#arthur morgan x teen reader

[bluecanvasshoe]

platonic!Arthur Morgan & teen!fem!reader

reader being female is only mentioned, like, once at the very start, rest of the story has virtually nothing to do w it

based around the end of the game!!

Arthur notices you’re upset after some sulking around, so he takes you fishing.

warnings: slight rdr2 spoilers, a little smidgen of misogyny, maybe ooc? idk, no beta reader we die like MEN 🔥, little bit of angst, comfort, NO ROMANCE‼️‼️‼️, …….lazy ending, I HAVE WRITERS BLOCK OKAY

word count: 1.5k

——————

For the past couple months, it’s felt as if nothing you have done has ever gone right.

When carrying hay-bales to the horses, your arms grew tired. Micah laughed as you dropped the feed and breathed heavily. A few months back, Hosea reminded you that, as a child, you weren’t expected to do any of the more challenging work. However, the urge to prove yourself triumphed over his lectures.

Then Ms. Grimshaw approached you in camp, reprimanding you for your insistence on doing the more “manly” tasks. As a girl of the camp who was yet to be an adult, you, unfortunately, were not saved from her pressing you about your future in the gang.

Afterwards, while practising your handiwork with a needle, you pierced your index finger. It drew blood, so Strauss gave you a bandage and a disapproving look.

The gang slowly dwindled in numbers, leaving your already fragile state of mind in a bit of a crisis. Small things piled on small things that piled on big things, and you soon found yourself dreading chores, which turned into dreading every day that followed. The feeling of thinking you were actively disappointing every living being ever drowned out any sense of reasoning.

On a clear morning, you woke up groggy. All seemed well until you were punched in the face with the realisation that you had to actually get up.

Instead of wasting the early morning away, wallowing in the sadness of your flimsy canvas tent, you sat at the dying campfire. Your heart felt heavy in your chest, and your mouth subconsciously pulled down into a frown.

Arthur, ever the early bird, awoke not long after you and sat down on the next log over. His worn and muddied boots crunched on the gravelly terrain, interrupting the chirping of birds. The sun hadn’t yet risen, shrouding everything in a dusky glow.

“You uh… sleep well, kid?” said Arthur, holding onto a steaming cup of coffee.

“Yeah,” you replied simply, staring at the fire. Strauss told you not to drink coffee; he said it was “bad for a child’s development.”.

Arthur sighed, turning his head over as he propped his upper body up, an arm supporting himself by pressing on his knee. “You’ve been acting’ strange,” he commented, “we’ve all noticed. Is somethin’ botherin’ you?”

Your voice caught up in your throat, the words that formed in your head fighting to escape and pathetically losing. “No…just tired.”

The man next to you coughed lightly, clearing his throat. “You…uh, you wanna go fishin’? I oughta' bring some food back to Pearson.”

Fishing? Now there’s something you haven't done in a while. Maybe you could get out of the camp.

“Okay,” you fidgeted with the fabric of your sleep bottoms, your eyes darting from Arthur and back to the fire. It seemed Arthur hadn’t expected you to agree, as he hesitated to find a response.

“Alright, then. Be ready in...about half an hour.”

As promised, you were dressed a quarter after six; at least that’s what your pocket watch you pickpocketed forever ago said. Hopping up onto the pony you used on rare outings, you waited for Arthur to saddle up too.

“You got all your stuff?” He asked, storing away his fishing rod and hoisting himself up, grabbing hold of his horse’s reins.

You look at your saddle bag one last time before turning to Arthur, nodding. “Yeah. ‘Been a while since I've gone fishin’, though.”

“Don’t worry about that; I'll give you a refresher.” Arthur shifted his weight before clicking twice, lightly jabbing his spurs into the side of his mount.

Following his movements, — except spur-less, as you don’t do nearly as much riding as the other men in the gang — you began to move, your horse huffing gently.

You caught up to him thanks to his slow trot, swatting away a couple mosquitoes in the process. “Where’re we goin’?” you asked, your voice raised.

“Well, you ain’t too familiar with his area,” he quickly wiped his nose with his free hand, sniffling. “But it ain’t far. There’s a nice little spot on a lake nearby. You oughta' get a couple bites.”

“Uh-huh,” you sighed, looking down at your hands. Arthur was holding onto his horse’s reins with one hand. You had trouble steering your horse with two.

Arthur slowed once he approached a patch of gravelly sand, getting off his horse with you following. He took out his fishing equipment and walked over to the shore.

“Here,” Arthur reached into his brown satchel, pulling out a block of cheese wrapped in brown parchment paper. “Use some a’ this.” Reaching over, you broke off a small chunk and murmured a hushed ‘thank you’ in return.

“‘M guessin’ you remember what bait is and how to use it, right?” he remarked, preparing his rod. “I think I got it,” you muttered, fumbling with the fishing pole but eventually hooking the cheese onto the sharp point.

“Careful there. Don’t wanna poke your finger.” Arthur joked snarkily, waiting for you to get into a similar position to his, his fishing rod held in front of his body. The bandaged finger he was referring to was sliding the small bit of bait onto the hook clumsily. “Shut up,” you grunted, getting a good grip on the pole and holding it out in front of yourself. The water moved lazily, quietly washing up and down on the sand. The calm surface showed the fish that swam underneath. Minnows dashed around quickly, the small groups of fish moving together.

Crickets still chirped in the distance as birds were beginning to sing, too. The air smelled fresh and felt dewy, a light breeze turning trees into calming windchimes.

“You wanna hold it like this,” he said, tapping his index finger against the line. You attempted the same hold that he had, but with the limited information given, you didn’t immediately get the hang of it.

“No, like- like this, with your index on the line. Should be pressin’ against the rod.” Arthur peered over your shoulder as you adjusted your fingers, pressing the thin string against the wood of the rod. Arthur nodded. “Yeah, that’s good. Now pull back the bail.”

Now, you hadn’t a clue what the bail was, but that hardly mattered. Matching Arthur’s movements, you pulled a semi-circle piece of metal back and over the line spool.

“Alright, now be careful here; don’t wanna take out an eye. Draw back your rod over your shoulder, but not too far. The farther you draw, the longer the cast,” he advised, drawing the pole over his shoulder. You mimicked him.

“Now, you throw it over your shoulder and straight forward,” he instructed, watching your movements. The bait landed about 3 metres away from the shoreline, splashing pathetically before bobbing up and down.

“Just like that. Now, you pull back the bail and wait.”

Silence filled the space between you two—a suffocating, invisible force.

Deer galloped across the lake and within the thick brush. One stopped, a buck, and stared at the two fishermen across from it. His ears twitched before he joined the others.

Loons sang, their eerily beautiful calls travelling across the calm waters. Frogs croaked in the distance, and clouds languidly drifted overhead.

“Look, I… I haven’t a clue what you’re feelin’. But just know that you ain’t alone. We’ve all been stressed. I can’t imagine what you must be feelin’.” said Arthur, turning briefly to face you.

The sun peeked over the distant treeline, slowly casting a calming light over everything in the vicinity.

“I feel like I can’t never do anythin’ right.” You croaked, voice catching in your throat and a painful ache creeping up to your jaw.

“Aw, kid… whad’ya mean?" Arthur had never been great at comfort. He could do it, of course, though he certainly had his favourites when it came to his affections.

You stared off into the lake, your reflection looking right back. “Everythin’ I do feels like a failure. There ain’t a single thing I’ve been able to do right recently.”

Arthur sighed, reeling his line back in and casting it again.

“That ain’t true. You’re a kid. You’re learning. You ain’t… supposed to be great at everythin’, and nothin’ you do is supposed to be right; it’s just supposed to teach you somethin’. This’ll go away; trust me.” He chose his words carefully, coughing to the side before continuing. “Now I know this probably ain’t what you wanted to hear. Feelin’ sad feels... nice sometimes. But it’s true. Basically everyone in this gang is an adult, ‘cept for Jack, so don’t go comparin’ yourself to anyone, ya hear? We’re all goin’ through hard times; none of this is your fault, and you ain’t a failure for anythin’.”

The sun steadily rose, framed perfectly by the view in front of you. Your horses huffed occasionally as geese flew above, honking distantly.

He was right; you didn’t want to hear this. You don’t know what you want to hear. Maybe something about how awful you are, or maybe something about how great and amazing you are. You felt conflicted, confused, and even a smidge defensive.

“But I-” “but nothin’, kid. Do with that what you will, but just... think about it. Maybe see things from a different perspective.” He rasped, clearing his throat. “Or don’t; it’s your choice. But just give it some thought.”

Silence settled between you two again, leaving your conflicting feelings to dissipate.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, watching as your bait bobbed on the water’s surface. The chill of the north was soothed by the warmth of the sun, and everything, in that moment, felt okay.

[assassins-and-hidden-blades]

I've always had this scenerio of Arthur Morgan with a teenager I always thought it be cute having Arthur as your dad.

THIS IS WHAT IM TALKING ABOUT ADRYAN

Dad!Arthur with a teenager is without a doubt The Best ThingTM.

I can imagine them (found or blood family) to have an adventurous spirit, a refreshing curiosity, and a sharp tongue. All these traits naturally lead Arthur to sit down in his cot at the end of the day groaning like a man five times his age.

I also love thinking about wardrobe cause I feel like so much can be expressed in the way characters wear their clothes. Like what they have in their pockets or on their belt, how they layer themselves up for the outdoors, what jewellery do they wear and where did they get their hat from? And if it’s found family, then I can imagine that over time all of these different aspects get influenced by Arthur’s impact on their life — maybe a ring reminds them of their first robbery with Arthur, or they keep a journal page of Arthur’s folded up in their vest or jacket because it had drawings of the camp with some purple prose.

And if they’re in trouble? Well it’s save first, reprimand later. Regardless of whether they can handle themselves or not, in times of crisis they will always listen to Arthur, if not to give him peace of mind.

Yeah, that hit the spot.

[cherryrainn]

✶ ˚ *   ✬ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓! ✬   * ˚  ✶

cherry here, and i'm excited to present something special to you: a masterlist! since i've been writing up quite a storm... i thought it would be fantastic to gather all of it in one convenient place. that's right, a masterlist just for you!

now you can easily find and access all the amazing stuff i've been asked to write.

thanks for your continued support. let's dive in and enjoy this exciting journey together!

commission me or consider supporting on ko-fi! ⋆

the lorax;

click here!

click here!

hazbin hotel;

click here!

helluva boss;

click here!

teenage mutant ninja turtles;

yandere! shredder x sibling reader who likes exploring (plat) (2014)

yandere! shredder x sibling reader whos getting used to him (plat) (2014)

yandere! shredder x sibling reader who had a nightmare (plat) (2014)

tmnt x robot that donnie made! reader (plat) (2012)

yandere! shredder x brother reader (plat) (2014)

april x karai; karais injury

shredder confessing to reader who's about to jump (2014)

tmnt x mutant! turtle! reader that was raised by the shredder (2014) (plat)

donatello helping reader who's having a panic attack (2014)

tmnt x sibling! reader who is afraid of spiders (2014) (plat)

tmnt x sibling! reader who has nightmares about shredder (2014) (plat)

scooby doo;

shaggy and scoob x child reader thats afraid of the dark (mystery inc) (plat)

sonic the hedgehog;

headcanons of shadow the hedgehog with a stressed best friend/lover

headcanons of sonic, shadow and silver being your best friend

super hardcore sonadow angst (commission)

dragon ball; characters i write

pan x sibling! reader (plat)

cooler, cell, and krillin with a s/o that sacrificed themselves

broly, frieza, & raditz injuring their s/o while having a nightmare headcanons

overwatch;

hanzo taking care of reader

cuddle headcanons with cassidy, hanzo and junkrat

ana x reinhardt in the snow

you're the 3rd shimada sibling and you all reunite (plat)

ducktales (2017);

pocky game; scrooge x male reader

pool date with fenton (male reader)

louie comforting reader who's going through a really hard time

red dead redemption 1 & 2;

arthur morgan x self harming reader

general relationship headcanons for hosea and dutch with an s/o

stranger things;

billy hargrove x amab! reader fluff

eddie munson x reader angst to fluff

billy hargrove x reader fluff

across/into the spiderverse;

cuddle headcanons with miguel

cuddle headcanons with hobie

lackadaisy;

ivy x female! pianist reader (platonic)

mordecai has a panic attack in front of serafine and nico

disney; characters i write

cinderella, aurora, pocahontas, and moana if their noses grew like pinocchio

fnaf;

glamrock freddy x stressed out reader (plat)

kiss;

i’m in need of love; ace frehley x reader (fic)

ace frehley x pauls sister! reader

eric carr x shy! fem! reader

ace frehley (space ace) x fem! reader that he accidentally abducted

speedin' back to my baby ; ace frehley x reader

slashers;

chucky x depressed! teen! reader (plat)

headcanons of fem! teen! reader having a nightmare about chucky (plat)

[cowboyfromh3ll]

ok this might be a lot but it’s a purely self indulgent vision i have: a one shot about reader who’s a young shop owner in town and is sweet on a certain arthur morgan who’s been frequenting her shop more and more lately. she is aware that he’s an outlaw and doesn’t care but unfortunately an odriscoll does notice arthur in her shop talking to her multiple times so one day he comes in demanding to know what business she has with him and where his camp is. she pretends not to know what he’s talking about but it just makes him lock the front door so he can force the answers out of her. noncon but not all the way, just a lot of touching and taunting her about how she must wish it was morgan touching her like that. but of course arthur realizes something is wrong and breaks the front door down and saves her just before the man takes her, go crazy with the beat down since i know you like gore lol. and some comfort in the end please, happy ending and him promising not to let anyone lay a hand on her again 🫶🏻 sorry this is very very specific i’m excited to see what you come up with!

