one-shots ghost x reader and price x reader separately) both one of my favourite reader characters and my favourite canon setting depictions of Ghost and Price. their own weird brands of showing love are wonderful; the tension leading to getting together is fantastic, and the sex is super enjoyable.

Ghost Stories by @kneelingshadowsalome - (ghost x medic!reader) I'm repeating myself, but I love Salome's writing. This is where I was first introduced to it, and I think it's really special. Ghost POV as he struggles with developing and then accepting love. felt so real and grounded. angsty and then fluffy, and you can't help but adore the reader as well.

saltwater by @ceilidho - (ghost x reader) It's pretty unlikely any of you don't know Ceil, but on the off chance you haven't given this one a read yet, it really is a must. I lump praise on her pretty regularly, but I don't know anyone who is able to portray their character's emotions as intimately as Ceil. her ghost feels really grounded in all his complexity. there is a common theme in these recs of really enjoyable reader characters, and this is not an exception; the reader feels like a full but still ambiguous character who is vulnerable and strong and really great.

don't leave me locked in your heart by @ohbo-ohno - (ghoap x reader dark!) we all know bo, we all love bo. I always love the way she depicts ghost and soap's dynamic changing and evolving to include the reader. the descent into dark territory in this is really really fun. It's also just hot and well-written! if you haven't read it before, go read it, and then go read all of bo's drabbles and asks on here. genuinely one of my favourite dark but still fun writers. I think she balances it really well.

body electric by @yeyinde and Afterburn by @sprout-fics - (141 + Los Vaqueros x reader) a classic. I've returned to these so many times. sometimes you just want to read dirty, filthy, well done, smut and then warm cozy aftercare. not to wax poetic about pure sex (except that's exactly what one should do), but I think it can be really hard to write group sex like this and still have such insightful and individual glimpses into each character and dynamic, and Lev does it wonderfully. and then it's also hard to find good aftercare fic, and Sprout's feels like literal aftercare for both the reader character and the reader.

other fandoms

tried to curate to themes i think overlap in some of the cod works! and I think most of these can be read fandom blind.

i revisited @winterrose527's fic in August, and even though she already knows how much I love her work, I won't skip a chance to repeat it. Anna writes for asoiaf and is pretty much the queen of Robb Stark/Myrcella Baratheon, but I would say the modern AUs (my favs) can be read almost completely fandom blind. Any contemporary romance enjoyer would love her work. I'm really partial to her kid/single-parent fics. I think it's so hard to get right, and I always adore reading her kid characters and how she approaches love stories when kids are involved. anna's works are always brimming with love and incredible platonic, familiar, parent-child, and romantic relationships (if kid fic isn't your thing she also has a ton of other great fics). personal favs: We Could Be a Little Something, And There They Are, All the Same

Lawless by @goldcranes - (arthur morgan x ofc) age difference, cowboy love story, essentially a romance novel. if goldcranes has no fans, I'm dead. I encourage you to explore her work; very few people write as strongly across multiple fandoms as she does, and each of her works feels like a really strong love story with special characters.

The Odyssey by @sunlightmurdock - (bradley bradshaw x reader) 1980's roman literature prof x virgin student - no need to know top gun. katie's work is another entry in the 'feels like it stands really strongly separately from the source material' category. she has multiple ongoing AU's that I really love, but this one is a favourite. i think she does complex characters really well - their actions always feel intentional, and as flawed as they are, I always love them.

Wouldn't it be Nice by allyoops - (m/f captive A/B/O) if you aren't reading original works smut on ao3 you are missing out and allyoops is a great place to start for noncon, dubcon, age gap, taboo etc. enjoyers. they have a ton of works; usually one shots with lots of really delicious dynamics and different settings and tropes.

An Intoxicating Presence by FormerlyIR - (mob a/b/o haladriel) MOB. A/B/O. HALADRIEL. picks up with Halbrand in prison thanks to undercover FBI agent (and his mate!) Galadriel. does that sound crazy and awesome? well it is. mix it with Gal's internal struggle, the added complication of omegaverse, and overall great writing. really fun and really damn good.

civitas terrena by banalityofweevil - (darklina) angel Alina on an exploration of love in immortality with fallen angel Aleks. honestly, it's just a must-read for enjoyers of writing. incredibly creative with divine (literally and figuratively) imagery. i think one of my comments was on the precision of lulu's diction and I really stand by that.

tinsel into gold by ribbonedhare - (darklina) ddlg and cnc friends, this changed me. it is so warm and soft and my god, is it good. just scrumptious.

Be My Babydoll by KittyDruthers - (darklina) ddlg dollification need I say more

check the reading with ru tag for more!

[cowboydisaster]

welcome back! if you are still taking requests for your christmas countdown, maybe a lil fic about reader and arthur’s first christmas together after leaving the gang? this could be fluffy, spicy, or both. whatever you’re feeling!

* ˚ ✦ Snowblind * ˚ ✦

pairing: arthur morgan x f! reader

word count: 2.2k

a/n: I loved this prompt! I kinda took it in my own direction so I hope that's ok!!

tw: pregnancy

cowboydisaster's christmas countdown: FIVE days 'till christmas!

christmas countdown┊main masterlist┊rdr2 masterlist

The kitchen appears as if a bomb of flour has exploded, sending white dust across the countertops, sprinkled onto the floor and spattered on the walls. As much as the mess is stressing you out, you can’t find it within you to care too much. The phonograph situated under the living room window is playing a classical christmas record. You’d picked it up in town, finding that it’s helpful in drowning out the sound of the cold wind outside. 

“Oh, baby, let me help.” You cringe at the sight of your daughter spilling dribbles of milk onto the counter instead of into the mixing bowl. 

“I do it, Momma.” Aspen says, her little fingers trying to steady the jar. You wipe your hands on your apron, coming up behind her and holding your hands over hers to help. 

“You’re doing a very good job. Momma’s just gonna help, is all.” You reassure, smiling as Aspen helps you add the ingredients. Once the milk is all poured in, she takes the spoon and begins to stir the ingredients together. You glance up at the window by the front door, noting that the blue hills in the distance are no longer visible. In fact nothing is visible. All that you can see is white. Snowblind. It’s far below freezing outside, and you worry for anyone left out in the hellstorm. Your heart seizes in your chest, but when your daughter's worried eyes land on you, you smile. Pushing down any worry. 

“Daddy?” Aspen asks, her sad, worried, little blue eyes glancing towards the door. You curse yourself for putting your worry onto her. Her little heart is far too innocent for such troubles. 

“Daddy will be home from work soon, baby. Why don't we get these cookies done so we can surprise him, okay?” 

“Okay.” She smiles again. That perfect little smile, identical to Arthur's. 

Aspen helps you roll the dough out and cut it into her requested little shapes. She had wanted to make her daddy a deer, but when that proved to be too difficult for even you, she had settled on snowflakes, horses, crosses, and stars. 

Once all the cookies are cut, you send Aspen into the living room with Bear. She’s within eyeshot, and you smile at the sight of her sitting on the floor with the black newfoundland. She’s trying to read him her favorite storybook. Her legs are crossed, with Bear’s head resting in her lap as she tries to recall the story. She can’t read yet, but by God, your little girl is trying. 

You place the raw cookies down into the Dutch oven before covering it in glowing red coals. A quick glance at your pocket watch, and your gut sinks. It's a quarter ‘till five already, and your husband was supposed to be home at four. The light from the window is fading, the white light going dull as day turns to dusk. 

This is your first Christmas here. Your first Christmas away from the gang, from that life. Aspen has a chance at a normal life now, you all do, and you’ll be damned if some hellish forces try to take that from your family. 

All that you can do now is keep yourself distracted. Years ago you would have run out into the storm, leaped onto Sugar and galloped towards town looking for him, but you have more than Arthur to worry about now. As much as it kills you to sit here, you can’t leave her, and you surely can’t take her. 

To distract yourself from the sticky black cloud of thoughts, you clean the kitchen, wiping up all of the flour and washing all of the dishes in the dish bin. The phonogram switches to the next song as you finish up, and you check your watch to confirm that the cookies are done. 

“Aspen, wanna help?” You call towards the living room. Her brown curls bounce as she turns her head towards you, blue eyes filled with excitement.

“Uh-huh!” Aspen hums, flipping her book to the next page and placing it in front of Bear’s paws, “You read now, puppy.” She whispers, offering him a sweet pat to the head before she’s running back into the kitchen. 

You pull the Dutch oven out of the fire, removing the lid with potholders so you can peek inside. 

“Remember, don’t touch. This is hot.” You tell her, and Aspen nods her head, taking your instruction with the utmost seriousness. 

“Hot.” She repeats, keeping her little hands far away. When you pull the cookies out, she gasps with wonder. 

“Wow!” She smiles, eyes going wide with joy. Her little hands clasp together, “Cookies for Daddy! Them are so pretty, huh, Momma?”

“Very pretty.” You struggle to contain your smile, placing the cookies onto glassware to set out for when Arthur returns home. Of course, you set a few out for Santa Claus, too. 

As Aspen drools over the cookies (and sneaks one to Bear), you check on the roast. You purposely hold your breath as you lift the lid, knowing that the smell will make you sick. You deem it done, and then return to the cookies. Just as you’re about to take one for yourself, Bear barks. 

“Daddy’s home!” Aspen’s eyes light up, and your eyes flicker to the door hopefully. The door opens quickly, and in emerges your husband, wrapped in his ancient, blue winter coat. The hat on his head is covered in snow, and when he pulls it away from his head, you see how pink his cheeks are. As miserable as he must be, he shows nothing but happiness. 

“There’s my girls! C’mere.” Arthur says as Aspen erupts into giggles, nearly tripping over her dress as she runs into his arms. He shrugs his coat off just in time to scoop her wiggly little body up. He sits Aspen on his waist, and as she wraps her arms around his neck, he looks to you. 

“Oh, Arthur, I was so worried. You must be frozen.” You whisper, eyebrows drawing together in concern. 

“I’m just fine now, sweetheart.” He smiles, extending his arm to pull you into his open side. His eyes look to yours, melting away any trace of worry that you’re clinging to from the day. Your eyes slip shut, and you let out a long breath as Arthur holds you and Aspen against him. Aspen wraps her hands around you both, effectively creating a hug between all three of you. 

“Love you, darlin’.” Arthur whispers to you, and you look up, placing a small kiss to his lips. 

“S’ Christmas Eve.” Arthur smirks, “Santa comin’ tonight?” 

You pull away from Arthur, keeping your hands intertwined as you bring him towards the kitchen. Aspen nods profusely, small fingers twirling her curls nervously, “Mhm! I listened to Momma and you, I'm on the good list, Daddy.”

“I know you are, baby. I’m sure he’ll be comin’ tonight.” You reassure, “Well,” You divert your attention to Arthur who must be starving, “We have been very busy today.” 

— — — 

“She’s asleep.” Arthur whispers, closing Aspen’s bedroom door, being extra careful to not let the door creak, “Bear’s up in bed with her.” He cracks a smile, momentarily glancing to the Christmas tree, and under it, where a few presents signed from Santa sit for Aspen. You look up from your seat on the couch, putting down your embroidery to extend your hand to Arthur. 

“Come here.” You request. His much larger, rough hand slips into yours effortlessly, and he sits beside you on the couch. Naturally, you curl up against him, cherishing his warmth, his love. 

The fireplace holds a decent sized fire, and flames lick the mantle, emitting a steady warmth onto the two of you. The crackle and pop of embers is soothing, and your eyes slip closed as you fall into a comfortable quiet. 

“Thanks for puttin’ her to sleep.” You whisper. 

“‘Course. I missed her. I hate bein’ away from you both.” Arthur shakes his head, “I don’t like leavin’ you out here. And trust me– I know you can handle your own, I just… don't like bein’ away.” Arthur admits, and you rest your head against him. 

“I know. It’s not forever, though. We’ll be okay.” 

Arthur hums, and then raises an eyebrow, as if remembering something. 

“I got you somethin’ for Christmas. S’just little.” 

Your interest is piqued, and you scoot forward on the couch to peek as he reaches into his leather satchel on the floor. 

“Arthur, you didn’t have to–” You start, your voice quickly dying as you see what he’s pulling out. 

A little leather-bound journal is extended to you. Your eyebrows furrow, and you hesitate to take it, but Arthur nods. 

“Is this…? How did you– Where?” You struggle to organize your thoughts, words failing as you take the book, as you flip through the pages. Your questions become more muddled as you realize that this is Arthur’s journal. The one that he’d documented everything in. The one that he’d lost in the escape from Beaver Hollow. Your jaw falls slack, confusion and nostalgia, loss and love swirling together in your head, “How…?” You whisper, tears filling your eyes as you glance to Arthur, then down to the page where he’d documented the day Aspen was born. 

“Called in a favor from an old friend.” Arthur smirks, but turns serious, tapping the book page, “I want you to have this, considerin’ most of these entries are about you.”

Your heart swells, tears dripping down your cheeks as you hold his journal close to your heart. 

“I love it, Arthur. I- I love you.” You whimper, emotionally. He smiles, warm and loving, his thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. 