Love/Hate

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader)

Sorry if I went too far with the gore

Warnings: Graphic depictions of gore, violence, non consensual touching

You were often reminded of all the way he was likely dangerous—you tried to imagine that the scars littered across his hands and scarcely visible on his arms from under his rolled up sleeves were some sort of malicious incantation carved into his skin; if uttered aloud, some sort of evil being would conjure up before you. And you would ignore the morbid implications of the specks of blood dotted on his skin; a few missed spots while he was cleaning himself off you guessed. You supposed that the gun belt that sat loosely on his lips would’ve been enough to cement fear inside you had it been anyone else, but there was something so undeniably charming about this stranger. 

After inheriting your late father’s general store, you were left with a loneliness so palpable you saw it in every corner and crevice of your life. The solitary emptiness of your home seemed terribly occupied by feelings of grief and emptiness. Even something meant to signify something so destitute took up space. 

You truly believed that your attraction to Arthur wasn’t rooted in your loneliness, though it certainly eased those feelings, but rather, a longing for something new. You had noticed he had been frequenting your shop more and more lately despite claiming he was constantly moving around, so that had to count for something. You sneaked a few free items into whatever he came to buy, insisting he take it with him and to consider it a gift. Transactions would allow for brief conversations about what Arthur had been up to as of late, and slowly over time he’d be much more transparent about what he did. Normally, Arthur would’ve expected some sort of stern warning from shop owners telling him to steer trouble clear of their shops, but he never got that from you. In fact, his returns were subtly encouraged by your welcoming smiles that spoke of a familiarity so tender he couldn’t help but feel at peace in your presence.

Arthur would find himself handing you trinkets from his journeys in return for free items, subtly flirting by telling you they reminded him of you. There was a certain magnetism about your shop, because no matter how far he was from Annesburg, he always returned there just to visit it. He became a regular visitor, and you were not at all put off by his past and the life he was living. 

The passing of your father also forced you to grow up much faster in a way, but the idea of boys not ever crossing your mind. There was hardly any time to spend dallying around them when you had to worry about taking care of yourself. So the thing you and Arthur had made you feel like a teen girl again, giggling and tripping over yourself to get one last glance at him as he left your shop, and trying your best not to fiddle in place the closer he got to you. You never imagined a man would have you running home and screaming into your pillow while kicking your feet. 

Living in a mining town meant the regular passage of patrons going through your shop. The grimy faces of miners blurred into one, and overtime it seemed as though the interior of your shop adopted a smog from all the filthy visitors that would visit you. There was the occasional kind stranger, and in a town like this, even a small polite smile was a greater show of kindness than you could ever ask for. You guessed that was another reason Arthur stood out so much to you. 

You hadn’t been the only one to notice Arthur’s frequent visits, though. The regular passing of patrons meant anyone could easily pass themselves off as a local. And in a town so corrupt, there was the lingering threat of violence that would pounce on you when you least expected it. Even innocent shop owners weren’t safe. 

It was a situation you couldn’t have foreseen. One Saturday evening where you had closed particularly late, you were left with only a few more customers until you had to shoo them out. One particularly persistent patron insisted he stay a little longer. You stood behind the counter exasperated, tapping your foot and looking at the clock hung on your wall. You were ten minutes past closing, and your patience had been stretched far too long now. 

“I’m sorry sir, you’re going to have to leave. We’re past closing.” You said firmly, you cleared your throat and pursed your lips, feeling an unexplainable sense of dread. The man did not respond, he simply kept pacing past the walls, looking through the shelves as if he were waiting for an item to show itself and conjure up before him. But you knew he wasn’t actually looking for anything; he would’ve found what he was looking for by now if he were truly shopping, or at the very least, he would’ve asked you. 

“Sir.” You said a little louder. 

“Do you know Arthur Morgan?” He asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks and turning to face you. You tried to pretend the sudden stillness didn’t disturb you, trying your best to not appear intimidated as you shuffled behind your counter. If anything, you thought, you’d be able to reach for the gun behind the counter as quickly as you could. The question itself was strange. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, and that he probably dealt with some less than formidable people, but why would he come to you about it.

“Excuse me…?” Your mouth became uncomfortably dry, the words squeaking out. 

“Don’t act dense, Miss. You know who the hell I’m talking about.” He raised his voice, making you flinch. He seemed to get a sense of enjoyment out of seeing you so scared, taking a sudden step forward and laughing at the way you moved back as well. 

“I see you two, flirting and giggling all the time. You know him very well, I’m sure of that.” 

You said nothing in return, only staring back intensely. 

“Now I know he tells you stuff about his life,” he locked your front door. “So tell me where his camp is.” 

Your stomach squeezed and dropped, flipping painfully as fear hit you like a punch to the gut. A cold sense of panic rattled through your ribs and your body became painfully rigid, all sense of direction and resolve leaving you. In your petrified state, you could not bring yourself to reach for the gun. You had never been in such close proximity to the possibility of violence. You had been cat called occasionally, some people would yell outside your shop, too drunk out of their minds to know what they were even saying, and Annesburg wasn’t the safest, but you never thought that it would actually happen to you. You felt the pressure of tears build in your sinuses as he rapidly approached your counter, his patience far past spent. 

“TELL ME WHERE THE FUCK HE STAYS.” He slammed his hands on the counter, leaning over it. Your bottom lip quivered as he yelled at you, your sense of sight and hearing becoming fuzzy as your body gave into panic. 

“I-I don’t know!” You sobbed, unable to move even when he rounded the counter. You stiffened your body as one would before receiving a large impact, but it did not come. Instead, he grabbed your shoulders and pulled your body against his. At this point, your fight instincts had kicked in. 

“Liar.”

“Wait, stop! What are you doing?!” You put your elbows up between your chests, attempting to push him off in that manner. He caged you in by wrapping his arms around your waist, and as much as you pushed away his face, he remained persistent in keeping close to you. Your body began to thrash wildly, kicking and throwing your limbs every which way to force him off. 

“I don’t want this!” Your porcelain voice quivered with cracks. You craned your neck away as far as you could as he began stroking your cheek with a bony finger. 

“You’re lying.” He said flatly. “I’m sure you wish it was Arthur doing this to you, right?” He grabbed your ass harshly, so hard that the dig of his rough fingertips squeezing the flesh became unbearable. 

“I’ll scream.” You threatened. 

“I know. Which is why I’ll fill your mouth before then.”

Those words were the perfect kick in the rear to set you into a full blown fight. If you weren’t thrashing before, you definitely were now. Several more waves of terror swept over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into its mindless depths. He meant it. He meant to violate every part of your being for his own sick enjoyment. It wasn’t about getting answers anymore, it was about satiating some sadistic part of him. You were trapped, and there was no getting out. The only time you remembered feeling remotely this afraid was when your father passed and you realized you would be on your own. 

You avoided his leering gaze as you felt his vulgar hands continue to paw at your chest and ass, attempting to snake his hand between your legs as you squeezed them together as hard as you could. He continued to tug at your clothing, successfully untucking your shirt and struggling to undo your buttons. Your thrashing, thankfully, made it too difficult for him to undo them. 

The two of you raised your heads as Arthur came crashing through the front door, shards of glass flying from the window, shattered from the sheer impact of Arthur’s full body weight pummeling into the door. What he saw before him was terrifying; your clothes half undone as a stranger groped you mindlessly, struggling and thrashing against his hold while trying to keep your clothes on. Arthur saw all this in the split second it took for him to rush towards your assailant, rounding the counter before the two of you could react, and ripping the man away from you. With a guttural yell, he threw the man over, punching him square in the jugular. The clip to his jaw caused his eyes to flicker up to whites; you saw blood on his lips, his teeth; and you wondered just how powerful Arthur’s singular punch must’ve been. 

You weren’t sure if Arthur intended the full damage done to the stranger’s skull—partially the angle of the counter, and partially the momentum of Arthur’s punch. The back left corner of the stranger’s head slammed into the sharp corner of the counter and produced a gash that began bleeding heavily in mere seconds. The life threatening wound didn’t stop Arthur from beating the man further, instead spurring him on to increase the damage; and in the next moment, Arthur’s hands and clothes were covered in so much slick blood he appeared to have just gutted a wild animal. 

The stranger cowered on the floor, curled into a fetal position with both hands cradling his skull as he tried to protect himself. You stood there in bewilderment as Arthur deliberately targeted the tender wound on his head, willed by some force other than terror to stand there and watch. 

“You son of a bitch.” Arthur spoke through grit teeth, beating the swelling flesh of the stranger’s face. Every few seconds, quick spurts of gore consistently and theatrically sprayed out of the man’s head; it had a strangely mystifying feel to it, as though it were some morbid fountain in some wealthy person’s back yard. He kept trying to stand, only stumbling back down and crawling away a few more inches. 

There was something terrifying about the way Arthur took the ankles of the man and dragged him back beneath him, and in the second that it took him to do this, he unsheathed his knife at the same time. With a knife in hand, Arthur was on top of the man like a lover. The stranger still had some fight in him as he attempted to gouge Arthur’s eyes, smearing blood all over his face as Arthur slammed his shoulders to the floor. Arthur twisted his head to avoid the man’s pressing fingers, catching them with his teeth and biting down; if he bit any harder, he might’ve snapped them like carrots. With his left forearm, he forced the man’s head back, splattering more blood onto the floorboards. There was a hideous familiarity in Arthur’s eyes, something that was downright chilling to the stranger. 

“I’ll kill you again in hell.” With that, Arthur dug the tip of his knife against the man’s jugular and dragged, a sanguine wound opening immediately in its wake. His neck transformed into a gaping red cavity of muscle and exposed arteries, and once Arthur saw the last inklings of life evaporate from the man’s eyes, he rose. 

His chest heaved as he stared down at the body, wiping his forehead on the back of his jacket sleeve before he turned to look at you. Arthur looked down at his hands then at you with all the confusion of a recent amnesiac; as if he were the victim of some unlikely attack. 

“(Name). I-” 

You shook your head, your bottom lip quivering again as you threw yourself at him. You found his imbrued clothes and skin to be strangely comforting, and he quickly returned the hug. Neither of you cared for the staining of clothes. In the moment, all that mattered was your well being. 

“Arthur, he-” You sobbed, unable to finish your own sentence. “I know sweetheart, I know.” He cooed, stroking your hair, which quickly became bloodsoaked. He kissed your temple repeatedly, coming to cup your cheek and stroking it with his thumb. You relaxed your tense body against his, occasionally becoming rigid with sobs and trembles. You buried your head in the junction of his shoulder and neck, staining his clothes with your tears. 

“I’m so sorry I didn’t get here sooner.” Arthur’s own voice began to crack. “I should’ve never let that happen to you. I’m so so sorry. You didn’t deserve that”

You raised your wet face, nodding your head at Arthur. “I’m just glad you got here when you did. And… Thank you. That crazy bastard. Who knows what else he would’ve done…” 

“Let’s not think about that sweetheart. Let me take you home. I’ll uh… take care of the mess later.”

You sniffled and nodded, glancing briefly at the body. “Thank you.” You repeated. 

“No need to thank me, (Name). I’ll make sure no man ever lays a hand on you again. You understand?” 

You nodded again. You understood the violence it took to be this gentle.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Love/Hate - Dystopia

[lunarvampz]

In Bloom (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

Chapter 1 Gypsophila

Crisp air, the scent of washed linen, the red and orange leaves scattered on the ground; Autumn had rolled through from Summer. 

You had not forgotten to scrub the once mud-ridden skirt your mother had scolded you for when you had run down the shoreline of the nearby lake, chasing your sun hat. It had taken an extra mile of convoluted effort to remove the sludge and debris from the lace hem without nicking or 

tearing the threadwork.

The various garments swished and swayed in the soft breeze, wafting around the aroma of the floral soap you had used to wash them. 

A gentle smile adorned your complexion as you sat back into the lounging chair, you were pleased with yourself for finishing your chores early and felt you deserved a little indulgence.

You fought the nagging in your mind to venture back to the lake, silently wishing for the cool water to run over your feet again. No matter how many times it had done so, it still felt like the first time it washed away all the headache of your prim and proper life. 

You were by no means an aristocrat, but your family was quite well-known and liked for your involvement with the local churches.

Your father being a pastor meant that you had spent a large majority of your childhood and teen years inside one church or another. You still attended regularly, peacefully enjoying the Sunday morning sermons but you were not as involved as you once were, much to your parents' disdain.

The sunshine beamed down on you as you took in the land out the back of your family’s estate, a fairly sparse forest that allowed you to observe the wildlife wandering and weaving through the trees and shrubs. The thought of the lake being so close, only on the other side of the forest nagged at you again. 

You considered the possibility of being caught and pushed it away again, closing your eyes for a few moments. You know you want to. The phrase played over and over in your head, the nagging becoming loud and belligerent. 

A huff pushed past your lips, torn between the want and the possible apprehension. Surely you could go unnoticed for an hour, it’s not like anyone pays particular attention to you. 

You had pushed yourself up and out of the chair before you could think on it any longer, making swift strides toward the back porch, slipping through the back door and up the stairs to your room.

Trying to make as little noise as possible as you shuffled around seemed impossible when picking up your journal and pencil from your nightstand, the distinct scraping echoed throughout your room. You were too focused on trying to get your things together as quickly as possible to notice the tiny footsteps creeping up the hall.

“Where ya’ going?” A voice squeaked, half curious, half interrogating.

Damn.