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

He holds you against him for a long while, the two of you flipping through old memories, good and bad. You recount the day you got married, the day Aspen was born. The most haunting entry is the last one. The day Arthur had begged you, forced you to take Aspen and Sugar, to flee Beaver Hollow and get as far away as possible. You’ll never forget turning around and seeing the place go up in flames, not knowing if you’d ever see your husband again. When Arthur made it out that day, he had left nearly everything– including his journal. You both had assumed it burned in the fire, and any hope that it didn’t was crushed by the fact that you can’t go back there.

After a while of flipping, the anxiety in your stomach finally quells, and you speak up, “I have a little surprise for you too.” You whisper, closing the journal and setting it on the coffee table. Arthur’s eyebrows draw together, and he sits up straighter on the couch as you turn to face him. Your hands toy with each other, and Arthur takes them in his own to quell the bad habit. 

“You didn’t have to–” He begins. 

“No, no,” You huff a laugh, “I didn’t spend any money.” 

His eyebrows draw further together as you bite your lip nervously. 

“Darlin? What is it?” Arthur asks, and you smile sheepishly. 

One deep breath, in and out, and you’ll tell him. He won’t be mad surely? Right? He couldn’t be… not your Arthur.

You take a breath, “I’m pregnant again.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide in surprise, and he stutters over his words for a moment. You search his eyes, his face for any sort of reaction, and in a moment his lips crack into a smile. 

“We’re– we’re havin’ another baby? You’re sure?” Arthur asks hopefully, hands squeezing yours. You nod. 

“I didn’t wanna tell you until I was sure, and… well, I’m sure now, Arthur. I'm pregnant.”

Arthur laughs, eyes locked onto yours, heart soaring with more emotion than he ever thought possible. He never thought he would love anyone again… and then he met you, and then he was sure he'd never love anyone as much as he loves you– and then you made him a father, twice now. Arthur's hands tighten around yours, and you finally break into a teary eyed smile, the anxiety gone now that you've managed to get the words out.

"We're havin’ another baby.” You repeat, smiling up at him with blurred vision.

Before you can say much else, Arthur’s hand gently grips your jaw, and he pulls you against his lips. Your hand still squeezes his as he moves against you, only pulling away to breathe. 

“You’re givin’ me everything I’ve ever wanted.” Arthur smiles, the deep kind, the kind that wrinkles the crows feet in the corners of his eyes. 

Arthur's hand snakes down to your stomach, and although there is no noticeable bump, it brings him comfort to rest his palm against it. He knows his baby is in there, your baby, and he wants to be close by. It’s a small habit he’d done when you were pregnant with Aspen too. 

“We made it, darlin’, we–” Arthur huffs, a smile on his lips, “I've got you here, in our home. Our daughter sleepin’ in her bed. Our dog. You're carryin' my baby again."

Arthur's tone grows serious, and he brings your hand up to his lips, kissing the top, “Thank you.”

“Merry Christmas, Arthur.” 

The snowstorm rages on outside, but it is far from able to outshine the joy and the warmth that is projecting from your four little walls this Christmas Eve.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow @holyratrimony @twola

[arthurswhoregan]

Hello!

This is gonna be an absolutely wild first post to make, but I am in need of proof-reader(s)! Here is a list of fics I am currently working on. Due to the nature of the fics, I am requiring any proof readers applying be 18+.

Grunkle Stan/Plus size Ftm reader (this one is just pure self-indulgent filth, reader character works at a feti$h club that Stan frequents, ends up becoming Ford's summer intern via college, not knowing who his brother is because of club anonymity. Reader recognizes Stan IMMEDIATELY, but he's never seen the reader without his mask and it takes him a second to catch up and realize why this new employee is acting...strange.)

Arthur Morgan/Plus size Ftm reader (this one has more plot so far, slow burn, it is very fluffy though, may contain triggering topics such as period-typical transphobia/homophobia. Arthur is looking for a reported "missing daughter" who was taken from home in the night years ago and never found. He can't for the life of him find this woman, but he does find her pictures- in a rancher's house about a ten day ride away. He watches the rancher for about a week before dropping in and confronting him, only to learn that their daughter never existed, just a son they refused to accept nearly a decade ago.)

I do not know WHEN they will be ready to proofread, but I am going to work on them as much as I can while the hyperfixation stays with me.

UPDATE: the Stanfic has one finished chapter ready for proofreading. I will work on Arthur when the fixation on this story dies back a little.

[eaaaazygurl]

Yarrow and Blood

Pairing - Arthur Morgan x F!reader

Summary - In search of the herb Yarrow within the expanse of the Heartlands, you come across a bloodied looking Arthur Morgan departing Valentine after his conflict with Tommy. Being the camp medic, it's your duty to tend to the injured, but such close contact with the Outlaw invites some deep secrets to be revealed.

Wordcount - 6000+ (Finally a SHORTER fic of mine!)

Notes - Angst, physical injury, some good ol' fluffy stuff!

This was just a random idea I came up with in my head. It's by no means an amazing bit of literature, but I did enjoy writing this one! Things have been pretty tricky this last month and a half, so I apologise for my absence. I won't be posting regularly but I shall try my best to post as and when :)

Song I obsessively listened to whilst writing this: Novo Amor - Repeat Until Death

"Red petals, red petals, red petals..." Was all you could repeat to yourself for the better part of twenty minute or so, finding yourself in the middle of the grassy plateaus of the Heartlands, a beautiful stretch of land belonging to the state of New Hanover, during the late afternoon hours situated close to Valentine, the little livestock town in the near distance.

This particular plateau you were loitering about on, dubbed 'Citadel Rock' by the locals, was littered with an abundance of different herbs and flowers. One such flower you had been on the search for was proving rather difficult to find, you'd assumed this would be the perfect climate for such a herb, but you were by the second proving yourself wrong.

With a hefty sigh and a slap to your right knee, you stood from your previous crouched position to saddle back onto your mount, "Good girl, Nimbus," a beautiful silvery white Gypsy Cob mare with a sweet little singular plat in her long white mane.

Your frustration was becoming all too apparent as your browline creased and your jaw clenched.

You were the assigned medic to Dutch Van Der Linde's gang, so the entire line of men and women within said gang were all under your care, and having lost most (if not all) of your supplies during the evacuation from your previous camp in Blackwater, you were in desperate need to stock up.

The camp had no money, so buying a few tonics was out of the question. Even you yourself had been out of pocket the last few weeks, so collecting herbs to create various poultice for wounds and injuries was your only option now. You were grateful for the help Hosea had offered you to tend to your limited stock whilst you set off on the hunt for one particular herb.

A sudden strong gust of wind brought you back to your senses, letting out a dishevelled grunt at the irritation of the bluster, various strands of your own hair getting caught in your mouth. You pulled your black Gambler hat down to obscure the sun from your vision, all the while removing the fine strands of hair from your mouth.

Giving Nimbus a gentle tap on the side with your spurs, you continued on, eyes scanning the green grass and various reddish coloured flowers you came across - not one of which was Yarrow, though you had decided to pick what herbs you could find that were useful along the way for safe keeping. What you did have back at camp for now desperately needed Yarrow to complete the mix, but a few extra bits here and there wouldn't hurt.

An hour long search resulted in nothing. No Yarrow. It was growing darker by the second and soon it would be virtually impossible to see what you were looking for.

You could hardly believe it when Nimbus set foot back onto the dusty path after leaving the heights of Citadel Rock, having been certain that afternoon that Yarrow would most definitely grow there. You'd even exclaimed excitement to Dutch, ensuring him that you would find what you were looking for. Now the thought of returning empty handed almost terrified you, Dutch was already teetering on the edge of complete insanity, and you didn't want to be the one to push him over that edge, but now you had to face the music; you were going to be returning back to camp empty handed.

That's when a nicker from Nimbus caught your attention. You had company, and the mare you sat idle upon recognised the scent up ahead.

You cupped your hand in front of the lowering sun to set your gaze on the little dot in the distance, galloping towards you after exiting Valentine. A billow of dust clouded up behind the steed, growing ever larger and the whinnies from Nimbus were gaining quantity, ears pinned forward curiously. You could feel the gentle sway of her posture as she almost attempted to stand taller as if to try and make out who was advancing towards you.

Once the glare of sunlight dispersed behind the mount, you instantly recognised the horse and the rider - a large, burley looking steed that towered over any other equine it passed, a grey/silver coat complimented with white splashes and dots here and there, a magnificent white flurry of long well kempt hair and neatly buffed pinkish hooves came charging towards you, and her rider draped in muddied black clothes hid his face behind that all too familiar leather hat of his, the freyed bolo rope tastles flittering behind him.

"Arthur?" Your voice was quick to catch the man's attention as he slowed his mount with a gentle "Woah there, girl," coming to a hault in front of you and Nimbus.

His face still hid all the same, replying with a quiet, "Miss Y/l/n."

Arthur's short, stiff reply had your expression scrunch up quizzically. Usually the both of you got along like wildfire to a parched heathland, always finding the time out of both of your busy schedules to sit by the campfire at Horseshoe Overlook and simply chat until either one of you was dragged away on duty, or you felt the pinch of fatigue calling you to bed. Arthur as of right now sounded agitated and monotone, not an ounce of friendliness in his voice that you came to look forward to hearing at the end of the day, for you had grown sweet on him many years prior, but decided against revealing those feelings to the Outlaw out of respect for his involvement with Mary Gillis (now Linton, so you heard, though her husband had passed.)

It was almost as if Arthur wasn't best pleased to see you, like your presence was the last thing he intended to see.

"How are you?" A little confused, you decided to begin your conversation with something... not too invasive. Despite concidering Arthur one of the most caring men you'd come to meet, you were fully aware of his infamous temper. You didn't want to disturb that hot molten lava beneath the surface that already threatened to seep through the cracks; you'd seen it once before in camp many years ago, a fury burning brighter and hotter than the sun. You also couldn't stand idly by and ignore a potential bereavement he was facing, however. Arthur seemed tense, and the way he was positioned told you he wasn't comfortable upon horseback. You had to take this slowly, unless it was absolutely necessary to push and pry.

Arthur didn't respond at first, only rotated his apparently stiffened shoulder and drew in a heavy sniff, one that sounded almost wet, "Doin' fine. I guess."

Something was most certainly bothering him. Arthur never replied to you with such dryness. You gently ushered Nimbus a little closer with a gentle tap of your heel, noticing how Arthur tensed with every small step forward, closer to him. It was at that moment you noticed it, a splash of dried blood lining his black collar that had a trail running from his neck and chin before slipping away under the brim of his hat that he lowered some more, hanging his head in a desperate hope that you hadn't realised: but you had.

Arthur was also completely caked in thick mud, a mixture of stagnant water and sheep excrement, an overpowering scent that caught your nostrils.

"Arthur... are you bleeding? And look at your clothes... you're covered in mud!" A single brow rose as you leant forward against that silver leather saddle of yours, trying to get a better judgement at the severity of - what you guessed was - a potential nosebleed, perhaps even a busted nose.

Originally you'd planned on being gentle with Arthur, but you'd changed your mind the moment you saw the crimson liquid staining his skin. Now you were worried. Now you understood why Arthur was so distraught to see you, because he was planning on running off to hide away from your gaze and your longing to treat him for his alements.

With a heavy sigh, you slumped back into your saddle again and crossed your arms, your voice dropping to a more professional tone, "I'm the camp medic, Arthur. You've got to tell me, or at least show me. Please?"

Arthur shifted uncomfortably on his saddle, swallowing thickly at the mere thought of letting you see his face. His hands seemed to tighten their grip against the leather reins, drawing your attention to the bloodied knuckles staining his skin. You wondered, only briefly, if Arthur was concidering a quick get away, but relaxed once he let out a heavy sigh of defeat, "Fine... I'll tell ya. Ain't no convincing you otherwise is there, woman?"

"No sir." You gave Arthur a devilish smirk and coaxed Nimbus to his Silver Dapple Pinto mare's side, silently thanking yourself for stocking up on Ginseng on your hunt for Yarrow. There was surely going to be a lot of swelling, you thought, as you studied the amount of dried blood upon Arthur's neck.

"I got into a fight with the town's tough guy. Got beat pretty bad. That's it."

You frowned, and although not being able to see much damage, the way Arthur awkwardly drew the back of his hand across his chin, wiping it against his leg told you he was still bleeding, "Christ Arthur! How did you get yourself into that?!"

"Just happened, I guess... it's nothin'." Arthur's awkward sideward shrug alerted you to more than just a busted nose. You studied the way Arthur had been awkwardly hunched over, shifting against the saddle on top of Nimbus to attempt a better viewing angle and failing all the same, chewing anxiously at your inner lip. You guessed his awkward shoulder roll from earlier indicated some damage there, and the obvious blood trailing down his shirt.

"Okay," you muttered quietly and halfly to yourself as you squinted, the concentration forming a wrinkle within your browline, and a crease of your nose, "Let's get you back to camp, mister. I'll try my best to fix you up with what little we have."

The ride back to camp, albeit short, was anything but delightful.