Annoyance washed over you, and you turned to the tiny figure in your doorway.

“Out.” You returned to packing your satchel, trying to ignore the devious smile that had risen across your younger sister’s face.

“Does mother know?” She raised an eyebrow, she clearly knew the answer to her own question.

The urge to tell her off for being nosy was a hard one to fight off but, like you’d been taught, you bit your tongue.

“I am an adult now, I can go places without having to notify our parents of my exact whereabouts” You had taken a few steps towards her, bending down to her level. “Plus, if you tell her, I’ll tell her about the run-in with the shopkeeper the other day. Stolen bag of sweets ring any bells?” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth, you had her beat.

She huffed, stomping away with her tiny feet to her own room, leaving you to finish packing your 

things into your bag.

——————————

Twigs and leaves crunched under your shoes as you strolled through the forest, you were already close to the lake after a few minutes. The distinct sound of the rippling water filled your ears as you stepped out of the forest and into a clearing by the shore. A comforting sigh left your mouth, setting down your satchel next to a pile of rocks in the sand, and slipping off your shoes and socks as well.

You had positioned yourself on a rock close to the water where you could let your feet dip into the water, it was the same pleasant feeling, just as you remembered. The sun had gone down a little, the midday heat subsiding into an afternoon warmth. 

Birds chirped distantly as the small waves lulled against your skin. You knew this would only be a short-lived peace but you took what you could get. 

Your sun hat shielded your eyes from the blazing light as you leaned back onto your arms, breathing in the saline air. Tranquillity. Something that was rare for you nowadays, having your parents on your tail about marriage and settling down even though you had only been a teenager not so long ago. 

They had wanted to marry you off to a 50-something-year-old man, like they did with your older sister, purely for his wealth, despite your adamant objections. Luckily you had kicked up enough fuss to make them reconsider.

Where you were at right now, being single and able to pursue your interests, it felt like it was the first time you had any real control over yourself. 

The lake was a personal place, you had come here time and time again to study and sketch the flora, this time taking particular interest in the clusters of little white flowers that grew in bundles of what seemed like hundreds. 

Pencilling down a small sketch into the bottom corner of a page, you went back and forth between flower and journal, making note of the details. 

You pulled out a book on flower identification you had received for your birthday a few years back and began to skim through the pages for something that looked similar to the flower before you. 

Gypsophila. More commonly known as baby’s breath, you laughed to yourself at the unusual nickname but wrote it down in your journal nonetheless, slipping both books back into your bag as well as a small sample of the flower for you to dry out when you returned home.

As you stood up, a broken branch scraped the backside of your calf, and a stinging pain pulsed through you as the wound began to seep blood, it wasn’t long before it had left a wine-coloured splotch on the back of your dress. You sat back down on the rock, lifting the fabric to assess the damage. How was I supposed to explain this to Mother? The thought racked your brain, consuming anything else you may have been thinking about.

“Well, that don’t look too good.” Your head snapped in the direction of the smooth tongue, forgetting about the dripping cut for a moment. 

A few metres away stood two men with what seemed like fishing gear, one of them was setting up the rods while the other faced you.

“Doesn’t feel that good either.” It stung like all hell, a meek chuckle came from your throat as you spoke. “Just a scratch, though.”

Contemplating your options for clean up, you pulled out a handkerchief from your satchel and wiped away the trickle of crimson, holding it against your leg to hopefully stop any more bleeding. You huffed, knowing you were stuck there for at least the next five minutes. 

An idea arose shortly before you were pulling the ribbon from your hair and securing it around the cloth and your limb. At least I don’t have to hold it now.

“At least you don’t have t’ hold it now.” The voice interrupted, drawing your gaze back to the man.

You laughed quietly, now focusing on the man “At least, yeah.” He was seemingly tall, you weren’t sure how tall but he was a little taller than his friend. He had a very distinct ‘cowboy’ outfit from the hat to the spurs. The fashion choices were something you did not see often in town, he must not be from around here.

“You don’t mind our company? Sorry if we’re intrudin’ on you”

It was honestly a little nice to have the company considering that you had spent so much time down here alone.

“I don’t mind”

——————————

“You from around here, Miss?” The man spoke, you didn’t know whether or not to give him any information, after all, he was a stranger.

“Yeah, are you?”

He seemed to chuckle to himself a little “Oh, no no, Miss. I’m from up North originally and John here is from the East”

John. You made a mental note of his name.

“And your name is?”

“Arthur, Arthur Morgan. Pleased to make yer acquaintance, Miss” He reached out a calloused hand.

You took his hand in yours, the difference of texture being new, unknown. Every hand you’ve shaken up until now had been smooth, and soft, the roughness that came with hard work seemed almost foreign to you. You told him your name.

“That’s a pretty name, Miss. What are y’ doing all the way out here? I mean, besides tendin’ to that nasty cut” John passed him his rod and he cast his line.

“I was relaxing, studying nature and all, then you know..” You gestured to your calf.

He was reeling in his line slowly, hoping for a fish to hook. You took the time to really study the pair of them. Where did they come from? Obviously, they must be in the area. You watched 

Arthur jolt as his rod got tugged, he wrangled with the fish before reeling again, pulling the line up to tire it out. It was only a small bluegill, he tossed it back and re-cast the line.

——————————

You sighed to yourself, knowing you’d have to leave for home soon, you began to pack your things and slip your shoes back on. As much as you enjoyed talking to this newly found acquaintance, you couldn’t risk your mother storming out here herself when she did finally notice you were gone.

“Going so soon?” Arthur questioned.

“I have to, unfortunately”

He gave you a soft smile, picking up your satchel for you as you stood up, holding it out for you.

You took it from him, returning his smile “Thank you for the conversation, Mr. Morgan”

“It was my pleasure, Miss. You know, I’ll be in town tomorrow, maybe I’ll see you again” He chuckled, John rolling his eyes behind him.

“Maybe”

You wished the two a good rest of the day before proceeding back through the forest.

[rivetingrosie4]

Rockets’ Red Glare

RDR2 | Relationship: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader (modern) | Rating: Teen+

Summary: Arthur and reader invite John, Abigail, and Jack over to their property for a little Fourth of July celebration, complete with at-home fireworks.

Tumblr masterlist | Ao3

🎆Comments always welcome! Reblogs always appreciated!🎆

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As you set a large tupperware of sliced watermelon on the long, wooden outdoor table, the tinny smoke of beef on the grill begins to fill your nostrils. You’re hoping Arthur doesn’t put too much black on the burger patties. Since you share a love of burnt ends, you aren’t worried about the brisket he’s had perfecting in the smoker for hours. But he tends to get carried away watching the flames he’d created lick up through the grill’s grate and put a char on the edges of the patties.

When you’re reaching to adjust the little spray of metallic red, white, and blue stars you’d placed in the midst of the table earlier, the familiar electric guitar opening of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Up Around the Bend” suddenly bursts through the air. You look over just in time to see John setting his blaring bluetooth speaker on the ground and stuffing his phone in his pocket with a grin.

“All right! Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he hollers.

You smile and chuff a silent laugh as you watch him nod to the tune in his strange way with his head too low—more like ducking his head repeatedly—and nibble from a bare, freshly piping patty he’d clearly just snatched from Arthur’s grill plate.

“Now it’s a party, Morgan! You gotta get the mood set right,” he calls as he nonchalantly turns away.

“Oh I’m sorry, thought I was just puttin’ food in your belly, is all,” Arthur says from his place standing before the grill. “Ain’t ever a party without that, that’s for sure.”

Just catching Arthur’s flat half-smirk and indignant glare in John’s direction, you glance back in time to see John wave his hand.

“Just be glad your cookin’s decent enough to bring me around every time.”

“Oh yeah…” you hear Arthur mumble beneath his breath. “Ain’t I just real glad about that…”

Shaking your head, you turn back to look at Arthur, his focus having returned to the grill. A smile spreads across your mouth at the vivid memories that visit you at the sound of this song. The romance of your relationship still very new, your timid heart so full of audacious hope and longing and trepidation. Even at your age, never had you been in a relationship before, and you’d certainly never been given reason to hope by any man as kind and respectful and gorgeous and wonderful as Arthur.

Riding with him in his cherry red pickup, you’d enjoyed the winding mountain path through the lush green of poplars and evergreens until you’d arrived at the nearby town’s gathering for their Fourth of July parade. When you’d parked and stepped out of the truck, it had been this song playing over the main street speakers. And you couldn’t have helped the bright smile that grew on your face at the beauty and vibrant energy of such a quaint, small-town celebration. Little boys and girls with bucket hats riding atop their father’s shoulders, waving flags in one hand and oblivious to the drops of melting ice cream dripping onto his long-suffering head from their cones in the other. Toddlers stomping both sandaled feet in excitement, clumsily clapping their hands and pointing at the marching bands and floats that passed by. Girls in jostling pigtails getting their faces painted and little boys with tiny sunglasses soaking up the sun and munching and slurping crispy watermelon slices, holding their mother’s hand.

It was all so beautiful, you’d found yourself almost crying above your bright, laughing smile, for reasons you couldn’t put into words. You’d never seen or experienced such a homey celebration before, full of such simple feelings of community and shared happiness. Arthur had given it to you, and he’d even slipped his hand into yours to bring you closer and make you apart of it.

That day you never felt any worry about behaving as suavely as you could or being the hottest, most perfect date. Arthur’s presence had let you relax and enjoy the whole day, from beginning to end, as a friend in love with your best friend.

Now here you both are, married and shaken loose from the gang and trying for a baby of your own. Putting on an intimate little Independence Day celebration at your own home.

“John, could you pour a cup of Sprite for Jack please? Just halfway,” you hear Abigail ask from somewhere on the other side of the table.

After glancing up to see her walking towards the table, you turn to your right to find the now five-year-old Jack reaching on tiptoes with his little arm outstretched and his tongue tucked over his top lip for the big, open green liter bottle on the table with his red plastic cup in his other hand. You notice John is several feet behind him, and though he turns to look at Jack, he won’t get there in time to keep him from tipping the bottle unless he immediately runs over, which he isn’t doing.

“Oh, I can help you with that,” you say with a smile, smoothly stepping to the side and pouring the soda into Jack’s cup.

“John!” Abigail quietly rasps through gritted teeth, her tone laced with a sharp, exasperated reprimand.

“What?” he shrugs with a mouthful of hamburger patty. “I’m all the way over here!”

When you hear Abigail sigh, you avert your wide eyes from what you’re sure is to be yet another argument.

“He’s your son! Not hers!” you hear her begin as she walks towards John. “And did you even wonder why he wasn’t comfortable askin’ you for help in the first place?”

Thankfully, as you walk towards Arthur, the sounds of the argument fade to indecipherable.

You have to smile at the sight of Arthur’s focused face, heather navy blue henley unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up to the elbows, and hunter green apron. Smoothing your expression, you step to his side and reach to drape your forearm atop his tall, broad shoulder.

“Goin’ all right over here, chef?” you ask with a mock serious tone.

“Yeah—” he offers a truncated grunt, pinching and turning one of the patties with his long metal tongs, and taking another off the grill and setting it on a plate on the side. “Just about done.”

After a few moments, you can’t keep from scrunching your nose, chuckling, and letting your bright smile show. You slip an arm through his and around to his back.

“I don’t think you look silly at all; I think an apron suits you,” you say, drawing close and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh yeah?” he quietly mumbles in a sheepish tone.

“Look like a daddy already.”

He releases a huff of air through his smiling cheeks and rolls his eyes up and away from you.

Pressing in even closer, you kiss his earlobe and mumble quietly, “Would look even better with…only the apron.”

You notice the corner of his mouth curl as he turns and pulls his chin back to face you. “That so.”

“Mm-hm,” you nod. “Maybe you can manage that tomorrow mornin’.”

“Oh! I see!” he chuckles with a wide smile and lifted brows, causing you to giggle. “Are you tryin’ to finagle a package deal of gettin’ laid and gettin’ served breakfast, Mrs. Morgan?” he asks, squinting and letting his gaze slide over to you.

Grinning and biting your lip, you nod. “Either way, I’m gonna sex you up tonight,” you say, your voice even and sure. Then you lean in and press your lips beside his ear to whisper, “So don’t overeat.”

Turning to stand beside him and keeping your posture inconspicuous, you quickly spank his rear. He gives the tiniest jump that you notice before you walk off.

Arthur is left standing there, releasing the breath he’d secretly been holding, wagging his head to play off how affected he is by you, and contemplating that it must be a crime in some places for a person to be as sexy as you are to him.

Hours later, as the sun is lazily drooping behind the skyline of trees, you’re popping the lid off a lager for yourself with the heel of your hand against the wooden table.

“Yeah, that spot is perfect,” you call over to Arthur and John, who are arranging a couple huge tester fireworks between the grass and gravel of your driveway. “Grass ain’t even ‘sposed to be there; it’s crab grass,” you chuckle, anticipating the black marks on the ground as you lift the bottle’s lip to your mouth. “Burn it up!”

“Are y’all sure we won’t miss the county’s show if we’re busy with our own?” Abigail asks in her pleasant twang as she puts ear muffs on Jack and nestles with him on the edge of the truck bed that’s parked several dozen yards away.

“Nah, they don’t start ‘til dark thirty—half an hour after the sun goes down,” John answers as he twists the Roman candle into the gravel until it doesn’t rock or budge.

“Been a few years, huh?” you hear Arthur mumble quietly to John, and something light and feathery fills your chest at the hint of unburdened, wry camaraderie edging his tone.

“You could say that,” John chuckles in his hoarse voice.

“Just make sure you don’t get those bushy eyebrows singed off like last time,” Arthur says a little louder.