Arthur was silent. You could almost sense the regret and guilt radiating from the man as you both gently spurred your mounts onward, careful to avoid any company that might take interest in robbing an injured man and his friend. You knew the both of you were well equipped to defend yourselves, but you'd much rather get Arthur back home and into your tent for a good clean-up and check over before running into anymore altercations.

As for Arthur, he hated the fact that you'd now see him bruised and beaten. He had no care in the world for anyone else to see him in such a state, but to have you witness the mess he'd got himself into... it made him recoil into his saddle, head hung to hide the disgust on his face - a disgust he felt for himself. "You goddamn fool." Was what he kept repeating to himself under his breath, though you could clearly pick up on those words unbeknownst to him.

While you were the gang's official medic, and you had treated the enforcers wounds in the past, Arthur more often than not would avoid camp for a few days after a bad beating and only return once he had somewhat recovered and the swelling had mostly gone down. In fact, it was a well known fact between all of the Van Der Linde gang members that Arthur would disappear after a fight, and they all knew exactly why he would, too. He simply could not face you in such a manner.

You always scolded him for hiding away, always questioning why he'd be so silly as to shy away from treatment, how his wounds could have become infected or how you could have cast any broken bones. Arthur admired your desire to treat him with every little bump and scratch you saw, how you'd emphasise your worry for his wellbeing whenever he'd return after hiding away. It seemed today of all days, when Arthur was the most bloody and bruised and covered in sheep excrement, was the day you'd finally be able to treat him good and proper, rather than run and hide from your presence.

"Who goes there?" John's raspy voice echoed from the treeline ahead of you both, the twinkle of a shotgun barrel catching your eye as you steadied Nimbus.

"Just me and Arthur, John." Waving your hand to grab John's attention, you offered him a welcoming smile, "How's those stitches holdin' up?"

"Just fine, thanks Y/n. Surprised to see Arthur with you there," John took a step forward, his face scrunching up with delight as he took one long glance at the dishevelled Outlaw upon his silver steed, "Dutch told us about the bust up you had in Valentine. Shouldn't you be off hidin' or somethin'?"

"Shut your face Marston." Arthur's tone was stale, cold and agitated once again as he narrowed those sharp turquoise eyes towards John. The two were brothers, not so much by blood, but they had both grown up together, raised by Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews. It was only reasonable to assume they fought. A lot. Like brothers do.

Rolling your eyes, you decided to move on forward and leave the two men to throw snide remarks at one another.

The camp's lantern lights and lit firepits were a glow through the thick treeline now, and you could hear the nickering of content horses grazing on dry hay and the clashing of spoons against bowls from hungry men and women all getting their share of Pearson's stew, "Come on then, gotta get this one all cleaned up now that I finally have him," calling over your shoulder whilst wavering your hand towards a tense Arthur, you gave John a polite goodbye, reminding him to keep that wound clean as you left the amused Marston at his post.

Pushing through the treeline the first person you were greeted to was Karen. She had been fussing over her own horse, Old Belle, before setting her sights on you, "Y/n! Been wonderin' where you'd gotten yourself off to," and then Karen's expression lit up like a stoking fire, turning her attention to Arthur who had pushed through the foliage after you, steadying Pandora at her respective hitching post, "Oh and Arthur Morgan, too! What a surprise! Thought you'd have got yourself lost for a few days lookin' like that."

Arthur shot Karen a disgruntled stare, clearing his throat with a monotone, "Glad t'see you too, Miss Jones..."

"Bill told me what happened down at the Saloon, Dutch too." Karen added as she drew one last stroke down Old Belle's neck, earning a pleasant nicker from the elderly horse, "Said you got yerself into a full-on fist fight with the town's top dog. Said you looked a state after and oh boy! Williamson certainly wasn't tellin' tales!"

"Yes. Thank you Karen, for recounting the obvious... now, if you'll excuse me," Arthur wavered Karen off, barely allowing her the time to respond as he pushed past once he had hitched Pandora. He hadn't even given his poor mount the usual praises and strokes he would gift her after a long day on the road - not even a treat. You could hear the whinnies of disappointment rolling from the Fox Trotter as she cuffed a hoof along the dry earth below her.

Karen parted her jaw readying to throw out verbal retaliations to the man, but decided against it, turning her attention to you instead with a dumbfounded expression, "Wow. He really is in a bad mood, ain't he?"

"Yeah, he is. Probably 'cause he didn't get a chance to hide away from me this time... sorry Karen, I really should..." You beckoned towards Arthur who had now made it to the opposite end of camp into your medical tent and sat himself down onto one of the stools, rather unceremoniously, grunting in the process.

Karen stopped you with a flick of her hand, "Go tend to him, I'll settle Pandora. Y'best come find me after, though! Got plenty of Whisky to share round the fire tonight!"

"I'll hold you to that!" You called over your shoulder as you hurried off at the confirmation that you could leave, waving to the woman before you began stalking towards your tent.

Fingers fiddled anxiously together, practically tying themselves into knots as you came closer and closer to the busted Outlaw ahead of you.

Despite your professional approach, the reality was heavy against your shoulders. You'd known Arthur for years by this point, and still after all this time, after coming to terms with the impossible odds of calling Arthur your own, being so close to him still threw you off ballance... not necessarily in a bad way, but you could never truly get over those feelings you held for him.

You'd heard the term 'soulmates' from Mary-Beth once before around the small campfire that lie on the outskirts of camp, sharing one of her nauseating romance novels. You remembered how she spoke fondly of that term. 'Two people destined to be together,' she said, and then recalled how devastated she had been to announce that the main character in that novel she had been reading at the time had found their soulmate, but that particular opposing male character had not been 'ideally made for them,' not sharing that characteristic longing for the other. In fact, the man in said novel had found themselves their own 'soulmate,' leaving the main character heartbroken and alone.

Perhaps that was the reality you faced. Arthur was your soulmate, but to your understanding, Mary was Arthur's.

Nevertheless, you had to pull yourself together. You still had your close friendship with the Outlaw, and at this moment in time he was your patient awaiting your treatment.

You drew in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and entered the tent.

"Hey you," you addressed the irritated Outlaw with a friendly smile, taking a few delicate steps across the small space inside the tent. It was a relatively large accommodation, able to fit your workspace in at one side as well as your belongings and bedroll on the opposite inside the canvas tarp walls. Above you both, hanging from a hook embedded into the wooden pole that held the roof of the tent upright was an oil lamp. You took the cold metal of the lamp into the palm of your hand and sparked a match you had retrieved from your pocket, the box held between your teeth so that you could strike the lighting strip. You swiftly held the tiny flame to the wick of the lamp, igniting it and watched on for a second longer to ensure the flame burst to life. Confident with the result, you flicked the dead match from your fingers through the slight opening of your tent curtains and took a seat opposite Arthur, your eyes settling on him.

Arthur was hiding behind his iconic leather hat, shifting uneasily when he realised you had sat, just by the lack of noise you were making once you settled down.

"Arthur..." You attempted to make contact, sitting forward ever so slightly with your elbows pressed against your kneecaps, chin nestled into the palms of your hands.

Arthur cocked his head down some more and tensed up, boots slowly dragging backward to bring his own knees closer towards him, shoulders hunched inward. He did not respond.

You'd never seen the man so anxious and deathly silent before. In fact, the sheer silence you were experiencing from him made you a little uncomfortable, but moreso worried. You had to at least convince him to talk, "Please, Arthur... I need to see you. I want to see you..."

"Why? You'll only be revolted by what you see..." Arthur finally responded, but his tone was low, subdued and perhaps even a little hoarse. Nevertheless, he remained seated and hiding still.

Off he went again, degrading himself. You'd heard it many times before, just in earshot though he'd never noticed you listening in. Whatever terrible self-image this man had pained you greatly.

Your brows knitted together, forming a collection of wrinkles upon your forehead. Your lips fell into a frown and your eyes darkened, heavy with sadness. Why couldn't Arthur see himself the way you saw him... "Well, firstly it's my job. I can't treat you unless I see where you're hurt, and secondly I won't be revolted."

A slight scoff came from the man. He teetered his head upwards, just slightly, but not enough for you to see his features, the shadow cast by his hat too dark to make out his face, "Why're you so sure? I'd turn tail and run if I saw me."

"But it's not you seeing yourself Arthur, it's me. Seeing you." You wanted so desperately to grab either side of Arthur's face, to hoist him up to look at you, deep into your eyes, to see the truth behind them as you spoke. That, however, was a bad idea for a number of reasons. You didn't want to piss Arthur off, and you most certainly didn't want to cause more harm than there already was.

"But-"

"Nuh-uh. Hush." You stopped the Cowboy before he could further degrade himself and drew yourself forward, hands outstretched and ready to grasp onto him.

Arthur attempted to pull back, but the twinge of seering hot pain that tore through his back held him in his previous position, a hiss escaping through his teeth.

"Look..." You began, mentally taking note of Arthur's backpain and began to gently fix his collar, cuffing off the dried mud from his shoulders next, "Whatever happens Arthur, I'll never leave. I promise. No matter what you do, how you look... why would I walk away from the person I care the most about?"

There was a brief pause from you as you sorted the twisted left suspender. Perhaps you had said too much? Sometimes you weren't as careful with your choice of words, and your secret feelings had almost been revealed a handful of times. You silently cursed yourself, chewing awkwardly at the inner flesh of your lip, hoping that such a sentence wouldn't invoke some sort of discomfort from the bust-up Outlaw.

Instead, Arthur perked up, eyes meeting your own despite the dark shadow that fell over them, "You care about me the most?"

His tone was curious, rather than disgusted. You let your shoulders lax, "Well, yeah. Of course! Who else would I come and tell my silly and embarrassing stories to round the fire?"

Arthur sensed you weren't quite telling your all, but decided against prying any further. The hope he had for you sharing the same complicated messy emotions that was dubbed most popularly as 'love' was overshadowed by the terror of rejection - even if you had just ensured him you'd never leave.

With a heavy sigh, Arthur let his guard down. His calloused fingertips met the rim of his hat, and despite a short hesitation, slowly removed it from his head. Whatever hair had been hidden underneath the expanse of said hat was now wildly sprung in various directions, some strands falling over those deep, turquoise eyes which met your own, wide and seeping with anxiety.

Arthur's face was relatively in tact, but his left eye was beginning to darken with deep blue-black bruising, and his nose was swollen to some extent. A few shallow cuts adorned his cheeks and forehead, and a single deep split weaped with blood on his top right lip.

Your first reaction was that, not of horror or revolt, but something completely opposite. Your brows rose into an arch, your mouth twisting into a bittersweet half-smile, "Thank you."

Sheer overwhelming emotion rushed over Arthur like a vicious flash flood, completely wiping out any expectation he had. You hadn't backed off, left and ran for your mount. You hadn't even shown an ounce of regret; you just smiled at him, and suddenly you were wiping your thumb ever so softly across his cheek, removing what he assumed had been fresh blood off of his cheekbone. However, when you pulled your hand back, the liquid resting upon your thumb was not that of crimson liquid, but clear salty water; tears... "Y-you really ain't bothered...?"

"Arthur Morgan. Why would I be? You're still as handsome as ever in my book," you shrugged nonchalantly, as if what you had just said was such a casual thought on your mind - which it was, truthfully.

Arthur choked up, drawing in a shaky breath in a feeble attempt to settle himself. He pressed the bridge of his nose only briefly, quickly retracting his hand at the sudden surge of pain. Guilt began to bubble within the pit of his stomach as he watched you collect a full pail of water from underneath the table beside you, a fresh washcloth in hand, "I'm real sorry..."

"Why are you apologising for?" You gave Arthur a half-amused, half-quizzical look as you gently began to wash away the grime and blood from Arthur's cheeks. His hot breath faltered against your wet lips, you were incredibly close, though you had to be to get a better judgement on how clean the wounds were.

"For not trustin' you sooner... I'm a real big fool..."

"No, Arthur. You're not. I don't think I'd be best pleased letting you see me all black and blue either," you pulled back for a short second to offer the man a reassuring smile, rinsing the washcloth and going back once more, chipping away at the dried blood that had crusted against Arthur's short beard, "Besides..." You paused, your eyes meeting Arthur's only just, and returned to cleaning the wounds. Your stomach knotted and your mouth almost went dry, but something deep inside you was forcing that question out of your throat, "I suppose Mary would still have you, even if you looked like this. She still sends you letters."

You had been the one to place the letter addressed to Arthur onto his bedside table a few weeks ago, when Arthur had been out exploring the Heartlands. You knew Mary Linton's handwriting. Arthur had shown you it many times before, in the past. It wasn't hard to make out the perfect cursive writing that danced along the white sheet of paper.

Arthur's expression darkened slightly at the mention of Mary Linton.

Perhaps you had spoken too much now. You felt yourself begin to panic, wondering if you had accidently touched a nerve. You knew that after such a messy breakup, Arthur didn't enjoy bringing Mary back up. But you had to know. You simply continued working at Arthur's injuries in an attempt to avoid confrontation.

"Y/n..."