“What?!” Abigail almost shrieks.

“Your husband’s an idiot is all, nothin’ unusual,” Arthur drawls lackadaisically as the gravel shifts beneath his western work boots.

“Elaborate immediately,” you chuckle before taking another swig.

“He always lingers!” Arthur gestures vaguely towards the Roman candle. “Even after enough time passes that you think, ‘Surely, now he’ll run.’ Get the fuse goin’, and he can’t tear himself away. He’s like an addict. Like a goddamn fire glutton.” Resting his hands on his belt, he limply turns his head to look at him with a knowing pinch to his crows’ feet. “And once, a teenage John Marston lingered a few seconds too long. That was the very last time we did this.”

“Oh my God…” you whine a laugh as you cover your mouth, imagining the smoke above his eyes and the curl of the few strands of damaged hair left.

“And you’re tellin’ me he ain’t had any experience doin’ this since?” Abigail asks.

“Well plenty before, but not since,” Arthur shakes his head as he bends to reach forward and secure the second Roman candle.

“John Marston, you just better not,” she says.

“Would you all just lighten up! Jesus!” John rasps in a high tone. “Can’t even prove I’m a grown ass man around here!”

“Well here’s your chance, Marston,” Arthur says, giving his head a tip.

After fanning out a blanket over the grass a few feet to the right of the truck, you sit with your legs before you and bent at the knee. You watch as the men fuss and fidget with the fireworks for a few more minutes before deciding to light them.

The whoosh of the match, the ensuing sizzle of the fuses. With a hiss below his breath of, "Shyit," and a shout, Arthur hauls ass to the right. John tears cheek a few degrees in a different direction. With a sudden loud pop, the flare is sent way up into the sky with a glittering tail. It wiggles for a moment before erupting with a head-splitting bang that fills your ears and thumps in your chest. It shoots its sparkling embers throughout the dull twilight canvas with a clapping clatter. At the sheer volume, your shoulders shoot up, and your smiling mouth hangs agape.

“Whoo-eee!” John promptly hoots with a pitch that rings through the surrounding forests as he and Arthur emerge from their respectively chosen cover.

“Hot damn!” Arthur shouts with a growly timbre.

“God bless America!” John wheezes.

“‘At one there had a bite to it!”

After a beat of silence, you all hear the peal of a tiny scream and the tinkle of giggling laughter. You turn to see Jack clapping with a huge, elated smile.

“That was amaaazing!” he sings, his voice strangely wavy since he can hardly hear himself through the ear muffs. “More! Do more, do more!”

At the sound, all of the adults feel the tenseness in their shoulders release and feel themselves ease into their own delighted smiles.

“All right, that was just a dry run,” Arthur says with lit-up eyes and a winsome grin. “Let’s get ‘em all set up.”

With the sky darkened to a deep, inky blue and with the moon high in the sky, he and John proceed to arrange several fireworks in multiple distanced rows to keep each stage of the little show timed properly. Fiery fountains, spinning awesome blossoms, snapping firecrackers, screeching Piccolo Pete missiles, whirring Roman candles, and more. When they begin to light the fuses one by one, you huddle your knees closer to your chest.

They light off several sets, one right after the other, and a peculiarly sweet, earthy scent similar to gunsmoke reaches your nostrils. With each new eruption high into the sky, you throw your head back to watch. You scream and hoot, smiling and laughing and clapping like a little kid.

Arthur is almost caught up with lighting set after set in a timely manner to keep the show continuous. He loves the spectacular play of sparkling light, the flashes of color through the dark sky. He even enjoys the rush of excitement through his veins, the pounding in his chest, and the sudden booms and crackles in his ears. But he glances in your direction just in time to see your upward-tilted face and your stunning smile. He spares a few moments to watch you bring your chin down and look forward again as the next firework bursts and blooms, shining more light across your face. It catches in your eyes, and for a moment all Arthur sees is the twinkling glimmer of joy reflected there. And he knows there is no firework that doesn’t pale in comparison to the beauty of that smile, the joy in those radiant eyes, or how precious you are to him.

Before long, the pair are on their final set of fireworks. You watch as Arthur stoops with the lighter. He flinches but dares to stay a moment longer to ignite the last long fuses. But though Arthur darts and makes it several yards away, John remains, standing beside the projectile, bent at the waist and gazing dazedly at the dancing sparks of the hungry fuse.

It all happens so fast.

“Marston!” Arthur hollers. “Run like hell!”

But John doesn’t seem to hear him. The light of the spitting spark plays across his face in a brutal, menacing cast of orange against the black atmosphere of night.

“Get your ass outta there, you idiot!” Arthur shouts again over the sizzling sound of the fuse.

John simply peers at the spraying light.

Your heart thuds faster as panic rises in time with the fuse that speeds towards its target, and you glance back and forth between the moving sparkle and John’s hunched, shadowy form.

Arthur steps closer, hurling warnings his way. Abigail screams her own warning.

Still, John remains.

Finally, at the same moment that the projectile is lit and launched into the air, out of nowhere Arthur tackles him to the ground a few feet away. The firework bursts in a shimmering display overhead, but no one pays any mind to it. Your attention is fastened to the struggling form of John and Arthur as they shift and rise.

“…goddamn moron!” you hear Arthur yell as he shoves John in the chest a couple times.

“I’m fine, it’s fine!” is John’s airy plea.

“Wanna get yourself killed?!” Arthur growls and heaves, his voice steely and ferocious as he glares at him with a tight, wrathful stance.

After a few moments of silence in the stillness and dark of night, a snorted, bubbling laugh arises from somewhere.

Arthur and John start to spin and look around. It takes a moment for you to realize the sound of relieved, disbelieving laughter is your own. They turn to find you toppling over to the side on your blanket, holding your belly and chortling and cackling uncontrollably.

The two of them stand there for another several moments. But the sound of your laughter is involuntarily loosening the rage in each muscle of Arthur’s body, one by one. First, John starts to quietly wheeze. Then, a few mindless, incredulous huffs arise from deep in Arthur’s chest. In no time, the two of them are snickering hysterically.

Unable to find a suitable word for the ridiculousness of it all or to chide in the midst of his relief, Arthur simply wags his head and walks away. You open an arm to him as he takes a seat beside you on the blanket.

John walks over to hop up and sit on the tailgate of the truck on the other side of Jack. Abigail promptly smacks the side of his arm.

“Gave me a heart attack!” she whispers before removing Jack’s ear muffs.

You all sit gazing up at the twinkling pinpricks of light in the sky and listening to the pleasant, creaking chirp of crickets until the county’s fireworks start. When the flashes light up the sky, you can see the beautiful show in the distance just over the tops of the trees. Jack oohs and aahs, gasping and pointing out each of his favorite types of fireworks.

Sitting beside and slightly behind you, Arthur scoots in closer, wrapping you in his big arms. You snuggle into him, closing your eyes when you feel him plant sweet kisses to your cheek. After managing to press a kiss to his lips, you finally let your head rest back on his shoulder with a sigh and turn your face towards him. He immediately meets your mouth for a full and surprisingly passionate kiss, quickly deepening it and sweeping his tongue into your mouth.

From her spot on the tailgate, Abigail glances your way and has to look back at the two of you. Your throat is fully extended as you rest your head back on his shoulder. Your arm nearer Arthur is outstretched before his chest, your hand sliding up his neck into his hair. She notices the brief, glinting flash of your wedding ring. And his arm that isn’t wrapped behind you is draped over your bent knees, his hands splaying over your bare, smooth legs. Even at a distance of a dozen feet, she notices the subtle way your open mouths move together as you kiss.

Such easy affection and passion between you, she thinks to herself.

Without thinking, her eyes flit to John where he sits on the other side of Jack. Jack himself is still completely enraptured by the show overhead. But instead of watching the fireworks, John is also taking note of the two of you.

As she watches John’s face, she can’t help but contemplate all the things that have led to such warm affection becoming a stranger to their own relationship. Outcroppings of selfishness and resentment on John’s part, of resentment and anger on her own part. Years of overgrowths of misunderstanding and isolation. And somehow, they’ve both let it all happen.

Her gaze on John stutters. She glances back to find you two gently pulling away with shared smiles as you slowly press tender little kisses to each other’s lips. When you both resume watching the fireworks, she glances back at John, expecting her gaze to remain covert. But she is met by John’s eyes on her.

After a few moments, his eyes falter. But he lifts them again and intentionally holds her gaze. Without a word, he reaches over Jack and brushes a hand to her back.

[hyperfixatedbastard]

Masterlist

Dividers

IMPORTANT: I might write NSFW in the future! Minors are allowed to interact with my regular SFW content, but NOT the NSFW. While I can't stop any of you from doing it anyways, this is a personal boundary. I don't want to get in trouble because people don't have common sense or self control.

Also, if you're wondering whether or not I have seen your request and will eventually write for it, check my masterlist! I put my WIPs there, including requested works.

Fandoms I Write For:

Stardew Valley

Red Dead Redemption 2

Hazbin Hotel / Helluva Boss

Favorite Characters to Write:

Arthur Morgan (RDR2)

Charles Smith (RDR2)

Adam (Hazbin Hotel)

Harvey (Stardew Valley)

Shane (Stardew Valley)

What I WILL Write:

SFW and/or NSFW

ALL PLATONIC Character x Reader (includes child/teen!reader)

MOST ROMANTIC Character x Reader

ANY gender reader

specific reader details (plus size, neurodivergent/autistic, disabled, etc.)

most violence and gore

fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, whatever

shitty/douchebag behavior (I do have limits - listed below)

What I Will NOT Write:

rape/non-con (I'll do dub-con at best. I might be willing to do fantasy/roleplay kinda stuff if I can make the consent clear, but no actual genuine noncon.)

piss, scat, necro, ageplay, all that stuff

straight up abuse (a shitty personality is one thing, actual abuse is another)

ROMANTIC Alastor x Reader

ANY Valentino x Reader (I won't judge y'all for liking him, but I just can't do it.)

ROMANTIC John Marston x Reader (this is a personal thing, I'm sorry, I've known too many complicated relationships with people named John)

ANY Micah Bell x Reader

wlw ships (I'm sorry but I'm not attracted to women and don't want to horribly mischaracterize that. I'm willing to try, but I don't think I could do y'all justice)

[reddeadmort]

This a different kind of request but how about Arthur & kid reader where he saves a kid from the streets and becomes a father figure like Dutch/Hosea did for him and they’re really good at picking pockets/running scams with Hosea & co but Arthur goes really overprotective Dad on them when they ask to go robbing a coach or something

Okay, so this ended up being a lot longer than I intended 🤦. I’m a sucker for a good backstory/establishing motivations, and kinda got caught up in that. Ending lines unashamedly nicked from the mission where Kieran saves Arthur’s ass 😂.

Arthur Morgan x Teen Reader | You’ve got to pick a pocket or two to get to Tahiti

Guidance: Some swearing, gender-neutral reader, father/child type relationship.

Words: 3.1k

As you stood behind the Valentine saloon, leaning against a shed while you watched the other kids squabble over a game of Horseshoes, you thought that maybe this life wasn’t so bad. You had been made an orphan by dysentery two years ago, at the age of 13; you’d initially gone to live with your uncle in Saint-Denis, but the near-daily beatings had forced you to seek refuge elsewhere after only a few months. 

Unsurprisingly for a large city, you weren’t the only kid with nowhere to go, and you quickly had found a small gang willing to look after you and teach you the ropes. You had to pay your way of course, but once you learned how to pick pockets and use lockpicks it was easy.  You worked hard at these skills, and were proud of how good you were, though you were pretty sure your parents wouldn’t have been. 

For the last year or so, life had been pretty good. You always found a roof to sleep under, and didn’t go hungry too often; while the future didn’t exactly look bright, the present wasn’t a complete mess. You were happy, until you’d been told by the leader to steal from the wrong carriage. You’d hopped on to the back, unseen, and made short work of the lockbox. You’d been expecting some bags of jewellery, nice small things you could easily hide away and split between the others kids – 10 kids selling a ring or two at a few different places looks far less suspicious than one kid with a whole bag. Instead, you’d found a pile of documents. 

Flicking through, trying to see if there was any money in any of the envelopes, you had finally paused, concentrating hard as you tried to read one of the letters in your hand. You weren’t too sure what it said, but you could just about read the signature at the bottom; it was from the Mayor’s office. When you had read the recipient’s name, your heart had dropped. Angelo Bronte. Mr Bronte had made it clear he didn’t appreciate any of your lot even looking at him and his men, let alone rooting around in his stuff; you still hadn’t found all the pieces of the last kid that tried to swipe something from his pocket at that party.

You had quickly stuffed the letters back in the box, readying yourself to jump off, as the carriage had quickly turned into the grounds of a large house. One of the guards had seen you almost immediately and grabbed you before you even had a chance to attempt to escape. Angelo himself had gotten a good look at you as he stepped down from the carriage, and instructed the guard to take you to the kitchens. You hadn’t stuck around to find out if he meant to feed you or make you alligator food. You’d bitten the guard holding you hard, then run around the back of the house, slipping through the railings. You’d hidden in the first carriage leaving the city that you could find, and had stayed there until Rhodes. From there, you’d hitched a lift where you could, with or without the driver’s permission. And so you’d ended up in Valentine.  

This little bunch of kids you’d found here were nice; a bit younger than you, which made you the responsible one of the group. This made you uncomfortable, but you’d done your best. You were living in an abandoned shack just beyond the edge of town; you’d have happily camped out under the stars out here when you could, but these kids were softer than you. They all knew each other, runaways from some home in a place called Blackwater. They hadn’t been out here long; you’d tried your best to teach them how to survive, but they were too young to really understand the trouble they were nor be any good at stealing.

Your daydreaming was interrupted by shouts and swearing, and you saw one of the kids sprinting down the alleyway towards you, clutching a large satchel.

“(Y/N), look what I got! Isn’t it great!” The kid held the satchel up to you as you looked up to see what you assumed to be the owner run into the alley. He was huge; tall, built like a brick shithouse. And he was pissed.

“Come here you little bastard!” It was more of a growl than a yell, and he started to run towards you. There was no way you were going to be able to outrun this man, and with the two pistols, knives and rope hanging from his gun belt you knew that wasn’t much point even trying. But you sure as hell weren’t going to let this young kid take the beating that was coming either. Snatching the satchel, you yelled at the others to run as you stood your ground. They scattered, all going in completely different directions; at least they’d learnt something from you, you thought.

You stared directly into the eyes of the man, as his run slowed to a jog and he came to a stop in front of you.

“Give me the satchel, kid.” His voice was low and he muttered through gritted teeth.  “And tell me where the lad that took it went. Me an’ him need to have a little…..discussion.”

“This satchel Sir? I took this satchel from you, I do apologise. I was under the mistaken belief that it belonged to my good friend.” You may struggle to read, but you’d learned a few things from being around all those posh nobs in Saint-Denis. You held out the satchel, and the man took it back carefully. You’d expected him to snatch it; to grab you, to yell at you. Instead, he was staring down at you, frowning slightly.

“It weren’t you kid. And I ain’t about to discipline someone who ain’t done nothin’. Where is he.”

“Who, sir? I don’t see anyone but us here.” You gulped slightly as you said this, realising how true it was; this man could kill you, and no-one would probably even notice. But as you stared back into those blue-green eyes, something told you he wouldn’t.

The man in front of you sighed as he swung his satchel back over his head.

“Kid, how old are you? What’s your name?”

“I’m old enough to know not to give that information out, sir.” You regretted this as soon as you said it, you didn’t want to rile him further. You were relieved when he laughed.

“Fair enough kid, fair enough” he chuckled. “Well, I’m Arthur Morgan. When was the last time you ate? I’d happily buy you some food. You’re a good kid, and you don’t deserve to starve.”

You desperately wanted to take him up on his offer. Valentine was a small town, not many people to pickpocket; and, if you were honest, you were scared of doing so, everyone seemed to be armed. You’d managed to get hold of some scraps from one of the kind ladies in the saloon but had given them to the other kids. But your brain was screaming at you to get the hell out of this situation.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks mister.” The man you now knew as Arthur continued to stare at you, like he was looking for something; then he tucked his hand into his pocket and threw you a few coins.

“Suit yourself. Be careful, kid” he said as he turned and walked away. You watched him as he left; you certainly didn’t think that was how this situation was going to end when you’d seen Arthur thundering towards you.  

The first thing you did was run to the general store and buy as many canned goods you could carry. You’d have to hide them from the others, ration them, but hopefully it would tide you over and take some of the pressure off. As you left, the shop owner closed and locked the door behind you for the evening.

It wasn’t a long walk back to the shack you shared, but you walked slowly, admiring the stars above you. Life might be harder out here, but it sure was a nice place to be. Your contentment was shattered when you heard screaming and crying from the shack ahead of you. Ducking behind a rock, you looked out only to see the younger kids being bundled into a carriage with the words “Saint Christopher’s Orphanage” on the side. There was nothing you could do, there were at least 4 men with the carriage and what looked like a nun inside. Orphanages could be horrible places, you knew the stories, but you knew these kids were too young to survive on their own yet. Maybe in a few years.

Sighing, you picked up your bag, slipped away from the commotion and headed back into Valentine. You were close when it started raining; at first, it was refreshing; that day had been hot. But it wasn’t long before you were soaked to the bone and shivering. As you reached the edge of Valentine, you tried the doors of a few sheds and outhouses only to find them locked. You headed for one place you knew would be dry, warm, and had a broken backdoor – the stables. You quietly slipped in the back, seen only by a couple of horses; they gave a soft whinny and snorted as you crept past into an empty stall. It was a risky place to sleep, but no-one should be in again until the morning, and you’d be long gone by then.

It didn’t take long for you to start to doze off – if life on the streets had given you one thing, it was the ability to fall asleep quickly in the strangest places. You’d only been there, nestled in the warmth of the hay, for half an hour when suddenly you were awoken by an extremely angry, red-faced, pot belly man screaming in your face.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?! You planning on robbing me eh? Sleeping here so you can wake up in the middle of nights and steal my hard earned money?! I should kill you, you little rat!” 

He grabbed you by the front of your shirt, lifting you off the ground, and threw you to the floor again. You scrambled to your feet and were going to try and grab for your bag until you saw the barrels of a shotgun levelled at your face. You didn’t even bother trying to reason with the man; he was drunk, you could smell it, and obviously a lunatic. You launched yourself at the front stable doors, praying they were open. They were, and you stumbled as you slammed through them, just as the spray of a shot hit the wall next to you. You landed face first in the mud, and tried to get to your feet, slipping, as a kick bowled you over onto your back.

“You’re going to die you little thief!” 

The man was barely able to stand as he pointed the gun at your head, but he was so close it wouldn’t matter. You heard footsteps behind you, thumping, running, when suddenly the fat red-faced man was floored with the hardest punch you’d ever seen.

“God dammit.” You heard some muffled swearing above you as the man who’d intervened shook his fist out – that punch must have hurt. Wait, is that….

“Arthur! What the hell you doin’?”

“Just, err, having a discussion with the stable owner about this kid, Lenny.”

“Some discussion Arthur! Come on, we best get out of here, the Sherriff’s already pissed at us after the saloon incident earlier.”

Arthur held out his hand and helped you up. “Kid, I reckon you should come with us. Looks like you need a place to sleep, and one where you won’t wake up with a gun pointed at ya.”

You had no idea what to do. You didn’t know these men, but he had saved you, and he had been kind to you earlier.

“I…thanks Mr Morgan.”

“Come on then, you can ride with me.” Arthur and Lenny turned, walking quickly towards their horses. They turned when they heard your footsteps sprinting off towards the stable.  

“Oh for god’s sake…” Arthur groaned, then sighed and shook his head. He was just about to turn back to his horse when he saw you re-emerge carrying your bag. He smiled as you ran towards him, then hoisted you up behind the saddle.

“Hold on tight kid, me and Lenny been havin’ a few at the saloon so this might not be the smoothest ride. And if I start singing, don’t laugh.” You clung to Arthur’s jacket as you cantered out of town, heading south.

—-

A few months later, and you were settling into gang life well. Your first night had been…. interesting to say the least. Arthur had sat you by the fire, leaving the girls to fuss over you, as he went to talk to Hosea and Dutch. Dutch thought the whole situation was hilarious; his stray was now bringing home its own strays. Hosea had been less keen, mostly because he was concerned about dragging another young soul into this life. But, at the end of the day, there had been no real resistance to you staying.

Arthur had immediately taken you under his wing and did his best to teach you how to survive. You’d never shot a bow or gun before, but Arthur took you out to practice with bottles and cans, and even bought you your own varmint rifle so you could go out hunting with him and Charles. Hosea and Karen were big fans of yours; or, more specifically, your skills as a pickpocket while they distracted a mark.

Arthur didn’t like you assisting like this though; him and Dutch frequently argued about it. You constantly asked him to take you on other jobs, but he always said no, always a different excuse. You didn’t really understand why Arthur was so protective; you weren’t his kid. It irritated you, but you probably owed Arthur your life, so most of the time you kept your mouth shut.

You were bored, re-wrapping the handle of your knife by the fire one evening when you overheard Arthur and Javier talking.

“I’ve got a good tip, Arthur. This old man has got a stash of cash hidden in his house, not far from here. We go now, in the dark, we can be in and out without anyone seeing, easy.”

“Sounds good Javier, let’s get goin’.”

“Arthur, I want to go.” You’d barely thought the words before they were out of your mouth.

“Huh. Come on (Y/N), you know that ain’t gonna happen.”

“Please Arthur! It’s not like a bank job or something, it’s sneaking, you know I’m good at that!” you said as you stood up.

“(Y/N), NO. This ain’t good for a kid. I ain’t risking it.” Arthur was more forceful this time and pushed you back down into your seat before walking off towards his tent.

You then did something you hadn’t done since your parents died; appealed to a higher authority. It used to be your mum; now, it was Dutch.

“Dutch, I want to go on the job with Javier and Arthur. Please can I go?”

Dutch chuckled. “Sure child, I’ve been wondering when you’d finally ask to go. Arthur said you felt you weren’t ready.”

Urgh. Arthur. So all that stuff about ‘Dutch says no’ was rubbish then.

“I am ready Dutch, I’ll make you proud.”

“Well you better hurry up then, before they leave!” Grinning, you ran to your tent and grabbed your things, before jogging over to Arthur and Javier.

“Arthur, Dutch says I’m to come.” Arthur sighed, looking over at Dutch, who nodded. He didn’t have the time to argue.

“Fine. Get on the damn horse then”.

The journey didn’t take long, and soon you were hitching the horses in the trees just outside the perimeter of the homestead. The three of you crept into the small barn next to the house.

“(Y/N), you stay in the barn and keep watch. You see anyone movin’, you whistle like Charles taught you. You got that?”

“But Arthur!”

“No buts, I ain’t in the mood. You shouldn’t be here, and I ain’t puttin’ you in harms way. I’ve lost a kid before, I ain’t losing you too.” This surprised you; you hadn’t heard Arthur mention any other kid apart from Jack, you weren’t sure who he meant.

“Javier, you check the other barn, I’ll take the house, we’ll meet back here.” You’d already pushed your luck being here, and you didn’t want to annoy Arthur further, so you reluctantly agreed.

“Fine.” As Arthur and Javier crept towards the house, you climbed the ladder into the small loft in the barn. At least you were away from the camp, and maybe, just maybe, Arthur may let you come on another job if you behaved.  

You waited for what felt like ages before you saw Arthur running quietly, keeping low, back towards the barn. From your vantage point in the loft, you didn’t see the man with the shotgun creeping up the side of the barn. Neither did Arthur.

“You thieving bastard.” Arthur had his hands up as the man backed him slowly into the barn.

“Hey, mister, I ain’t thieving, I’m with the Sherriff, he’d heard of some cattle rustlin’ up here and he told me to check it out.” The ease of Arthur’s lie impressed you; he was always treated just as Dutch’s enforcer, but sometimes he sounded more like Hosea. 

Panicking, you desperately looked around for anything you could use to help, maybe create a distraction. The homeowner was standing almost directly under the ladder now. Your frantic gaze settled on the small hay bale at the edge of the loft. As quietly as you could you crept over to it, then pushed with all your might.

“Yer a dirty liar mister. I’m going to shoot you right here, and let the Sheriffs deal with ya in the…..”

His sentence was caught short as the haybale slammed into his head, knocking him out. The haybale fell forwards, knocking Arthur onto his back.

“You alright?” you called down to Arthur.

Staying exactly where he’d fallen, Arthur sighed, then groaned a reply. 

“Sure. Thank you.”

[theycallmemoosey]

GUYS OH MY GOD

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

I know 300 followers doesn’t seem like a lot to some, but to me this is amazing. The fact that 300 people like what I do is insane and I’m actually a little emotional as I’m typing this right now.

Thank you so much

Moose :’)

[immajustvibehere]

Vibin's FicRecommendations

Honestly, this is just a way for me to remember and revisit my favourite fanfictions on Tumblr :) this gets updated regularly.

Here is my masterlist!

Arthur Morgan x Reader

fluffy/teen:

Exit Wound by @icarus-fell-in-spring

High Noon Heat by @a-gal-with-taste

Sweet as Sugar by @amorgansgal

Ain't Goin' Nowhere by @outlaw-scribble

Lost and Found by @yeet-or-be-hawed

Daydreams and Daisies by @widowsblake

Downtime and a Bath by @red-dead-scribbles-ff

I Will Sit With You In The Dark by @photo1030

whiskey n' rain by @stars-kiss-the-sky

untitled by @kioplama

untitlled by @aslutforarthurmorgan

I Got You by @photo1030

Graphite and Gratitude by @bimrsadler

A Proper Woman by @moody-cowdaddy

Drunken Flirtations by @red-dead-scribbles-ff

The Morning After by @romancebywaterfalls

Ohio is for Lovers by @widowsblake

an admiration for perennials by @reaveries

spicy/explicit:

The Art of Thievery (I) by @shittybundaskenyer

The Art of Horsemanship (II) by @shittybundaskenyer

The Art of Dealin' a Good Hand (III) by @shittybundaskenyer

Oneshot: In which Arthur takes matters into his own hands by @shootybangbang

Returned Favors by @a-gal-with-taste

Wild Horses by @widowsblake

VDL Gang Gang Bang by @amorgansgal

Short Fuse by @widowsblake

observance by @william-butcher

Rough Rendezvous by @bimrsadler

Easy Rider by @bimrsadler

Pleasure and Purpose by @bimrsadler

Crimson snow by @leechmilf

Honeybee, Horse Thief (1) by @unusual-raccoon

Honeybee, Horse Thief (2) by @unusual-raccoon

Honeybee, Horse Thief (3) by @unusual-raccoon

Tricksters by @sad-sweet-cowboah

Alternative Payment by @verai-marcel

All Tied Up And Nowhere To Go by @alwaysaslutforarthurmorgan

Forget Me Not, Honey, Killshot by @shittybundaskenyer

Dutch van der Linde x Reader

fluffly/teen:

The Duality of Man by @dutchvanwinkle

Obi-Wan x Reader

fluffly/teen:

your thoughts are loud by @spidersbane

My opponent's weakness by @scribble-dribble-writes

Soft by @honestlywtfisgoingon

Silent Suffering by @imaginesfordifferentfandoms

tired. by @hellotherekenobi

spicy/explicit:

Hearts Finally Mending by @murdockussy

Like turning on the light by @full-time-make-believer

The Lesson 1 by @djarinlyy

The Lesson 2 by @djarinlyy

The Purest Love by @honestlywtfisgoingon

Simm!Master x Reader

Give Her Back by @deep-space-elf

Please let me know if I didn't tag something/someone properly! This took about an hour of copy 'n pasting...