"Sorry... I don't mean to bring her up I just... I was just curious, seein' her letter and all. I didn't read it! I just know her handwriting..." pulling back to throw the washcloth onto the ground, you turned your back to Arthur and began digging through what little stock you had left in your pantry. Hosea had kindly offered to make up some poultice earlier that day before you ventured out to look for some Yarrow, and lucky for you, it had been the poultice you needed. When you turned, you found yourself face to face with Arthur Morgan. He had shuffled closer now, close enough to be a mere inch away from your nose as he gazed at you.

"A-Arthur?"

"I ain't sweet on Mary no more."

"You aint?" Bewildered, you gave Arthur a few disbelieving blinks, breath hitched in the back of your throat.

How could he say that? Surely he was just trying to make you feel better? You'd seen him leave with that letter after reading it. He'd gone to see her...

"No." Arthur repeated, sighing softly at the fleeting memories, "I'll always have a soft spot for her, sure. But... I ain't sweet on her no more. Kinda... been sweet on someone else, actually." His hoarse awkward laugh drew a reddened blush from his cheeks as he attempted to look away from you out of embarrassment.

You felt your heart sink. If it wasn't Mary, then who else? It couldn't have been you. Perhaps it was Karen? Or Mary-Beth? Couldn't have been Tilly, the two were practically siblings. Maybe it was Charles? You couldn't be sure...

Arthur kept his gaze steadfast against the tent canvas, clearing his throat to break the uncomfortable silence. His jaws parted to say something, but no words came out.

"Let me rub this poultice in," you smiled awkwardly, attempting to settle the awkward atmosphere between you both, lifting the pulp twirling your hand to signal Arthur to sit back a little.

Arthur agreed, giving you a small nod and shut his eyes, allowing you to press and pack the mixture into his wounds. Gently moulding circles around the scratch above Arthur's brow, the Cowboy let out a hiss of discomfort at the ebbing throb and sting, causing you to apologise, promising you'll be gentler. Happy with that result, you moved onto Arthur's lip, carefully padding away at the wound with a pulp-smothered finger. The both of you held your breath. The feeling of Arthur's lips were surprisingly soft, all things concidered. They seemed dry, cracked and dehydrated, but in fact they felt soft and plump to the tough. The sensation made your heart jump.

"There, all done. See? Wasn't so bad now, was it?" You pulled yourself back and turned to pat your hand in the water pail beside you, removing the remaining poultice. When you turned back to study your works upon Arthur's face, jaw parted to tell him how brave he had been in an attempt to lighten the mood, Arthur was gone... "Arthur?"

You'd practically burst through the tent curtains into a now pitch black camp, only lit by the dancing ember flames of the campfires littered about the clearing, holding the enforcer's hat tightly in your grasp, "Arthur!"

"Woah, woah Y/n. Relax." It was Charles who came to your side. He had heard the commotion from the campfire close by, hands stuffed with a number of hand crafted poison arrows. A large hand found your shoulder to ground you, "You looking for Arthur?"

"Yeah, did you see him? I was just treating him, I'm not sure if I've completely finished yet - he just up and left before I got the chance to see..." There was a flitter of panic in your voice when you remembered you hadn't even checked the state of Arthur's body yet. He could still have wounds that needed attention.

Charles gave you a gentle smile, replacing a strand of hair behind your ear that had fallen out of place. He gave you a look of understanding, knowing that deep down, your worries didn't just lie with your work, but the feelings you had for the Outlaw. He knew how you felt, he could see it, but he wouldn't be one to start gossip. Charles pointed in the direction past Arthur's tent, "He went that way. I don't think he'd have gotten far, just follow that trail and you should find him."

Giving Charles a swift hug, you began to jog in the direction of Charles' pointed finger, "Thank you!" You called over your shoulder, not catching the look of awe on Charles face as he watched you go.

Not even a few minutes later, you found Arthur. Charles was right, he hadn't gotten far. In fact, Arthur had only made it a little ways off from camp, so much so you could still make out the flames through the treeline. He sat there, legs dangling over the edge of the Overlook, eyes studying the ground below that lead towards the Dakota River off in the distance.

"Arthur."

The Outlaw startled, giving you a not-so graceful look when you came forward, "Tryin' to scare me to death? That in your portfolio of medicine now?"

Although his tone was a little standoffish, you returned that blazen expression with a kind smile, coming to sit beside Arthur with his hat between your fingers, "You forgot your hat."

"Oh." Arthur shuffled awkwardly, taking back the leather cap to rest it against his kneecap, "Thank you."

"Why did you run off like that?" Your tone was delicate and forgiving, fingers coiling around the few grass strands that grew below your feet in an attempt to keep your mind busy.

Arthur gazed over at you for a brief moment, fingers trailing across the rim of his hat. He sighed softly, letting the misty breath escape his nostrils in a plume of white cloud, "Had somethin' on my mind, is all."

You let your gaze fall across the landscape ahead of you, the moon painting the crater below you both with a silver shimmer. Two Whitetail deer, a Doe and a Buck, came streaking out from the treeline to graze on the dew littered grass, "I'm all ears, if you need it."

Arthur had taken note of the deer below, too. A rare, genuine smile of content crossed his lips for a second. It was as if the mere sight of such creatures brought him peace, and the courage to speak his mind. He turned to face you, arm leaning against his thigh, "Remember the day I went to visit Mary? She was down at Valentine, rentin' a room for a couple a' days. She asked me to get her brother back."

Now your attention was on Arthur, that strand Charles had sorted earlier falling into your vision once again, "Jamie?"

Arthur hummed a confirmation, "Yeah, Jamie. Well, I went and got him from those Cherlonian folk, odd bunch... got him back to Mary at the station."

You remained silent, but listening all the same with a short nod.

"Well... Mary actually offered me to run away with her. To leave. There and then..."

You paused, shooting the Outlaw a curious yet confused gaze, "Why didn't you take it...?"

There was a long silence. Arthur's eyes focused on your own, his pupils blowing outward and his voice box riveting inside his throat as he swallowed thickly. There was a moment in which the two of you felt an emotion unlike any other. A chill in the wind that buffeted the strand of hair hanging limp across your left eye.

Your hearts thundered as one, and Arthur gently removed that strand and replaced it behind your ear again.

You felt yourself swallow hard, doe-eyed and intrigued.

With another drawn-in breath, Arthur met your gaze with purpose, taking your tiny hands into his oversized palms, sweaty and clammy with anxiety as they were. Despite his fear, it was now or never... he couldn't keep that secret hidden in the confines of his journal for much longer.

"Y/n... I...I'm sweet on you..."

Silence eloped the both of you for a moment. You were suddenly slack-jawed, eyes widening ever so slightly in disbelief.

"Those herbs you kept findin' on your desk? I collected 'em. The orchids? Me. That little golden pocket watch you said you loved? Went and got ya another one when I found out you lost your last one." Arthur muttered a little quieter than usual. He wanted so desperately to whip his hat back on, to obscure his face. He wanted to run, to charge to Pandora and run a thousand miles. He couldn't take another rejection, but he couldn't handle hiding the truth for much longer, either. He chewed at his lip, sweat forming upon his brow as he watched your expression evolve.

"I uh... I could jus' leave I... sorry for makin' you uncomfortable-" but before Arthur could leave, you struck.

Hands enveloped Arthur's face on either side. You were careful not to disturb any injuries whilst you pulled him back towards you. Finally, you let your lips meet his own.

Your lips were soft, sweet and tender, like honey on a rose bud.

His were rough, dry and intoxicating.

You both danced your lips together, so slow and inviting. It felt like you'd done this before, and it felt so right... as if you'd done this a thousand times before over the course of a thousand years. Large hands took your peach-fuzzed cheeks into their palms whilst your own smaller hands cupped the back of Arthur's neck, drawing tiny shapes across his sun-kissed skin.

Your dance lasted a short while longer until you pulled back, your lungs crying out for oxygen. Arthur too, panted heavily. His gentle gaze met yours, and you gave him a perfectly sweet giggle, the kind that you would make when relieved realisation would set in.

"So uh... was that part of the treatment then? Or..."

"Don't be silly," you scoffed playfully back at Arthur, batting his shoulder gently with a smirk, "That was genuine."

"Oh, good. Was worried that maybe I'd have to get myself beaten for another one." Arthur gave you a beautiful smile, one that creased his eyed and made his cheeks flush. The two of you exchanged a thousand looks, letting the serenity of the atmosphere just set in for a moment.

"Suppose this is the part where we talk things out and realise how foolish we've both been, dancin' round eachother all these years..." Arthur chuckled softly, tapping at his side with open arms to usher you into an embrace beside him.

You obliged happily, taking your stead in the comfort of his security, resting your head into the crease of Arthur's broad neck, "Should probably get some fresh clothes on ya. You're still muddy as hell."

Arthur took a glance down at his muddied clothes, a humorous smile dawning his features as he relaxed into you, "Yeah, probably should."

The pair of you relished the tranquility of the moment, allowing the serene moonlight to drown you in complete bliss. You hummed quietly, nuzzling deeper into Arthur's chest, appreciating the warmth that radiated from his bare skin where his shirt had unpopped.

"Ah-" Arthur chirped as though remembering something. He was careful not to disturb you, nestling his hand into the open flap of his satchel that sagged at his opposite side, "I found ya somethin'."

"Oh?" Interest piqued, you gazed over towards Arthur's hand which had now retrieved the gift. Clutched between his fingers was a small bouquet of red petal flowers.

Once you had finally realised just what these flowers were, you gasped with wide eyes and practically let out a squeal, "Arthur! That's Yarrow!"

"Sure is, sweetheart." Arthur felt his cheeks burn up at the sight of your bright-eyed expression, "Found it growin' on the outskirts of camp as we was comin' back, well hidden too. Didn't want Dutch kickin' up a fuss over it so... don't tell him I found 'em. Was all you."

"Oh Arthur- thank you! But I can't take all the credit," you took the Yarrow from Arthur and placed them down at your side, taking Arthur's hands into your own. You began pecking gentle kisses against his bruised knuckles and then to the soft flesh of his palm, "So..."

"Hmm?" Arthur pulled you back into a loving embrace, raising a brow in question.

Your mind thought back to the many years you'd spent smitten over Arthur, giggling halfly to yourself as you gazed upward into Arthur's sparkling ocean-eyes, so full of curiosity and excitement.

"About us bein' sweet on eachother all these years... Where did you wanna start?"

[reaveries]

▬  an admiration for perennials

summary: arthur meets a woman with an affinity for cliff maids

pairings: high honor!arthur morgan pov x female!reader

warnings: sad introspective arthur, sh*t word (:o), mention of mary, dying from flu, pollen (?? this thing is so fluffy, i'm grasping for straws here)

word count: 6.2k (estimated 26-minute reading time)

a/n: i have proofread this piece so.. many.... times... i'm so ready to finally publish it and get it the eff away from me. i hope y'all like it, i'm really happy with how it turned out! (i think, i can't tell anymore). i have a part two outline in the works so if you'd like to see that, please let me know by interacting w/ the post! also, this is categorized as a reader/self-insert but at one point there is very brief character description. i try to keep that to an absolute minimum and leave it generally gray enough to remain a self-insert fic. if that bothers you, i'm sorry, just overlook it! anyways, njoy, pardners <3

masterlist archive of our own

Revised for clarity 1/5/2024.

He takes a long drag from the cigarette between his lips, letting the harshness of the warm smoke enter his chest with ease. The cigarette had nearly met its end, so he knew it was getting to be that time. He jabs it into the ashtray along with the ashes from all the other bargoers and bids the barkeep a good night, leaving some change for his good company.

Unfortunately, Arthur hadn't found the solace he was searching for in the homely saloon. He’d filled himself to the brim with watered-down beer and a few shots of whiskey when he felt especially plagued by his thoughts. But as he pushes open the swinging doors and steps into the cool night air, his head still swarms with a myriad of upsetting things. 

His life is a complicated mess, though part of him knew it always had been. It just wasn’t until recently that he realized how unnecessary it was for it to be such. On the same street where he currently stands, he’d been responsible for putting lead in the heads of countless men a few weeks prior. He didn't even know their names, and he surely doesn't remember their faces. It was a wholly avoidable disaster. Not to say he’s bothered by the act of killing, for when he finds it justified to end a man’s life, there’s often no reason to dawdle. No, the mess of it all perturbed him the most. 

Undeniably, the land he calls home is becoming a different entity than the one he was born into, a land of law and structure that spits upon his way of life. The West is becoming a docile place, its wildness broken by the cracking whip of civilization. And if the West can’t survive, then all hope is lost for men like him. The only logical step to ensure that he, and the people he cares for, won’t meet their fates at the end of a rope is to adapt to this changing world. This meant mess would have to be a thing of the past. No more massacres over stolen oil wagons and certainly not wiping out an entire town to free a man he didn’t care for from a cell he belonged in. No more innocent bystanders gruesomely losing their lives over foolishly shallow plans like the botched ferry job in Blackwater. No more lives need to be taken for his benefit or the ambitions of the man who guided him. Somehow though, that man didn’t see things the way he did.