Don't take the fluff or spicy labelling too strictly...if the fanfiction didn't label it specifically I improvised a bit.

[bimrsadler]

Graphite and Gratitude

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x F! Reader

Summary: After a difficult day in camp coming to a head when Micah crosses a line, Arthur comforts you in an unexpected way - by sharing his journal with you.

Warnings/tags: Pure fluff, established relationship, Micah is a gross jerk, very minor sexual mentions and angst

Word Count: 3,082

Notes: This has been sitting in my drafts forever because for some reason I’m more embarrassed about writing fluff than smut lmao, I also got a little emotional thinking about his journal and it shows. 🤡

—————

You lifted your arms above your head, trying to stretch the ache of a hard days work out of your muscles. The sun was hot that afternoon and toiling for so long in it soured your mood and paved the way for exhaustion to set in. Arthur had been away from camp for several days now, working on a job with Javier and John. Details were scarce as usual but he departed with a kiss for you and said to not worry, though you always did. The relationship was fairly new but you’d spent long enough not acting on your feelings for each other that it felt as though you were making up for lost time. You missed him, the stress and exhaustion amplified this terribly.

You had only just finished your work for Miss Grimshaw when you saw Micah, boots up and leaning back smugly at the table - reading your journal.

You had written in a journal since you were a teen, a way to get your most personal thoughts off your chest and express yourself. Seeing Micah handle it was nauseating. On this day he was being particularly vicious with this teasing around camp, which you guessed had something to do with Abigail spurning his advancements again and well, he had to take it out on someone didn’t he?

When he noticed that you noticed, he made sure the flipping of the pages was loud and exaggerated, chuckling like he was so proud of himself. “Quite the thoughts you got inside that head sweetheart,” he said looking up at you while slowly licking his thumb before turning another page.

“You’re so funny,” you snapped sarcastically. “Now give it back.”

When you reached to snatch the journal back he played keep away with a juvenile laugh. “Gonna have to be quicker than that.” He stood up and moved away from you, still browsing the pages. “Besides, I wanna read more about these girly little dreams you talk about. Livin’ in a little cabin with Morgan, raisin’ animals. That don’t sound like the thoughts of someone who should be in a gang honey.” Bill snickered in the seat beside Micah.

“Micah that ain’t yours, it’s private!” You lunged again but the taller man only raised the journal higher and turned his back to you.

“Speakin’ a private, I didn’t know you two were so…intimate,” he chuckled lecherously. “I didn’t know Morgan had it in him at all, actually. But still, if you ever wanna take a ride with a real man...”

“Mr. Bell that is enough!” Miss Grimshaw boomed suddenly.

You were shaking at this point. This was the last thing you wanted to deal with after finishing the chores you hated so much. You knew you weren’t above doing them, but you wanted to be a part of the action more. You were good at pickpocketing and acting, you could shoot and hunt as well. You knew you could do more for the gang and wanted to prove it. Micah undermining you in front of everyone for indulging in your softer fantasies was mortifying. You loved being a part of the gang and wanted to be Arthur’s partner in crime, but was it so bad to imagine a life after that?

While Miss Grimshaw had spent most of the day working you to the bone there were times when you felt that she saw the potential in you. As she scolded Micah you considered that she was defending Arthur as well. The two of you weren’t open about your relationship yet but it was clear you were sweet on each other. The more observant of the gang - Hosea, Charles, Abigail, Grimshaw - could see it had blossomed into something meaningful. Grimshaw was hard on Arthur, like she was with everyone, but she had a soft spot for him and was aware of how happy he was with you. Maybe she wasn’t just annoyed at Micah for the usual reasons, maybe she was also standing up for you and Arthur.

“I don’t wanna hear another word outta you Mr. Bell,” Grimshaw stormed over to him and snatched the journal out of his hand.

“Aww but I was just havin’ some fun.”

“Like hell you were!”

She hurried over to you and shoved the journal into your arms. “I’ll see you bright and early for your chores. Til then, go rest.” Her tone was strict but again, you detected a hint of sympathy.

“Think about my offer princess!” Micah hollered as you stormed away in a huff, tears streaming down your face. They were angry tears primarily, but you couldn’t deny the embarrassment and sadness either. You headed towards a tree that lined the beach on the outskirts of camp, your favorite spot to read, write and have a moment of peace.

Enough time had passed that the sky above the lake had taken on shades of pink and purple, stars beginning to glimmer at the top. Although you managed to calm down somewhat, the anger in your gut was not subsiding. Footsteps gently approached behind you and a familiar voice came with them, "hey sweetheart, heard about the little uh...altercation."

You turned to see Arthur, leaning against the tree above you with a concerned look on his face. You were happy to see him but not thrilled to talk about what happened.

"If you're gonna tell me that's just how it is in the gang and I need thicker skin, I don't wanna hear it," you grumbled.

"Err well no, weren't gonna say anything like that," he was speaking gently and with consideration, "I uh...I brought you back somethin' actually, kinda silly I guess but..."

He sat in the grass and leaned against the tree next to you, broad shoulder brushing against yours. You watched as he shuffled through his satchel delicately until he found what he was looking for; a bundle of orchids and vanilla flowers. He sheepishly handed them to you and shrugged, a sideways grin on his face.

"You...you brought me flowers?" You handled them as if they were expensive jewels, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"I know it doesn't make up for me bein' away, but I thought you'd like em," he looked away blushing slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

You were enamored seeing Arthur like this, the wanted outlaw who normally appeared brutish and rugged was instead boyish and nervous as he awaited your reply. You loved both sides of him but guessed that not many saw this one and felt privileged. He must have missed you too.

Tears welled in your eyes again as you felt a rush of new emotions combine with the negative ones still lingering, unable to keep from letting out soft sniffles.

Arthur stammered, "shit I...I'm sorry darlin' did I do somethin' wrong? You don't have to accept em if I'm bein' too forward..."

You felt guilty that he could think that at all and brought his face to yours for a gentle kiss. "No you sweet man, you didn't do anything wrong at all," you let go of him and wiped a tear away. "I'm sorry for being snappy when you got here, it's just been a bad few days and Micah was the last straw."

"He usually is..." Arthur remarked, relief in his voice that it wasn't about the flowers. He put his arm around you and pulled you close to his side, squeezing gently. "Mary Beth just told me he stole your journal but didn't really go into detail. You can talk about it if ya want but...no pressure." He ended the statement with a kiss to the top of your head.

"It's embarrassing Arthur. It's bad enough that he made a scene outta keepin’ it away from me but he was loud about private things I wrote." You hesitated to continue but Arthur stayed quiet, not pressuring you either way.

"Well...you're probably gonna hear the rest from someone else anyway," you sighed. "I wrote about how I think of living with you someday. Somewhere quiet, you know...domestic. It's just silly daydreams and I don't want it to scare you away. I love the gang and this lifestyle, at least until we can't anymore. Which is why it was so humiliating, I don't want them all lookin’ down at me like I'm some schoolgirl with a crush. I've been so frustrated just cleanin' up the camp all the time instead of going out. I feel like this set me back in proving myself..." You spoke all in one breath and your voice wavered, happy to have gotten it off your chest but scared about the revealing nature. It left you feeling exposed.

Arthur gently grazed your arm with his fingertips letting a quiet moment pass before replying, "first of all you ain't gonna scare me away girl," he leaned away so that there was enough space for him to look you in the eye while saying this. "Second, there's no reason to be embarrassed...I think about them things too. Whether we wanna admit it or not it's gotta end someday. I never thought much about the after til I met you though..."

Hearing this made your breath hitch in your chest and your head spin. You never considered Arthur thought about those things as well and it filled you with relief and admittedly, anxiety. Would there be an after?

He continued, "besides the folk here who matter already think of ya as one of us. You ain't gotta prove shit, least of all to Micah Bell." He brought his hand to your face and wiped away a tear with the back of his knuckles, "I don't want you to waste no more tears on him darlin, please." You nodded and buried your head into his warm and secure chest, feeling his heart beat. "I could kick his ass if you want me to though, bastard deserves it."

"No Arthur, I'd love to see that but it's fine," you laughed appreciatively.

"I think I'd like to show ya somethin’..." he broke from your embrace to root through his satchel again before pulling out his own journal.

"You...you don't have to do that." Although you’d caught glimpses, most times anyone came near him if he was doodling or writing he would place it flatly against his chest or on the table before anyone inquired. Admittedly you'd wondered so often what it contained. What contents did Arthur Morgan spend so much time and effort putting to paper?

"Nah I want to, now c'mere," he stated nonchalantly before motioning for you to sit in front of him in the grass. You did as he requested, placing your body in front of his, back against his chest. Although you were on the outskirts of camp you were certain they could see you if they glanced over. Arthur had never been this public with his affection for you before. A quick kiss or hug occasionally, an arm around you or hand holding when it was dark and camp was sparsely populated, a quiet romp in his tent when everyone was sleeping, but it was never more than that.

He placed one arm around your stomach and rested the journal against your thighs. “Ain’t really showed these to anyone before,” he glanced nervously behind the two of you, “…but if I’m gonna it should be you, ’specially if it helps ya feel less embarrassed.” You weren’t able to see his face but could feel a smile as his stubbled cheek rested gently on your temple.

He flipped it open to a sketch of the mountains near Valentine. It was gorgeous and you felt flush with heat as your admiration of the man behind you overwhelmed, lucky to witness these portraits of his adventures and of his life. Snapshots of well-defined strangers, some drawn with a smile, some worn and grizzled, each shown with their own beauty, forever captured in an outlaws journal. A testament to a life well lived and the happenstance that allows people to meet. You found yourself unexpectedly emotional pondering what the future held for the pages in front of you. Would it be lost to time and the elements, the paper yellowed, rain soaked or burned? Would a loved one keep it as a precious memory after the two of you were gone? Or perhaps a sentimental stranger would come across it and think it was worth preserving with its insights into a time passed, people mourned, and landscapes changed.

You quietly observed his writings and art filled with gratitude that he trusted you enough to be open this way. It took some time before you could find any words and still struggled to express them properly. "Arthur...I...I don't know what to say. These are beautiful and you're so talented."

Feeling his large frame shrug dismissively behind you he murmured, "never really thought about it like that, 's just somethin' I like to do. Helps me relax."

"Well, I love them. I wanna hear some of the stories about these places and people if I haven't yet. They look like interesting folk."

"Oh they most certainly are," he laughed, "and I’m happy to do that."

His rough and calloused fingers turned the pages delicately to sketches of all manner of nature and manmade wonders. Trees beside waterfalls, rocky rivers, mysterious carvings, sunsets reflected in lakes, predator and prey.

Eventually the pages turned to a doodle of what you assumed was...a duck? It was practically a stick figure and maybe the size of a quarter, inexplicably the only drawing on that page, juxtaposed next to sweeping sketches of stunning landscapes. It was, well...cute, and slightly silly. You couldn't help but giggle.

"Now...the damn thing weren't sittin' still and this is all I could manage," Arthur murmured defensively but still in good humor.

"It ain't bad, it's just...he's so small and cute," you wiped a stray tear from before away, unable to contain your laughter. "I'm sorry darlin’ he just doesn't match the style of other drawings does he?"

"Yeah yeah sweetheart…” You turned to see Arthur roll his eyes with a smirk before softening his demeanor, nuzzling your neck and planting a kiss there. He moved his lips up to your ear. “See? Feelin’ better now ain’tcha? All I had to do was show ya my silly drawing.”

You never thought he would let his guard down this way, all to cheer you up. “I am feeling better Arthur, thank you. And I love all of your drawings.”

“Well, might as well show ya one more thing…”

Rustling through the journal for a specific page he carefully opened to something you never expected to see.

There you were on the paper in front of you. A small scene sat at the campfire, a beer in your hand. The world around you was more roughly sketched, while you were detailed. He caught the cascade of your hair perfectly and the toothy smile you so often had when enjoying the camaraderie of a relaxed evening with the gang.

You turned to look at Arthur and caught a rosy tint in his cheeks as he asked shyly, “whatcha think? This wasn’t too long after ya joined us and I just….couldn’t get ya off my mind. Always caught my eye sittin’ around sharing laughs with everyone.”

You gently ran your fingertips along the drawing as if you could feel the lines and depth, “I don’t know what to say Arthur, it’s lovely and I’m…so flattered.” You were stunned knowing that he admired you enough to draw you, especially that long ago.

“Easier for me to draw somethin’ when the inspiration’s so gorgeous.”

Arthur had been many things when the two of you began your courtship. He was kind, thoughtful, protective, but he bumbled through the flirtations, eventually needing you to take charge and show your interest. Mostly oblivious to it before then, partially from thinking someone like you couldn’t possibly be interested in him. This new confidence and smooth talk suited him. You laughed and turned to look at him again, “Arthur Morgan, where have you been hidin’ all this charm?”