Whenever he brought up these concerns, Dutch always told him, “Don’t be so simple-minded, Arthur. Look at the bigger picture.” 

But the bigger picture was all he could see, and it was a terrifying sight.

His heels sink into the damp earth as he makes his way to Saint’s Hotel, crossing his fingers that a room is available for the night. He made the mistake of riding his horse with a stomach full of liquor before, and somehow it almost ended up with him drowning. How he ended up sopping wet and his horse dry as a bone is still a mystery to him. So, a room at Saint's is in order since he doesn’t particularly care to die tonight, even despite the pervasive thoughts that plague him.

Just as he’s about to step onto the hotel’s wooden porch, he hears a loud banging noise come from behind him. He turns around and, in the darkness of night, sees a woman knocking on the front door of the general store across the street. She raps her knuckles a second time against the door, just as loud as the first. The door opens and out steps the store owner, looking irritated.

“Hi, I know you’re about to close, but I’ll just be a second, I promise!” She says this with her hands clasped together.

“Alright, alright. Come on in,” the man says, stepping aside so she can enter.

As the woman moves past the older man, light from inside the store hits her, and he can see her more clearly. She’s dressed simply with her hair loosely pulled back into a plait that falls past her shoulders. These things are ordinary enough, but then the light catches on a dainty pink flower tucked behind her ear on the left side.

He stops in his tracks.

It looks identical to the one he keeps at his bedside, a memento of his mother. However, those flowers, cliff maids, he thinks they’re called, only grow out west in the rocky terrain bordering Oregon and California. He’s a long way from California and possibly even further from a level head, so he dismisses the possibility, chalking it up to the delusions of a drunken old man.

He heads into the hotel, and thankfully a room is available, the same one as always. He closes the door behind him and starts fumbling with his gear, letting it hit the floor haphazardly in a heap. As he stumbles over to the bed, he regretfully catches a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror. He usually tries to avoid looking at himself unless it’s absolutely necessary. Simply put, he doesn’t like the look of the man who stares back at him. There’s a residual yellow blotch fading away on his cheekbone from a dust-up he’d been in a few days prior. He doesn’t even remember the reason. His shoulder-length hair has tangles he’s had no energy to comb through, and his eyes are lidded for want of sleep. They have a far-out look even when he’s staring right at himself. 

“Maybe it’s you that’s the mess,” he mumbles, then gives way to his exhaustion and collapses against the mattress. His boots, spurs and all, remain on his feet. So remain his worn trousers and unbuttoned maroon shirt, and so does the dirt caked beneath his nails that never seems to leave. 

He checks out of his room early the following day and rides out beneath a sky as golden as dandelions. His mind feels clearer after a night’s rest, and he thankfully doesn’t feel as dreadful as he did when his head hit the pillows. Dew hangs in the chilled air and mists his face as he takes the beaten winding path leading back to Clemen’s Point, this new place his people called home. As he rides, he passes by some cottages and homesteads a ways off the path. He can recall the inside layout of a few of them, and even which ones filled his pockets the most back when he first arrived in the Heartlands.

Tall, thick-bodied oak trees loom over him and dance in the morning breeze. The way the sunlight flickers through them is beautiful but unfamiliar. It quickly becomes apparent that he’s taken the wrong path somewhere along the way, but just when he’s about to wheel his horse around and turn back, there lies a cottage beyond the tree line. 

It’s a quaint wooden home with a thin stream of smoke rising from the chimney. In the window of the cottage sits a vase of pink flowers. The closer he rides, the more confident he is that they’re cliff maids. There must be at least twenty stems in that one vase.

“I’ll be damned….” He says under his breath.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of a woman grunting coming from the side of the home. He presses his heels to his horse’s belly and trots toward the noise source. When he turns the corner of the house, he sees her, the woman he saw last night, pushing a wheelbarrow spilling over with dirt. She attempts to use her weight against the handle, but it hardly makes a difference, and the wheelbarrow doesn’t budge.

He clears his throat to make his presence known to the woman.

“Jesus Christ!” She yelps and turns to face him, shocked to see she has company.

“Didn’t mean to frighten ya. D’ya need any help, ma’am?” He asks.

She looks him over with caution.

“Uh, I’m alright, thanks,” she says slowly, her brows warily drawn together.

Arthur nods his head with a tight-lipped smile and pulls the reins to head back to where he came from. He considers asking her about the flowers in the window but disregards it seeing as she doesn’t seem to care for company. As he begins back down the path, he hears a clattering noise and the sound of the woman cursing.

“Hey, mister!” She shouts. He looks over his shoulder and sees her standing with her hands on her hips and the wheelbarrow completely turned over, the dark soil spilling out onto the ground.

“I take that back.” She says with her head cocked to the side and a bashful smile.

He lightly chuckles at the sight and rides over, swiftly dismounting from his horse a few feet from the mild disaster.

“Could you help me scoop it back in?” She asks as she goes to the front of the wheelbarrow and picks up the dirt with yellow gloves.

“Sure,” he says, kneeling beside her. His hands are perpetually dirty as it is, so a little more filth couldn’t hurt. As he helps her pile the dirt back into the cart, he notices she smells earthy and sweet, reminiscent of the air before a storm.

“Alright,” she says, standing up and brushing her dirty gloves against her smock. “Would you mind wheelin’ it for me?”

He moves to grab the handles and pushes them down with ease so that the wheelbarrow can roll properly. 

“What’s all this dirt for anyways?” He asks the woman walking beside him.

“Just a project I’m working on. It’s back behind here, mister.” She points to the rear of the cottage, which quickly becomes dense with plant life the further they step. 

She crosses her arms over her chest as they enter the more secluded area.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, alright?” She says, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye.

He furrows his brows at the slight, but he can’t deny it makes sense she’s thinking that way. He looks the part of someone with foul intentions. The brim of his hat darkens his eyes, which would normally obscure them from anyone else. But, given that he's a head taller than the woman, she sees their darkness fine. He internally curses himself when he remembers he's wearing the one jacket stained with animal blood. It's still smeared dark brown across his shoulder. Of course, he looks like a damn menace. To top it all off, the rifle slung on his back casts a long shadow across her cheek like some twisted reminder of who he is, lest a single act of kindness threatens he forgets. 

He glances at her with a small smile that raises up on one side more than the other.

“Most of my ideas are funny, ma’am. But I ain’t gonna hurt you if that’s what you mean.”

Her shoulders drop from their tense position as she lets out a half-hearted laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it, mister,” she says, slightly more relaxed than before.

The grass starts to reach his knees, and all along the path are bushes and fruit-bearing shrubs with dangling under-ripe berries. Various species of flowers grow throughout the backyard in no organized manner, like they’d been living here long before anyone else. White bark trees stand tall amidst the entropic garden. Dark moss creeps up their trunks, and instead of leaves, canopies of draping blossoms erupt from the branches like something out of a storybook. They hang limply in the air, and when the wind tugs on them, they sway in synchronization while their blossoms flutter away in the breeze. It’s all so beautiful. He’s never seen an abundance of such natural beauty in all his life.

“Is this all yours?” He asks, turning to the lady with a near slack-jawed expression. 

“It is now,” she says, nodding her head. “My mama used to care for it, as did her mama before her. But uh- well, the flu took my mama a few years back, and as fate would have it, now my grandma’s flame is startin’ to flicker too. So it’s left to me to care for all this.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” he responds. Her voice sounds sad, and it reminds him somewhat of Ms. Adler, the widow staying with them for the time being.

“It’s okay,” she says, waving him off. “Sometimes in the darkness, there’s light, and this is definitely the light. I get to care for this thing, and in a way, it cares for me too. Gives me purpose, ya know?”

“S’Good to have somethin’ that makes you feel that way. Lord knows most people don’t.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Oh! I’ll hold the door open for ya.” She leaves his side and jogs ahead of him.

“Door? What door?” Arthur looks around, but he sees nothing but trees and plants.

Suddenly, she reveals an entrance blocked by the tall grass, and he realizes that a small building made entirely of glass is right before him. It camouflaged against the greenery and the vines that drape across it. Now that the door is ajar, he sees inside plants of all kinds strewn about in terracotta pots and deep soil beds.

“What in the….” He begins to say but trails off, caught off guard by the unexpected reveal.

A sort of giddiness takes her when she sees his expression, and she waves her hand excitedly to usher him inside. 

“Come in! Come in!” 

He rolls the wheelbarrow inside the structure, and once again, he’s greeted by the humble beauty of the natural world. Leaves spill out of pots hanging from the rafters, creating curtains that brush against him as he passes through. She gently closes the door behind him, and the air starts to feel thicker, heavier, like he’s being swaddled in a damp blanket.

The pots each have their own label, but the writing is so messy that he can hardly make out the names. Of the ones he can read, he recognizes names such as Sparrow’s Egg, Clamshell, and Dragon’s Mouth. They’re exotic flowers that the corset man in Saint Denis once asked him to collect, but he never got around to doing it. If only he had enough time to frolic through fields and pluck orchids. He’d prefer that over the menial errands he’s been consumed by as of late.

“Back here!” The woman shouts.

He can’t see her behind the tall plant-filled shelves that take up the center of the room, so he pushes past the vines and turns the corner to see her standing next to an empty plant bed. She looks at him expectantly because his task is clearly to dump the soil. But his mind is elsewhere. Behind her is another plant bed. This one is full and brimming with cliff maids so densely packed that he can hardly see the soil they’re in. He’s never seen so many of these flowers in one place. Whenever he found one in the wild, it was usually nestled between two rocks and sprouted three or four blooms. They weren’t nearly as impressive as the ones infront of him.

“What is it?” She asks when he remains in his spot. She follows his gaze and gasps.

“Why, are you a gardener too, mister?” Her voice gets high with excitement.

“Who, me?” He laughs. “No, ma’am. I’m no gardener. I’d make for a pretty awful one seein’ as I’m not too good at keepin’ things alive.”

“Oh, forgive me. I just- you seemed interested in the perennials. Most people aren’t, considerin’ how unassuming they look. Pretty things but nothing outwardly special about ‘em.” She moves towards the tall blossoms and reaches out her hand to stroke the petals. 

“You know, they don’t like it here,” she continues. “They like the sun, which would be easy enough if they liked the heat that came with it, but no, it’s the cool shade of cliffs and rocks they like. These little blooms aren’t easy to care for, but if you can figure it out, they’ll live all through the years. That’s what perennial means, after all. Anyways, these guys are my favorite. I think it’s cause they give me such a hard time.”

She twiddled with the petals between her fingers as she rambled about the flowers. When she finally looks back at him, it’s like she has stars twinkling in her eyes. There’s a new liveliness about her, something that sparked when she was given room to air out her affinity for the pink blossoms. Arthur stands there, attempting to wrap his mind around the unlikely chance of finding someone who holds this particular flower as close to their heart as he does. He doesn't notice his aforementioned heart beating a little faster in his chest.

“I- I like ‘em too.” The words clumsily stumble from his mouth when he realizes she’s waiting for him to speak. He quickly gathers himself. 

“I mean, it was my ma that liked ‘em, but I guess she sorta rubbed off on me. They're pretty little things.”

“You’re kiddin’... what are the odds?” 

He can tell she’s thinking about something during the half-beat of silence that follows, but he can’t find any hint of what it is when he searches her face.

“I never got your name, mister,” she says abruptly.

“Arthur,” he says. “Just Arthur.”

“What, you ain’t got a last name, Just Arthur?” She laughs.

He considers telling her his real name but quickly dismisses it. On the off-chance she recognizes it from the bounty posters, it would mean that whatever was happening here would come to an unfortunate end. Of course, no harm would befall her, but he’d have to leave and go right back to his mess of a life. He’d rather stay here, in the sanctity of the greenhouse, with this person he strangely feels like he was meant to meet. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were on a full name basis, ma’am,” he says flippantly, but he can’t help the smile that forms when she raises her eyebrows at him.

“Well, Arthur, you have good taste,” she says playfully, but her gaze falls to the wheelbarrow he’s still holding, and her eyes widen. “Oh, that must be heavy. I talked so long, I forgot you still had that. Go ahead and pour it into that empty bed right there.” She gestures with a quick wave of her hand.

He looks down at the wheelbarrow he also forgot he was holding and does as she says, tilting the lip of it into the wooden frame and letting the soil spill out. 

She smiles at him and pats his shoulder before leading him out of the greenhouse. They step back outside, and the cool air is a welcome feeling. He props the wheelbarrow against the wall of the structure while she shuts the door behind her.

“Thank you again. I would’ve had a much harder time without you there,” she says.

He wipes his soiled hands on the front of his jeans and opens his mouth to speak, but when he looks at her, she’s already looking at him with a gaze sweet as honey. It makes his breath catch in his chest. Not many women have looked at him like that before, and hardly any were as easy on the eyes as her. A thread of sunlight catches her eyes and reveals faint traces of amber, like sap spilling from the source. Her long lashes flutter when she blinks, and they rest against the soft edge of her brow as she looks up at him. Her hair, woven into a braid, is loose, disheveled like she’d slept in it. Stray strands feather around her jaw and frame the angles of her face, not unlike ornate golden borders that surround paintings in a gallery.