“Gotta wait for the right time I guess,” he leaned forward to gently kiss you, his thumb holding your chin up to him.

“Your timing is impeccable.”

“Glad to hear it beautiful.”

Arthur put the journal back in his satchel and you settled comfortably against his back and lap, arms wrapped around your waist and chin rested on top of your head. The two of you sat melting into each other, watching the fireflies flicker and listening to the chorus of crickets as the sun dipped even further below the horizon.

Eventually Arthurbroke the comfortable silence, “whaddaya say I grab us a few beers and we can find a more secluded spot?” He gave a subtle wink.

“Sounds like a perfect end to the night.” Arthur gingerly removed himself from behind you and stood up as you suddenly realized one detail of the incident you forgot to mention, “oh…uh, another thing…I kinda mentioned us bein’ intimate in my journal - just ya know, how good it’s been. So…they all heard that too.”

Arthur stood slightly bow-legged as he rested his hands on his belt, “that don’t bother me, just happy to hear ya enjoy it so much,” he said with a cocky smile.

“Well Micah had to be nasty and comment on it, said if I wanna ‘take a ride with a real man…’ ”

Arthur scoffed. “Yeah well, I can make it so he hears ya with a real man tonight.” He said with more boldness than you’d ever heard from him.

You feigned propriety, “Mr. Morgan, is that really any way for a gentleman to talk?”

“Oh darlin’ I never said I was a gentleman…” his husky voice stated. Christ was it easy for him to rile you up. “I’ll be back in a bit beautiful, sit tight.”

You watched Arthur saunter back towards camp, excited for what was to come. You stretched and basked in the cool evening air, the weight of the day becoming considerably lighter. All of the stress and anger from earlier faded, tenderness and affection taking its place.

You found yourself thinking of how you would appreciate the sound of graphite on paper in Arthur’s tent during the early morning hours more now. Those peaceful moments when he awoke before you, the birds would chirp their sunrise songs, and he thought you were still asleep beside him.

[make-me-imagine]

Requests

Status: CLOSED

Alright, requests for all of my fandoms are open. Send some in while you can, they will not be open long!

Writing Prompt List #1 *210 prompts (fluff/romance; angst/emotional; Misc/Humor; & Scenario Prompts)

Writing Prompt List #2 *200 prompts (fluff/romance; angst/emotional; Misc/Humor; and Scenario Prompts)

Sensory Prompts #1 *125 prompts (nature ambiance; fluff/relationship; angst/sad; scary/horror; comfort; and Misc.)

Sensory Prompts #2 *around 130 prompts (nature/outside ambiance; relationship/fluff; angst; scary/horror; comfort; and Misc.)

Rules Page *Basic Rules: - I only write 'x reader' inserts; no ships or oc inserts - GN!Reader only - I do not write specific body types, or for other specific physical characteristics, since I try to keep my inserts as neutral as possible - No nsfw; no pregnancy/children, no readers/character fics below 18

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You can request for fics/oneshots or headcanons.

You can send in your own plot, and/or 1-3 prompts. Feel free to mix and match from the prompt lists!

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Full Fandoms List Below Cut:

9-1-1 (FOX show)

Evan “Buck” Buckley Eddie Diaz Det. Lou Ransone Howard “Chimney” Han

The Boys:

Serge “Frenchie” Hughie Campbell Billy Butcher

Bridgerton

Anthony Bridgerton Benedict Bridgerton Simon Basset Colin Bridgerton *maybe others? 

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Spike Angel

Criminal Minds  (I have only watched seasons 1-11)

Spencer Reid Aaron Hotchner Derek Morgan

Doctor Who

Ten Eleven Twelve

Elementary

Sherlock Holmes *I have not watched the whole series so I wont write much for in-show plot points

Firefly

Malcolm Reynolds Simon Tam

Lark Rise to Candleford

Daniel Parish Fisher Bloom Sir Timothy Midwinter Alf Arless Mr Rushton

Leverage 

Eliot Spencer Quinn Alec Hardison

Magnificent Seven Tv Series (1998-2000)

Chris Larabee Ezra Standish Vin Tanner Buck Wilmington

The Mandalorian + TBoBF

Din Djarin Cobb Vanth Boba Fett (prefer platonic)

M*A*S*H (Tv Series)

Hawkeye Pierce BJ Hunnicutt Trapper John

Merlin (BBC)

Merlin Arthur Gwaine Percival Lancelot

Moon Knight

Steven Grant Marc Spector Arthur Harrow

Person of Interest

John Reese Others; platonically is preferred

Prodigal Son 

Malcolm Bright Gil Arroyo 

Shadow and Bone:

Kaz Brekker Matthias Mal Alexander/Kirigan ?

*I have read the Grishaverse books, so I am willing to write around that plot. But the characters will be in character for the show, and the characters will be written as 20+ as their ages are not stated in the show but it feels as though they are aged up in the depiction. 

Sherlock (BBC)

Sherlock Holmes Greg Lestrade Jim Moriarty

Star Trek: Discovery

Christopher Pike Gabriel Lorca (willing to write for an alternate ‘Prime’ version of Lorca) Sarek Spock **I’m in the process of watching Disco and am currently on Season 3. I will be watching Strange New Worlds when I can. **please make sure to specify which Spock you are requesting for (Disco or AOS.)

Star Trek: Enterprise 

Captain Archer Trip Tucker Malcolm Reed 

Star Trek: Voyager 

Chakotay Tom Paris

Stargate Sg-1

Jack O’Niell Daniel Jackson Jonas Quinn Cameron Mitchell 

Stargate Atlantis

John Sheppard Carson Becket Ronon Dex

Supernatural  *Have only watched seasons 1-9

Sam Winchester Dean Winchester Castiel Gabriel Gadreel Balthazar Crowley Lucifer Caine

Teen Wolf 

Derek Hale Peter Hale

Vampire Diaries & The Originals

Elijah Mikaelson Klaus Mikaelson Damon Salvatore Kol Mikaelson Lorenzo “Enzo” St John Finn Mikaelson

**Never watched The Originals’, so I only know the Mikaelsons from TVD.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

- - - - - Franchises/Movies - - - - - 

MCU:

Original Avengers:

Tony Stark  Steve Rogers Thor Bruce Banner Clint Barton Natasha Romanoff

Others:

Bucky Barnes Sam Wilson Helmut Zemo Loki Heimdall Vision Scott Lang Peter Parker (Garfield and/or Hollands; aged up) Dr. Stephen Strange T’Challa Agent Ross Shang-Chi Peter Quill

*** Feel free to ask about other MCU characters; I will write for most (depending on if I like the request as well) ***

X-Men

Original Timeline Movies:  Logan/Wolverine Scott Summers Kurt Wagner “Nightcrawler” Viktor Creed “Sabertooth”

First Class Timeline: Charles Xavier Eric Lehnsherr Hank McCoy Alex Summers Azazel Peter Maximoff “Quicksilver” Warren Worthington III “Angel”

**Many of the younger characters ages are not obvious in the First Class movies, so everyone will be written/suggested as 20+

The Eternals

Druig Ikaris Kingo

Venom (1 & 2)

Eddie Brock

Deadpool (1 & 2)

Wade/Deadpool  Ajax/Francis Cable Domino

- - -

Star Wars Universe

Episodes I-III

Anakin Skywalker Obi Wan Kenobi

Episodes IV-VI

Luke Skywalker Han Solo

Solo: A Star Wars Story

Han Solo Lando Calrissian Dryden Vos

Episodes VII-IX

Finn Poe Dameron Ben Solo/Kylo

- - -

The Hobbit/Lotr

Thranduil Thorin Kili Fili Bard Legolas Aragorn Eomer Faramir Elrond

- - -

Fantastic Beasts:  ((JK Rowling is a bigot and anything I write regarding the wizarding world is of my own imagination and a continuation of a world I want untainted by her bigotry)) 

Newt Scamander, Percival Graves *So far I have only seen the first movie

**I will possibly write for characters from Harry Potter or Marauders, such as the Weasley twins, Malfoy, Cedric, Remus, Sirius, etc. But if I do, it will be after they leave Hogwarts and are 18+.

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Star Trek AOS

Cpt. Jim Kirk Dr. Leonard McCoy Spock Montgomery “Scotty” Scott Pavel Chekov Hikaru Sulu Khan *please make sure to specify which Spock you are requesting for (Disco or AOS.)

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The Outsiders

Darrel “Darry” Curtis Maybe: Sodapop Curtis Dallas Winston ^^Aged Up

- - -

Pirates of the Caribbean (1-4)

Captain Jack Sparrow Will Turner James Norrington Elizabeth Swann/Turner

- - - 

Magnificent Seven (2016) 

Joshua Faraday Billy Rocks Goodnight Robicheaux Vasquez Red Harvest

- - -

Maleficent I & II

Conall, Borra, Diaval, Maleficent

- - -

The Man from U.N.C.L.E 

Napoleon Solo Illya Kuryakin

- - -

Kingsman: The Secret Service and The Golden Circle

Eggsy Unwin Hamish Mycroft “Merlin” Jack Daniels “Whiskey”

- - -

Jane Austen/Period Movies: 

Pride and Prejudice (1995 & 2005) Characters: Mr. Darcy and Mr Bingley (other characters if requested)

Mansfield Park (1999 & 2007) Character: Edmund Bertram

Sense and Sensibility (1995/2008) Character: Edward Ferrars 

Emma (2009 & 2020) Character: Mr. Knightley

Persuasion (2007) Character: Captain Wentworth

- - - - -

Outside Characters: 

Actors who have multiple characters outside of the listed fandoms that I am willing to write for!

Charlie Hunnam:

Arthur (King Arthur: Legend of the Sword) Raymond Smith (The Gentlemen) William “Ironhead” Miller (Triple Frontier) **Will also write for Ben Miller

Oscar Isaac: 

Santiago “Pope” Garcia (Triple Frontier)

xx

[cowboyfromh3ll]

Hi there! I’m a big fan. I saw your request for something besides Arthur. Not sure if this qualifies, but it’s an idea I had.

What if reader is fairly new to the gang, or new barmaid in town, and both Charles and Arthur are interested in them. They both have this ongoing competition to try to win reader’s affections. Reader, of course, is oblivious. Up to you who wins.

This is an idea I had noodling around, but not sure if/when I’d write it. I’m curious to see your spin. If you’re not feeling it, that’s ok, I totally understand

Genius Of Love

(Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader x Charles Smith)

I had fun writing reader as a contemptuous woman. She’s so silly. Also I made it so there’s no winner, you can decide that for yourself based on what they say. Ambiguity is fun. 

Warnings: uhh mentions of stabbings, drinking ig

You began your first day as a barmaid in anticipatory apprehensiveness. Your anxiety-laden first day, following your release from jail, provided you with a small sense of stability and normalcy. You were given minimal training, the job feeling more like a test of logic and wit to gauge your competence. While sitting in your holding cell, you’d imagine the first thing you would do once you got out was to have some sort of nasty fun, but your more adult-like sense insisted you try and start your life again. So instead of walking into the saloon with intentions of a weekend long bender, you found yourself acquiring a job instead of a hangover. 

Within the first hour of your job, a man had gotten blackout drunk and put his hand on your ass shortly before vomiting next to his stool. You found the thud of his body crashing into the mud outside the saloon steps to be satisfactory, having to heave his unconscious body outside was not very fun on the other hand. Many of the men made a show of watching your ass as you walked past, leaning back on their seats for far too long before they came crashing down as well. The entire day was made up of small tests for your patience, seeing just how rehabilitory jail had been for you after you stabbed a man superficially for brushing up against you lasciviously.  You knew you were on thin ice after the incident, so so much as slapping a man could probably land you back in the slammer. Though, after remerging yourself into this god-awfully virile town, part of you wished the wound had been fatal. 

You found it to sometimes be a relief to act outwardly vicious, to confirm that you were deeply flawed and not at all lady like so many others expected you to be. People were often startled by the contentious inflection in your voice; because you’re pretty they assume you’ll be docile and submissive. It was odd to men that it appeared as though you were one of them, just as it would’ve startled them to find out you fight like one of them too. Occasionally in your teen years, some boys from the road you lived on would pick on you and subsequently get pulverized by you, their sense of consternation leaving you deeply gratified. With their staggering stature over you and their forming muscles and wide set shoulders it was easy to imagine them overpowering you in a fight, but you had a face that denied violence. 

With the passing hours of the day, the faces of various men seemed to blur into one blob of amalgamation. They were nearly indistinguishable, all possessing the same incipient beards and tired, wrinkled faces. Looking down at your glasses and pouring drinks helped you temporarily evade the vulgar angles at which their stubbled jaws would protrude as they dished out their best attempts at flirting with you, the moist smacks of tongue as they masticated whatever food you served up to them. You shuddered whenever you watched another carbon copy of your previous patron walk into the saloon, adopting the same flirtatious saunter and libidinous attitude. Though the only things you could focus on as they spoke was the thought of their tongues leaving a bitter film of saliva upon your skin that made you want to gag. 

You soon found yourself serving a pair of men who were passing through the bar for a quick drink. It was a pleasant surprise to not see a men in there who didn’t look like decrepit souls who just crawled out of a mine. You thought to yourself how they would perhaps be the most entertaining thing about your day, brandishing a satisfied smirk as you greeted them. 

“How may I help you today, boys.” You placed your palms on the counter and leaned slightly, studying their features. They certainly didn’t possess the same wide, flapping jaws of the men who yammered away about how much they could pleasure you. They had a modest, humble air to them that you liked. Not to mention their faces were absolute eye candy, their voices as smooth as the whisky you had poured so many times that way. 