He clears his throat upon realizing he’s been gawking at the poor woman like some boyish fool.

“Ah, it was nothin',” he says, directing his attention elsewhere as heat creeps up his cheeks. 

A dragonfly jitters down from above and lands on the stem of some thyme growing over a narrow creek. Water trickles over smooth stones into a basin where leaves float along the surface. Some of them sprout delicate white flowers that open up to the sky. A thought comes to him as he looks at them.

“If it’s not too much trouble, would it be alright if I draw a picture of this place?” He asks. He’s never had to ask anyone permission for this sort of thing before; it felt unnatural. But it certainly would’ve been more so if he’d asked her what he really wanted, which was to draw her alongside it.

She tilts her head and looks up at him curiously.

“How charming…” She says, then ponders it for a second. “I don’t mind as long as you let me see it after.”

He chuckles, “Alright, just don’t make fun of it.”

“I would never!” She says, feigning indignance. “My mama taught me manners, Arthur! That means if it’s bad, I’ll just make fun of it in my head. Now go do your thing. I also have some work to do.”

She waves him off with a smile and steps back inside the greenhouse, closing the door behind her. He lets out a sigh, the tight feeling in his chest relinquishing now that he’s finally alone. He walks over to a bench along the path and sits down, taking his journal from his satchel and flipping to a new blank page. Before him, tall pink flowers that smell of vanilla cast long, dark shadows over the smaller flowering shrubs surrounding them. If they weren’t so dainty looking, their height and the size of their leaves would give the impression they own the place. He gives them the most detail in his drawing. Then he starts to etch the dirt path, adding the indentation the wheel of the wheelbarrow had left behind and the imprint of the woman’s footprints next to his. Just as he finishes up the sketch, adding minute details in the leaves, he hears light footfall behind him.

On instinct, his hand moves to hover above his holster, but once he sees what’s behind him, he feels ridiculous for it.

“Hey,” she says quietly, a sheepish smile on her face. She holds nearly a dozen cliff maids in her hands, stems clipped and bound together with a thread of twine.

“I thought you might like to have these.”

He looks at her for a moment, unsure what to do or say. She’s giving him flowers. No one has ever given him flowers before. That was usually something a man might do if he were sweet on a lady, a gesture shared between lovers. But maybe for a woman who spends all day surrounded by them, it must not have the same romantic meaning he knows it does.

“Those are for me?” He asks. His hands hang loosely at his sides. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

She nods. “If you want.”

The talkative woman from earlier seems to have been replaced by someone different entirely, her sentences suddenly simple and sweet. He also struggles to find the right words.

“That’s too kind of you. Truly.” He reaches out to take them, and she places the bundle gingerly in his hands. 

His hold is gentle for fear he’d snap the stems if not careful. He knows he has to look a little silly. A man as rough around the edges as himself, with ammunition draped across his chest and pistols hanging at his hips, holding an overflowing bouquet of pink blossoms as a gift from a lady. If Dutch could see him now, he’d tell him he lost his edge. But if this is what it feels like to have gone soft, then he doesn't mind that much. The warmth in his chest is too comforting a feeling to let go of.

Her sudden gasp brings him out of his head.

“Is that the drawing?!” She points at the journal lying open on the bench. There’s no time to answer before she reaches over the seat to hold the leatherbound book in her hands.

“Wow… I- you captured it perfectly,” she says, her mouth slightly hanging in awe. “I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“You’re just minding your manners.”

She lightly thwacks him on the arm.

“You’d know if I was, I’m not a good liar. No, this is something special.”

He hardly knows a thing about this woman, and yet for some reason, her songs of praise feel so good that he wants to make ten more drawings. Hell, he’ll move as much dirt as she wants if it means she’ll look at him the way she is now each time. As her eyes flit between him and the sketch, he feels a fondness growing that he could’ve never anticipated when he first laid eyes on her. God, he almost feels like a boy again. It’s a feeling he hasn’t experienced in ages since he was last with Mary. Though, admittedly those feelings were guided by something less innocent than what he feels right now. What’s happening to him?

She clasps her hands together and takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Arthur, would you, um- would you like something to drink before you head out?” She asks. “I have just about anything.”

Without giving it much thought, he opens his mouth to answer, but a ringing noise sounds before the words can come out. It’s a clear jingling sound of a bell, and it’s coming from the house. 

“Oh, never mind. It seems like my grandmother needs me,” she sighs and hands back his journal. “Maybe another time?”

“Another time,” he agrees with a thin smile, deflating slightly at the abrupt goodbye.

She walks briskly to the back door and slips inside the house, the door swinging shut loudly behind her. He approaches his horse he’d left hitched to the woman’s front porch and goes to find a place to secure the flowers. As he’s slipping them through a notch on the saddle, the front door flies open.

She steps out, looking grateful he hasn’t left yet.

“Hey!” She calls out to him. She stands at the edge of the top step with one hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes from the sun.

“I’m sure you know already, but those can only last so long now that they’re cut. Perennials live all through the years but only when they’re planted,” she says, shifting her weight on the step.

Arthur’s mouth parts slightly as he searches for the words to respond.

“Oh. Alright.”

She sighs and brings her hand to her forehead in an exasperated motion.

“Okay- what I’m trying to say but failing at, is that when those flowers start to wilt, you come and find me.”

He tilts his head down, so the brim of his hat hides the smile forcing its way onto his lips. He hadn’t been sure if she was just being polite before, if every word was mere courtesy. But now, part of him felt that maybe some of it was more than that. He could at least tell for certain that she liked him, and that was enough.

“I’ll do that, miss. You take care of yourself, now.”

She then waves him goodbye before heading back inside.

The sun has risen high above his head by the time he returns to camp. Everything seems to be just as he left it a few days ago. Dutch is sitting outside his tent with a book in his hands, a finger pensively to his lips. Some men are sharpening their weapons or cleaning their guns and talking to one another while they work. Over by the campfire, Micah gestures wildly to Bill and Javier, who sit on the log by his feet. 

“If we leave at dusk, they should be sittin’ pretty at the station a while before leaving for town. So once things get movin’, I say Javier handles the lockbox, I’ll deal with Walton and his lady wife, and Bill, you hang back in case anyone else shows up.”

Javier looks up from polishing his pistol, “You don’t think Walton’s going to have any extra protection? He’s carrying a lot of goods, it’d be stupid for him not to.”

“Well, that’s what Bill’s for. Ain’t that right, Bill?”

Bill nods his head with a serious expression. “Damn right.”

As Arthur listens to this conversation, it’s as if he can see a dark thread spinning and tangling itself into a knot. A knot on top of a knot, on top of another. Soon enough, the thread will become one giant, twisted mess so tightly entwined it’ll be nearly impossible to unravel. The way things are headed, this seems like the only plausible ending for his people. But before that happens, the Pinkertons will likely find them again, and they’ll be packing their things again, only prolonging this mess of things a little bit longer, letting it become bigger than it ever needed to be. People will keep dying for nothing like they always have, and maybe he’ll be one of them, an unfortunate tally added to their death toll, necessary for the bigger picture.

The young woman had the right of it. Her words still echo in his head even now. 

Perennials live all through the years, but only when they’re planted. Only when they’re planted. 

The world won’t open its arms to drifters, even with a pistol pressed to its head. It’s past time they grow some roots, start living like people, and stop living like wild animals backed into a corner. Sure, there’s no glory in honest work but there sure as hell isn’t any in dying. Arthur had given this idea some thought before. He wouldn’t mind settling, living a simple life working odd jobs, or even finding work on a ranch somewhere. A peaceful life, a predictable one; it sounded just fine in his head.

He passes by Mary Beth and Tilly, scrubbing clothes on a washboard and laughing. Tilly looks up from her busy hands and waves at him.

“Hey, Arthur!”

“Hey there, Miss Jackson,” he says with a friendly nod.

He finds his tent and sets the bundle of flowers down on the cot before reaching into his satchel. 

“Are those flowers, Arthur Morgan?” 

He jumps as Tilly’s voice is suddenly right behind him.

“What the hell! Don’t sneak up on me like that, girl,” he says, turning to face her and Mary Beth standing just outside his tent.

“My goodness, they are!” Mary Beth says, her hand flying to her mouth. “Where did you find those?”

“A lady,” he responds, biting his cheek to force away a smile he doesn't want them to see. He doesn't want to be stuck rattling off every detail to the excitement-starved women. 

“Like, you purchased them from a lady?” Mary Beth leans forward and raises her eyebrows.

“They were… given to me,” he reluctantly admits as he places the stems inside a gin bottle on the table. He moves a few of them around so they look nice.

“Don’t tell us they’re from Mary, Arthur.” Tilly's voice goes low with disappointment, no longer seeming excited.

He grimaces at the thought. “No! No, they’re not from Mary. I met a woman earlier today, and she gave them to me, that’s all.”

The two women quickly glance at each other and share an enthusiastic look.

“Arthur Morgan, you’re in love!” Mary Beth nearly squeals.

He scoffs loudly, “I am not in love. I hardly know the woman!”

“Well, she’s surely in love then. What kind of person just gives someone flowers if they ain’t sweet on’em?” Tilly says matter-of-factly.

“Exactly! So when are you gonna see her again?” Mary Beth asks.

“I don’t know,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He should’ve known this conversation would happen. He should’ve sucked up his pride and said he purchased the flowers for himself to have avoided it entirely. “She told me to come back when they start to die, so whenever that is, I guess.”

Mary Beth hums and looks past him at the flowers in their makeshift vase. 

“Hmm… well, they look a little limp if you ask me. Dare I say… dead even? What do ya think, Tilly?” 

Tilly nods her head dismally, but even she can’t hide her smile, “Yeah, look at ‘em. They’re all sad-lookin’. Seems like you’ll need to head over first thing in the morning. Just to be sure.”

He shakes his head and laughs, “Alright, out. Both of ya. I can’t take it no more.”

He takes both women by their shoulders and guides them away from his tent despite their protests.

“We just want you to be happy, Arthur! Is that so bad?” Tilly cries out.

“I know, I know. Thank you, ladies. But I’m happiest when people ain't meddlin’ in my private business. Now go on.”

“This ain’t the end of it, Arthur!” Mary Beth calls out as they both walk away. They start talking animatedly as they return to work and keep throwing glances that he can only shake his head at.

Later that night, Arthur sits alone at one of the tables, eating his stew and staring off into the water. Most everyone else is off doing their own things, evening chores, and such. He's in the middle of bringing the bowl to his lips to get the last bit of broth when Mary Beth sits down beside him.

She keeps her word, not letting him hear the end of her numerous questions. Some of them he entertains, like when she asks what the garden looked like, and if she can see his drawing to get a better idea. He can practically see the story forming behind her eyes.

"What's she look like?" She asks, leaning against her hand on the table. "I'm picturing a sort of Isabelle Standish type in my head."

"Ah, come on now. You can't ask those sorts of things."

"Oh, Arthur! Please! This is the most exciting thing I've heard in so long. Just give me something to work with!" She gives him a pleading look, to which he dramatically rolls his eyes at.

"Alright. Well, she gives them girls on cigarette cards a run for their money, I'll tell you that."

She giggles, and asks him, "So when are you gonna see her again?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know yet."

“You don’t want to keep her waiting too long,” she says, in warning.

“Nah, I think she’ll be plenty busy without me. I’ll give it a few days.”

“A few days? But what if tomorrow another man comes by and sweeps her off her feet? What if she gives him flowers and forgets all about you because you took too long?” Her voice gets higher as she spitfires these potential events. 

“Mary Beth. If I visit her tomorrow, I’ll look like an idiot.” His face scrunches up, cringing at the thought. "And if that's really what happens then I can't do nothin' about that."

“Well, if I were her, I’d find it romantic,” she says and pats his hand on the table.

“Yeah, well, you find a lotta odd things romantic,” he chuckles, thinking back on the strange things in her novellas that have made her kick her feet.

For a second, it looks like she can’t tell if she should be offended. But then she joins him in laughter, giggling at herself.

“You might be right about that!”

Following his talk with Mary Beth, he retreats to his tent and slumps in his cot. He closes his eyes and turns to face the side of the wagon, but sleep doesn't come easy. The cot creaks beneath him as he shifts, trying to get comfortable. He groans and rolls over, opening his eyes to stare into the darkness. Against the dark canvas of his tent, he can make out the silhouette of the cliff maids standing tall in their bottle. He traces the outline of their leaves and thinks back to the woman and her garden, the tranquility of her home, and the opposing restlessness of his heart whenever she looked at him. Before he’s ushered into unconsciousness, a strange thought enters his head that he can only explain away as the delirium of drowsiness. It was that in the distant future, he could see himself settling down, working odd jobs, or finding work on a ranch, sure. But maybe, the preposterous idea of taking care of flowers wasn't so bad neither.

[cowgirlcasanova]

what if i just dropped an arthur morgan fic tomorrow to introduce my oc what if i did it like tomorrow?? what if i did huh??? what if it was fluffy and kinda angsty?? WHAT IF???

[mentally-a-slut]

Do you do scenarios or headcanons? If so, how many characters can we request for scenarios or headcanons? Would you do the same prompt with different characters? Can we request for gender neutral reader? Are there any topics you won't do like rape, suicide, etc? Do you do poly ships x reader? Would you mind if we request for Alternate Universes or Aus like AU where the character lives happily? Would you mind if the request is suggestive, implied sex, or mentioned sex but no explicit sex? Would you do NSFW requests? For Baldur's Gate 3 requests, would you mind if we don't specify the race/class to leave it ambiguous or if we ask specify the race/class like human/healer? What kinks would you accept for requests? Thank you in advance!

The specific format I will write in is not really decided, I usually just start writing and see where it takes me. I would love to do multiple characters for the same prompt, but the characters I will right for as of right now are very limited simply because I have not yet familiarized myself with their character. Currently I will write for Gale (BG3), Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith (RDR2), and Harvey (Stardew Valley.)

If you request gender neutral reader I can try my best, but if you want a smutty story with gn reader it would get difficult. I am open to doing AFAB gn reader for smut, so the reader would have fem body parts but would be referred to with they/them pronouns. If you wanted a fluffy piece that doesn't require the descriptions of certain body parts, the reader will not be specified as AFAB and could be imagined with male features. If you would like a work around to this, I will take requests that specify the 'reader' or OC you describe, which I would be open to doing gn and possibly male readers.

The things that are strict no's for me are not really clear, but I can list a few that I know I will never do. I will never write for rape/noncon, suicide, self harm, or anything along those lines. As I go on, I will make it clear what I will/won't write as requests come in.

The only poly ship I am open to doing right now is Arthur x Charles x reader. I would love to do other pairings in the future, but I only have the experience of this ship right now. However, I am up to trying pretty much anything! If you have an idea for a poly ship that you would like me to try and write, I can certainly attempt.

I love AUs, and I am a huge fix it fic writer. I hate sad endings and I would absolutely love to write happy AUs. Other AUs are also welcome, including (but not limited to) soulmate AUs. If you want to see me write something, just send an ask! Never hesitate to ask me questions and I will e happy to communicate with you.

I write smut, and I love doing it! Don't be afraid of sending smutty asks or requests. There are some kinks I'm not open to or just don't understand, but the usual things you would see in smuts are things I am down to write. For more intense or specific kinks, it would depend, but you'll just have to ask and we can figure something out!

For BG3 requests, if you want an ambiguous reader, that's totally fine, but depending on the request I might need more details. I love when people send specific details in a request, especially character/reader descriptions. Overall, I love doing specific requests, but will do vague ones as well. Just be aware that I may have to take some liberties and specify some things to make it work.

For kinks, I don't plan on doing anything with scat or stuff like that, and I won't do noncon. Dubcon is iffy, I'm honestly not sure and it would depend on the context. Kinks that I will for sure write are size kinks and choking. I am not comfy writing DDLG or daddy kink stuff, just a little iffy for me.

To be honest, all of this is subject to change the more y'all request, so please don't hesitate! No harm in asking questions, and I would be happy to answer them!

Thanks so much for the questions, Anon, and I hope I clarified some stuff for you!

[messrmoonyy]

what are you currently working on messr? 🤗

Out of the disgusting amount of wips on my note app the ones I have actively worked on in the last week are:

• Tess x neighbour!reader ( angst, fluff and smut ) - the longer OS I’ve been talking about for months. Follows Tess’ first year in Jackson and coming to terms with the change. Lots of emotions and thoughts.

• tess x reader - a mash off two requests asking for Tess smoking and a semi part two to that Drabble I did with her declining to dance with reader. Cause you all wouldn’t stop asking for a part 2 lmao

• Arthur Morgan x reader ( smut ) - in which some of the girls attend the mayors party too. Jealous Arthur, semi public smex

• Arthur Morgan x reader ( fluff ) - take what I’m sure is a cliche in the rdr fic community of the bath trope. But make it fluffy! Request specifically asked for taking care of Arthur after not seeing him for a while. Cutesy.

[bimrsadler]

I love your writing so incredibly much!!! A softer sin is one of my favorite Arthur fics everrrr, so me asking for this is no surprise lol. I was thinking of fluffy smut with a female reader after Arthur has that conversation with some of the gang (presumably the men only cause he says “boys”, so idk if that would change the direction you wanna go in!) around the campfire about how hard he’s trying to keep things together and make sure everyone’s safe. No preference for angst or anything else, just wherever it takes you! Thank you in advance!!!

Unburdened

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings/tags: nsft, fluff, unprotected piv, high honor Arthur, thigh riding, handjob, praise kink (from both sides, they just wanna make each other feel good) established relationship/first time together, dirty talk, language, smoking

Notes: thank you so much! Haven’t written for Arthur in a hot minute and this was a nice motivator. ❤️ I do love writing him getting some happiness in his life too lol. Hope I got the correct camp conversation and a decent enough amount of fluff

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I don’t wanna die. But if I have to, I will.”

You felt your heart catch in your chest upon hearing Arthur’s admission to the gang. Resting nearby you watched as he sat by the campfire moments earlier, apologizing for being short with everyone as of late, divulging that he just wanted to find a way forward.

You admired his sharp jawline, highlighted by the orange glow of the firelight dancing along it as he confessed he was struggling. It was an uncharacteristic showing of emotion for Arthur, something that made him all the more endearing to you.

What you had was new. It started with stolen glances, tipsy flirtations and excuses to be around each other. Pining gazes that didn’t go unnoticed by the likes of a snickering Mary-Beth or an eye-rolling John.

It culminated with a spontaneous kiss to Arthur’s cheek after he brought you a type of jewelry you’d asked for should he find it on his outings. As you watched him blush and nod with a smirk, it was then you’d decided you’d wasted enough time waiting for the right moment, or him - to make a move.

“Ya know, maybe you could take me out proper sometime?”

Arthur had raked his thumb along the stubble your lips had graced. “Maybe I shall.”

He was rarely in camp for longer than a day at a time though and nothing had progressed past that since. You suspected that he may have also been keeping you at arms length. Perhaps because he didn’t feel worthy, or was scared of hurting or letting you in. More than likely the stress of trying to keep everything together played a factor, and maybe all of those things at once.

When Arthur finished his talk at the campfire, he strolled to the outskirts of camp where he struck a cigarette on his boot, leaning against a tree.

After giving him a moment, you approached and inquired warmly, “want some company big guy?”

“Sure, I’d like that,” Arthur smirked slightly.

You leaned beside him, “heard what you said back there. Doing okay?”

He let out a long sigh before replying, “yeah, just y’know…lot on my mind.”

“I bet,” you gently took his hand in yours. “You don’t have to take on the weight of the whole gang by yourself though Arthur.”

He squeezed your palm slightly in response but remained silent as he gazed out at the lake.

Taking a drag off his cigarette, he finally glanced at you from under the brim of his hat, “maybe yer right.”

“Everyone just seems…lost, and I don’t know what to do about it. Things feel different since Blackwater, Dutch seems different.”

“Things are different, but…maybe there’s nothing we can do about it. Maybe we just do what we can, help who we can and enjoy what we got in the meantime.”

“I got an obligation to this gang…”

“You can take care of the gang and yourself Arthur. Let the others take some of the load once in a while.”

Arthur turned to face you, “owe you an apology too, I haven’t meant to be distant. Guess I just,” he trailed off while rubbing the back of his neck. “Ain’t really sure how to do this anymore.”

His knuckles grazed your cheek gently, “but I still wanna try…”

Grabbing the lapels of Arthurs shirt, you pulled him down for your first proper kiss. It was warm and slow, grinng against each other when it became clumsy. There was something special about the nerves in exploring each other for the first time.

It was Arthur who deepened the kiss and let his hands move further, using your quiet moans as permission. His confidence bloomed as his tongue massaged yours, fingertips grasping into your figure more eagerly than before.

Backing you up against the tree, he parted your legs with his own sturdy thigh, urging you by the hips to use him for your pleasure.

Arthur gathered your dress above your waist, allowing your heat to grind against his thick muscle more closely. Whenever your lips briefly parted, pants and whimpers left your mouths to be swallowed by the other.

Wrapping your fists around his suspenders you pulled him as close as possible, rolling your hips against him as the tickle in your belly grew into a fire.

“That’s it girl, use me how ya want to.” Arthur’s hands wandered behind, squeezing your ass with a low growl.

“Oh Arthur, I’m almost there…”

Arthur gasped a quiet yes as he leaned back to watch you come. Through squinted eyes you saw his awestruck face in the moonlight, your blissful waves clenching around nothing.

“Oh sweet girl” Arthur murmured as he took you in for another passionate kiss, your body falling limp in his arms.

Glancing behind you he ran his hands along the tree and inquired with genuine concern, “shit, I’m sorry darlin’, yer back okay?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, “yes Arthur, barely even noticed.”

“Now,” you slipped your hands underneath his suspenders, directing them to fall off his shoulders before unbuttoning his shirt, “it’s your turn.”

Arthur watched as you reached his belt, hand brushing against his hard length. Swallowing hard he delicately stopped you from going any further. “You sure you want this? Want me?”

Pausing the undressing, you instead wrapped your arms around his neck in a reassuring embrace. “Never been more sure of anything baby,” you whispered before parting with a kiss to his burning cheek.

From loving to lustful, your hand palmed the hardness on the other side of his jeans. “Lemme take care of you handsome.”

Arthur’s brawny body shuddered against you, “yes ma’am.”

Shirt open and jeans unbuttoned, Arthur leaned his head back as you pulled his cock out and stroked languidly.

“Good boy. I wanna make you forget about all your problems…,” you cooed - kissing his hair covered chest.

Arthur released a beautiful noise, caught between a moan and a laugh as it came out, “already done that and then some.”

“Good,” your hand moved along the velvet skin of his shaft, reaching the base where you gently cupped his balls.

“Arthur, baby look at me.”

And what a sight he was. Already falling apart, the desperate cowboy looked down at you with his lust-blown emerald eyes, hat skewed slightly backwards.

“You wanna be inside me?”

“Yes,” he huffed, chest heaving.

“Then take me, I’ve been waiting so long.”

Arthur backed away and removed his duster coat,“well it ain’t polite to keep a lady waitin’ I ’spose.” You watched as he laid his jacket out in the grass before extending a hand.

You indulged him as he pulled you closer, “what a gentleman,” you grinned.

Arthur set you down on the inside of his warm coat as his scruff collided with your neck. “Oh sweetheart ya got me all wrong,” you let out a giggle while he playfully nipped at your sensitive skin.

“I’m a nasty…” Arthur’s hand freed your breasts as he pulled at the stiff peaks, moving his lips to your ear, “nasty man.” The rugged, husky voice alone was enough to make your core ache as your giggles turned to whimpers.

Leather and woodsmoke pleasantly hit your nose as your buried your face in the coat beneath you. Arthur above you smelled of the same, with tobacco and mint and musk, and all the things that made him familiar - made him home. You were surrounded.

Arthur took your nipples into his mouth, giving adequate attention to each. He flicked and twirled his tongue gently between soft sucking. “You like that darlin’?” He looked up at you with a smug smile, a string of spit connecting your bodies.

You let out a needy mewl in response, Arthur peeling your soaked undergarments off as you did.

Carefully he ran his fingers along your bare heat, swearing to himself. “This all for me?” Before you had a chance to reply, he sunk two strong digits into your pussy.

He smiled down at you while massaging your walls, drinking in the sight of your ecstasy. Arthur kissed you softly as he removed his fingers and coated his length with your arousal.

Leaning over you he lined up at your entrance, dragging the leaking head along the slick folds. “Ready sweetheart?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling him forward by the hips as he slowly sheathed himself inside of you. He stayed like that for a moment, savoring the feeling he so rarely got to enjoy, let alone with someone he cared so deeply for.

He made his first movements, slow and steady. Writhing up against him you moved your hips in tandem, arms wrapped around Arthur’s broad shoulders, his crumpling the fabric of the coat in his fist.

Arthur’s thrusts became longer and deeper, hitting a part of you you weren’t sure had ever been reached.

“Fuck, don’t stop Arthur,” you cried louder than expected.

“Shh girl,” Arthur ran his rough thumb along your trembling lower lip. “Much as I wanna hear them pretty sounds, I don’t think we want the camp hearin’ em too.”

You exhaled and turned your face away from him, feeling your face flush with heat at his touch. “I know Arthur, it’s hard,” you stated while biting your lip.

“I know it is.” Arthur’s thumb parted your lips to meet your darting tongue, “but yer a good girl…ain’tcha?”

You moaned around him as his bucking picked up pace, rubbing against your clit with each movement. “My good girl.”

Threading your fingers through Arthur’s soft hair and the other grasping his back, you dug into him for support as your second climax began rippling through you. “That’s it sweetheart, I gotchu.”

Whines and quiet expletives landed in the crook of Arthur’s neck, trying so desperately to suppress them as your pussy pulsed around his cock.

Unprepared for the tight, gripping sensation - Arthur let out an unrestrained (and involuntary) groan, stilling himself suddenly to prevent an early release.

Stifling a laugh you ran your fingernails down his back while teasing, “what happened to staying quiet?”

Arthur huffed with a grin, “whatchu expect when ya pull a move like that?”

“Hate to break it to ya but you’re the one who caused it.” You laughed quietly together, rolling slightly in each others arms. It was a relief to be this comfortable, nerves of a first time still fluttering but pushed down by how natural everything felt.

You had never laughed with someone during intimacy before, and Arthur seemed so at ease. Finally.

You felt his chest rumble against yours as he hummed, lips tenderly kissing along your neck. “That so?”

“The way you were moving felt so good, I couldn’t control it…”

Arthur began his motions again, “like this?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Feels…goddamn…” Arthur bit his lip and shivered. “Feels so good fer me too.”

Arthur rested his forehead on yours, bobbing up and down together as he pumped in and out of you. His muscles tensed against you, breaths uneven and motions choppy. “Darlin’ —”

As Arthur pulled himself out you replaced his hand with yours, hard and long strokes above your stomach as he shot hot ropes onto your already burning skin. The soft whines and pants of the hardened, brooding outlaw above you was music to your ears.

Arthur retrieved the bandana from his pocket to gingerly clean his spend off of you, bashful and proud all the same.

Buttoning up and putting back on any clothing that had lost its way, you found your place on Arthur’s chest as he absentmindedly scratched your back.

“Well gotta say, life ain’t seem too bad now.”

You hummed happily into his shirt, “well I feel accomplished then.”

Arthur inhaled to say something but paused to consider his words, “I’m gonna think about everything you said, doll. Make some changes.”

“Most importantly though,” he pulled you closer to him and pressed his lips to the top of your head, “think I owe you a date, don’t I?”

[autisticwriterblog]

I was tagged by @pintsizeninja. Thanks for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2345. That's what happens when you've been posting since 2016 and don't study or have a job for health reasons so you've got nothing better to do than write fic. 😂

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

2,682,156 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently it's Alan Wake and Control, with occasional dips into Dishonored and sports anime like Haikyuu.

4. Top five fics by kudos

All of these are old (like over 6 years old) and I'm not that proud of most of them (especially the HP one because fuck it). But they're popular for some reason, so here they are!

Healer - My Hero Academia

The Boggart - Harry Potter

NSFW OTP Challenge: Erasermic - My Hero Academia

"Keep breathing." - My Hero Academia

The Date - My Hero Academia

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try my best to, because I really appreciate every comment I get.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Let's stick with Remedyverse fics for this question. In that case... I'll pick:

Five Times Ilmo Hugged his Brother (and the Time he Didn’t) - because for spoiler reasons, we all know why Ilmo doesn't hug Jaakko at the end. It's otherwise a fluffy or hurt/comfort fic until the end and then bam! Angst!

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, sticking with just my Remedy stuff... let's go with:

The First Step is Always the Hardest - from my Ahti/Norman series.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have done in the past, to the point I've needed to block them on ao3. Just the other day, I got a transphobic hate comment on an old fic. Luckily, it hasn't happened with my current fandoms.

9. Do you write smut?

Quite often, yeah.

10. Craziest crossover?

It's more an AU than a proper crossover, but recently I wrote an Alan Wake fic set in a Zero Escape AU.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

A few times, yeah. It was super flattering to be approached with the offer to translate my fics!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Nope, and I'm not sure I'd want to.

14. All time favourite ship?

All time? Hmm... let's go with my faves for my current fandoms, plus a few I've written a lot for in the past/think about a lot:

Ahti/Norman MacDonald - Alan Wake (my incredibly niche rarepair that I love a lot)

Jesse Faden/Emily Pope - Control

Amity Blight/Luz Noceda - The Owl House

Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan - Red Dead Redemption (I like enemies-to-lovers and redeeming utterly hateful characters lol)

Kozume Kenma/Hinata Shouyou - Haikyuu

15. What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've got a half-written oneshot for Critical Role somewhere in my drafts that I never finished. It's about a character getting hit with the Feeblemind spell and the others looking after him.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I like to think I'm good at dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I really struggle with fight scenes.

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

If the character drops dialogue in a different language in canon, it only makes sense to do it in fic too. Case in point: the amount of Finnish idioms and swear words I've learned because of Ahti.

19. First fandom you wrote in?

This would've been way back in 2012 when I was 13. On fanfiction.net, I posted (really cringy) fics about The A-Team.

Although, techinically, the first time I wrote a fic was when I was 6. I didn't know other people did it and I certainly didn't share it. But I've got an old story (and illustrations) in a notebook from like 2005 when I wrote about Charlie and Lola, a British kid's show.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

Just sticking with Remdyverse again... currently I'd choose:

Episode - part of my autistic Odin series. It's angsty, but also has lots of protectiveness from Tor and Bob being a good friend. i just really like writing about the Old Gods at the moment and I'm especially proud of this one.

Tagging: @quailfence, @koskela-knights, @taniushka12, @hamyheikki and anyone else who wants to do this!

[fluffyfebruary]

Fluffy February 2023: Guidelines

Hello everyone!  It’s back again!  We are reverting to the 28 prompts for the 28 days of February this year, so the guidelines (which are highly flexible) get their own post this year.

Guidelines:

Feel free to add your own spin on any of the prompts. They are the seed, let it grow into whatever beautiful fluffy work you wish.

Do the prompts you want. Forget the rest. Participants can submit to all or just one of the prompts.

Multiple submissions for the same day’s prompt are gladly accepted and vigorously applauded.

All fandoms are welcome.

Platonic fic is accepted and encouraged. Fluff is for everyone.

Keep it fluffy. Keep it reasonably clean. Fluff can be a broad category. But this challenge is not for angst, horror, hurt without comfort, etc. Also minors are participating so submissions with smut and gore will not be reblogged.  This is not a judgment. Just a guideline for this challenge. Write whatever your heart desires outside of the challenge.

Art and podfic are also accepted for submissions.

OCs are always welcome and encouraged.

Tag your submissions with @fluffyfebruary so the admins can find and reblog posts onto this blog.

Feel free to cross post fic to AO3. An AO3 collection will be created for those that would like to submit to that as well.

If you have questions regarding any of these guidelines please feel free to submit DMs or asks for clarification. There are no dumb questions.

Have fun!

Below is a tag list -- and there is absolutely no pressure to participate.  If you don’t think you can create anything for Fluffy February, that’s ok!   Please reblog/share/post about this challenge to your various fandoms -- we love participants but also people who get joy out of the works created in this challenge.  We also kindly ask that you like and reblog entries, and if you’re feeling very brave, comment!  There is no algorithm here, so the only way people see fluffy things is if you spread it around.

@falloutglow @randomwordsandstormydays @minuteminx @anonymouscosmos @gold-and-rubies @deacons-wig @commander-krios @gingerbreton @chokit-pyrus  @its-sixxers @bathfinder @swtorhub  @electricshoebox @adventuresofmeghatron @arthur-morgan-is-trans @emiratexaaron @bluegrasskitty @starlightcleric @gaslightgallows @mr-jaybird @vagabond-pinky @flufftober

[wildfloweroutlaw]

Wildflower’s Master List

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

Arthur Morgan

Self Care -

reader shows arthur the luxury of self care. all fluff!

The Robbery -

reader and arthur do a job together, where both their harbored feelings start to seep out. all fluff!

The Cure -

arthur cares for and provides comfort to a sick reader. all fluff!

Protective and Proud -

arthur bares his protective side. fluffy and suggestive!

Compliant and Proud -

part 2 for protective and proud. smut!

Reflections-

arthur returns home from a long trip and brings a new idea with him. smut!

Long Kept Secrets-

arthur struggles to keep his feelings a secret in an effort to preserve your friendship. fluffy!

Songs that make me think of Arthur -

not a fic! just a list of songs that remind me of arthur :)

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

[saltsprite]

ohoho you posted an ask meme

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet. It can be hypothetical or something you really plan on releasing...

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it? 🌪️

Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

I should have fucking known LOL <3

🌀Post the fic summary for a fic you haven't written/published yet.

[oleander fools, Red Dead Redemption 2] Charles Smith (having loved and lost one Arthur Morgan) encounters Arthur's past love, Mary Linton, at Arthur's grave. Lonely, they fall into bed in a hotel in the nearest town. The next morning she asks for his hand in a marriage of convenience that turns sweeter.

I'm actually gonna do another one here, because I think these are both galaxy-brain ideas

[tentative title: seedlings, Jedi Survivor, gen fic] Boba Fett, for once in his 23-year-old life, has let a Jedi walk free. On top of that, today's bounty (Caij Vanda, a rival bounty hunter that'd been helping said karking Jedi) won't shut the hell up. Needing a drink before heading into the black, Boba takes Caij's advice to visit Pyloon's Saloon... only to find the same Jedi, again. To get away from him Boba heads to the rooftop gardens-- and there, finds a child who reminds him eerily of himself.

❄️Share a snippet from a WIP of your choosing.

[untitled WIP, RDR2 Charthur] God, Arthur's stupid.

(yes i do think im funny, yes i will post another snippet because i like to post snippets)

[untitled WIP, Jedi Survivor, Cal/Bode] “Bode?”  Looking up, Bode finds Cal sitting on the cliff’s ledge above him, feet dangling over the edge. BD-1 chirrups something at him from Bode’s shoulder; Cal flashes a smile that doesn’t smell right to Bode. “Greez said I’d find you brooding out here.”  “Oh. Is that how he phrased it.” And— well, he had, but in much the same way as Cal had just smiled at him: The same way a damaged shield generator will cough and sputter before doing its damn job. Bode plants his hands on his hips. “What are you up to, then?”  Cal sniffs, before a crooked, sheepish grin appears. “Brooding.”

🌤️Share your favorite piece of dialogue from your WIP.

[oleander fools, RDR2] “What’re you lookin’ at?” Charles asks.  Arthur slaps on his dumbest grin, the besotted one he hides until they can be alone. “You, my flower.”  Laughing around a groan, Charles decides to play this one out. If Arthur’s going to open his big dumb mouth to say big dumb things, Charles can at least get some kind of entertainment out of it. “What kind?”  “Oleander.” Arthur’s answer is immediate, confident. Like he’s thought about it. A lot.  Crinkling his nose, Charles frowns. “Small and pink?”  Again, Arthur smiles— but it’s softer, sweeter. Missing his hat, some of his hair falls into his eyes as he dips to take Charles’s hand. He presses his thumbs into the pads and cushions of Charles’s calloused palm. “I handle you wrong, you’ll kill me real quick.” Arthur drops a warm kiss to palm center, then glances up at Charles looking almost shy and oozing boyish charm. “And that’s kinda the entire appeal.”

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

[meet me halfway, Boba Fett/Cobb Vanth] Put your softness in my hands, Cobb had said before, those words so carefully chosen, his aim as true and unwavering as his desire. Nothing comes to mind, now. Nothing but the wretchedly tender truth that chokes him from the inside, clumping in his throat like he swallowed sand. There’s too much to say. He should say it. He needs to say it. There’s no fucking point in saying it now because he waited too long, it might kill him to say it, but he will try. He can try.  “If this all goes tits-up,” Cobb starts, wetting his lips — but Boba stops him, gently bumping a knuckle under his chin.  “Have you so little faith in me?” Boba scoffs, attempting lightheartedness despite the worry and grief already carved into the canyon bedrock of his face. He can't say it.

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

[faith, freedom (RDR2, Charthur)] As he settles against Arthur’s chest Charles grunts in protest, but Arthur feels him smile. Combs fingers through Charles’s hair, made soft with some oil he’s begun using that smells of vanilla, its gentle perfume warmed and sharpened to a point with tobacco and camp smoke. Arthur breathes deep.

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it's gen.

[faith, freedom (RDR2, Charthur)] “Beautiful.”  Charles snorts, ducking his head. “Now who’s sayin’ shit he don’t mean?”  “Aw, Charles,” Arthur tuts. He lets go in favor of running the flat of his nail up the fractal scar along Charles’s cheek. “Ought to know by now, I don’t suffer liars in my bed.”

🌩️ Share something funny/cracky from your WIP.

[oleander fools] John Marston: ah, the Morgan widows Charles: …one widow J: Aw but you and Arthur were— y’know. So that’d be you and Mary together, I mean. C: no, no, a widow is a woman, widower is the man— J: yeah but it’s a man who died, so you’re his widow too C: DOUBT [x]

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

idk what pairing, but i know there's a good Hades (game) AU in me somewhere, i KNOW IT. I feel like I can make it work best in SW, using planet names for each region (like... Naboo for Elysium, obvs Mustafar for Asphodel). If it's DinCobb, then Cobb is fighting through the underworld ruled by Boba Fett with Djarin in the Thanatos role. If it's Cal/Bode, then it's Cal fighting through, with Bode maybe posing as a helpful NPC... at first. >:3

🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

Red Dead Redemption 2, Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith, Camping, First Time, Recreational Drug Use, And There Was Only One Tent