“We’ll have some of your best whisky.” One said, stroking his stubble as he looked at you. The other one said nothing but nodded. 

“Right away, men.” You turned your back, letting loose a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Unbeknownst to you, the two men behind you were looking at each other as if they were sizing one another up. There was a playfulness to the way they glared at each other, as if they were challenging each other to some sort of competition. 

You turned back to face them, serving them their shots. 

“Anything else?” You half hoped one of them would say “yes, you” but it was wishful thinking. You nearly snorted to yourself. 

“Yes actually, another shot.” The other man said. His blue eyed companion looked at him speculatively while you poured. You were about to slide it to him until he raised his hand up, shaking his head. You offered a confused and slightly irritated look. 

“For you, I insist.” 

In unison, you and his companion laughed; his partner in disbelief and you from shock, contented that something interesting was happening. 

“Ohhh I don’t know. I’m not really allowed to drink on the job…” you laughed ineptly; though in reality you had contemplated downing the entire bottle before smashing it over someone’s head the entire day. You looked around at the room of inebriated men, a feeling of pegunance overcoming you like a cresting wave. 

“Oh, who the hell cares.” You concluded before throwing the shot back, hissing at the sting. The two of you laughed together, and you briefly thanked him for the shot. His friend looked on in contempt as he threw his own shot back, narrowing his eyes once again. 

“I’m Charles by the way,” He began, before looking slyly to his right. “And that’s Arthur.”

As if on cue, Arthur slammed a couple of bills on the table while glaring at Charles, turning to face you with a gracious smile. 

“A cognac for the lady.” He said smoothly. You smiled, turning around once again to retrieve the bottle of brandy. You certainly took no issue with men when they bought you drinks, especially when they were easy to abandon afterwards. But something about these two made you hope they’d stick around a little longer.

You poured yourself a generous cup of cognac as the man watched, downing the drink like your life depended on it. 

“You sure can handle your liquor.” Arthur commented, impressed by your ability. You giggled once again, nodding in agreement. 

“Certainly can. It’s a virtue if I’m gonna be working in a place like this.” You joked, cleaning the empty glasses up. The two of them were amused by your candor, exchanging competitive looks once again. 

“So what are you two doing in a town like this?” You asked, wiping a glass down. “Certainly don’t look like you’re from around here.”

“We’re just passing through. We could ask you the same thing. What’s a pretty young thing like you doing working here?” Charles asked, making you wave your hand at him and giggle. 

“I just got out of jail yesterday.” The true test would see how they reacted to the revelation; whether they were scared off or drawn in, you’d be relieved either way. But contrary to what you thought they’d believe, they looked curious. 

“What for?” Arthur asked. 

“Stabbed a man for trying to touch me. Real shallow but enough to inflict some good damage.” You spoke of the instance casually, glancing at them to see their reactions. They appeared faintly impressed, perhaps one could say they were even more intrigued by you at this point. 

“Some men can be complete idiots when handling themselves around a fine young woman.” Arthur commented, to which you narrowed your eyes at him playfully. 

“Mhmmm, I’m certainly not opposed to the act even after jail though.” Your catty remark had just enough bite that it made Arthur want more. And it unknowingly drew Charles in even more as well. 

“Well I certainly don’t hope I end up like that fool, I know a thing or two about handling myself around such a fine woman as yourself.” You audibly groaned at Arthur’s insertion of his foretold skills with the ladies, but you weren’t opposed to finding out just how skilled he was.

“So what are you doing after work?” Charles asked suddenly, surprising you. Even you didn’t know the answer. 

“Oh uhm, I’m not sure yet…” You trailed off, becoming a bit nervous. Not out of fear, but by the possibility that one of these two men could accompany you somewhere. 

“Hopefully somewhere that isn’t a bar, I’m sure you’re already tired of these. I know some spots.” Charles' face blossomed into a smirk as he sipped the drink you had poured for him, catching you off guard once again and causing you to blush lightly. 

“I actually know a few places where you can watch a show. In Saint Denis of course.” Arthur butted in. Your face lit up at the mention of the city. 

“Oh goodness Saint Denis?! I’ve wanted to go there for so long!” You gasped, feeling genuine excitement at the possibility of going. 

The two men continued back and forth, attempting to one up each other by using various different tactics. You were so good at being alone and feeling a deep seated antipathy for men, until you remembered how much fun it was to get attention from them, finding their desperate attempts to be flattering. And then you discovered a new found ache.

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Genius Of Love - Talking Heads/Tom Tom Club

[wickedscribbles]

Flowers in the Scorched Earth

Masterlist, Join the Taglist

Surprise! This popped into my head yesterday and I wrote it all in one sitting. Hope you like hurt/comfort 😭

Summary: Pregnant with Arthur's child, you appreciate how careful he is with you -- though sometimes you find yourself smothered. One night in the middle of an argument neither of you meant to start, you find out just why he feels the need to handle you so delicately.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x AFAB Reader, she/her pronouns (Second Person Perspective)

Rating: Teen and Up 

Tags: SPOILERS, do not proceed if you haven’t played the game, pregnancy, high honor Arthur, protective Arthur, angst, hurt/comfort, grief, childbirth, fluff 

Word Count: 2.2K

Requests are currently closed! Thank you for understanding!

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

~ Another reminder that there are spoilers for the game within! Proceed with caution!~

Not even born yet, and this baby’s a wild one. Kicking you at all hours of the night, sitting right on your bladder, making you crave the most irrational things. You’re swollen up everywhere – all the places you’re supposed to be, and in places you didn’t even consider. Your ankles are so big and puffy you can’t even wear your shoes. You had no idea that your body would be working this hard, changing so much, yet you wouldn’t go back and do things over. Not ever.

You’re overjoyed to be pregnant with this child, with the baby you and Arthur made together. When you told him, when you were certain – you were scared. You’re running with a gang of outlaws, for God’s sake, and at the time you were nowhere near ready to bring a baby into the world. All it’d taken was one time, one slip, to create a life.

The plethora of emotion that’d gone over Arthur’s face, on the other hand, numbered in the dozens. Disbelief. Terror. Hesitation. Happiness. Joy. And every shade in between until he was taking your hands, asking you over and over if you were sure, were you really sure. He’d gone to his knees where you sat and spread his hands over your stomach, trying to feel for some small bump.

From that day forward he looks after you first, and does the gang’s dirty work second. There’s no room for argument. For a while before either of you knew you were pregnant, there’d been idle talk of going away, of getting out of the gang and building a life together somewhere, but now the matter is far more pressing. You know that Arthur’s working himself ragged trying to earn extra money, enough to get some land for the two of you to settle somewhere, build a house. He keeps telling you he’s “going to do things right”.

He looks so tired, but whenever he’s back at camp, he’s never off his feet for a minute. Not if you’re trying to do something like get your supper or help the girls with the wash. Arthur doesn’t want you going anywhere on your own, doesn’t want you hauling your round self up on your mare for a ride out of camp to clear your head. Even when he’s gone, you know he tells the girls to keep an eye on you, not to let you work yourself too hard.

It’s beyond exasperating. As the weeks go by, you’re getting your energy back, eager to do more around the camp again, to move. The nausea of the first few months is fading, and you’re not anxious to just sit around like some little wife. You’re bored out of your mind. Bad enough that you’re stuck in camp, no longer allowed to go out robbing.

You know he means well. You do. Every look and touch he gives you is soaking in love and gentleness, and how can you fault him for loving you too much? But somewhere, you have to put your foot down. You’re still a human being, beyond the pregnancy, and you’re so damn tired of being pent up.

The words just slip out one night when you try to get out of bed for a drink of water. You’re tired, lower back aching from the weight of the child you’re carrying. The crate with the water pitcher is on the other side of the tent, and you brace yourself against the edge of the cot to get up, to roll yourself into a sitting position. You’d thought Arthur was drowsing behind you, breathing deeply. He falls asleep almost as soon as his body hits the bed, these days.

The frustration of waking him up – or him never being asleep in the first place – is what does it, you think. Of him still putting your needs so far above his own, when it’s so obvious that he’s exhausted. It makes you feel angry and useless. When Arthur’s groggy murmur comes from behind you, telling you to lie back down so that he can get what you need, you’re quick to snap back.

“Jesus Christ, Arthur, I can get my own water! I’m pregnant, not an invalid!”

A thick silence trails in the air where you’d spoken, and your eyes fill with tears. Why would you say that? He was only trying to help you. He’s only ever trying to help you. You turn from where you’re perched on the edge of the cot, throat thick with wetness, unable to see him in the dark.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “I’m – I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that.”

You feel the cot shift as Arthur moves to sit up. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “You’re allowed to have your emotions. It’s a lot to do.”

Of course he would let you off that easy. You rub the heel of your hand at your eyes, angry at the tears flowing down your face, and fumble for the lantern. At least he lets you light it, perhaps afraid that doing it himself would spark another outburst. The soft glow makes the circles under his eyes look even darker, and you lean forward with trembling fingers to brush the hair off of his face.

“Arthur, why are you doing this?”

He leans into your hand, eyes closed, like the softness of your touch is something he’s been craving. “Doin’ what?” Even his words sound weary, and if this weren’t a conversation that needed to happen, you’d dismiss it, tell him to lie back down and get his rest. Too soon, he’s looking back at you, brow furrowed, upset that you’re sitting there in a mess of tears and sorrow. “Sweetheart, please don’t cry. I’m okay. It’s okay.” His big hand cradles your face, thumb tracing your cheek, and your lip wobbles.

“You’re n-not.”

God, you hate to cry, hate to be seen as the emotional pregnant woman who can’t keep it together, but you’ve reached a breaking point. Because the man you love isn’t taking care of himself, and you can’t stand it. He’s never been one for self-preservation, but this is terrible. You aren’t even certain he’s eating more than once a day, and for what? You don’t want to thrive if it means he suffers.

The baby isn’t happy either. They know you’re awake and agitated, and one little foot goes kicking out in your stomach. You place a hand there, trying to soothe them, and Arthur’s eyes trail down. You can see the worry in his face plain as day as his hand goes to cover yours.

“Are they –?”

“They’re fine, Arthur,” you say wetly. “I’m not worried about them. They just know I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“You’re workin’ yourself to death!” You don’t mean to say it that loud, with that much emphasis, but that’s the way it comes out. “Every time you come back here you look more exhausted. You’re losin’ weight.”

“I’m doin’ it for you,” he mutters, going defensive. “For us. For them.”

“I know damn well what you’re doing it for,” you answer through a biting sob. “But could you maybe just – I don’t know – not kill yourself in the process? It’s bad enough I’m stuck here, all the goddamn time, worrying about you getting shot. Now I gotta worry about you straight up dyin’ of stress?”

“I ain’t dyin’,” he growls. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m doin’ right by you, darlin’, and – I don’t want –” Arthur sighs, frustrated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t want you to worry about anything. That’s what I’m doin’ all this for!”

“Well, it’s not working.”

Another silence.

Arthur places his hand on your knee. “I…I’m sorry. I don’t want to let you down. If anything happened to you, I don’t know…don’t know what I’d do.” He drags a hand down his face, looking far older than you’d ever seen him. “I jus’ want you – and the baby – to have the life you deserve. I’m not gonna let anything happen. I won’t.”

He keeps saying that. The look in his eyes almost scares you, and you thread your fingers up through his in a heartbeat. Arthur isn’t looking at you, isn’t looking at anything. His leg bounces off the side of the cot, shaking you in place a little, and you have to call his name four or five times before he blinks and comes back to the world. When he does, it’s slow, his expression still not right. Haunted.

“Arthur,” you say again, your sorrow and anger replaced with cold fear. “We’re – we’ll be fine. It’s gonna be fine. I trust you.” You take a deep breath. “Please, what’s wrong? What do you think is going to happen?”

He bites his lip, hard, and shakes his head. That leg is still bouncing, bouncing, nervous energy. The baby seems to like it, at least. They’ve stopped kicking. You don’t say anything else, don’t know what to say.

Arthur puts a hand over his mouth, takes a shuddering breath in, and mutters something very quiet to the ground. He’s blinking too fast. When you ask him to repeat what he’d said, your voice gentle, his own trembles.

“I said, I’m not – not goin’ to let you get killed too. Wasn’t there for them and I lost ‘em.”

Your stomach drops. The pain in his voice is insurmountable. You have a feeling that this is something he’s been carrying with him for a long, long time, and would’ve kept with him even longer had you not asked. Even spitting out the words seems to have hurt him, brought a dozen buried worries and shame to the surface, and you struggle for what to do.

“Lost…who?” you ask, dreading the answer.

Arthur tells you everything.

And it breaks your heart. He has to stop so many times, and you let him lean against you. You let him grieve them, this lost woman and her poor, poor child. Arthur’s son. How long has he locked them away? How long has this been his burden alone to bear? How long has he shouldered the blame, as he’s prone to do? Jesus – it all makes perfect sense.

He’s so afraid of doing one single thing wrong because he’s worried it’ll happen all over again. Like a curse. You want to say so much to him, about how he couldn’t do wrong by you and this child if he tried. How you know he’s going to be the perfect father – hell, how he already is. How you’re so sorry he’s had to carry this grief alone.

For now, though, you hold each other, the drink of water and your argument long forgotten. In the weeks to come, he’ll be easier about letting you go where you want to go, do what you want to do. Arthur will be easier on himself, too, and you’ll be more than relieved, able to breathe a little better. You don’t speak of it again for a long while, but the knowledge hangs between you; the mother and child that came before.

Early summer has you as round as a ball and sweating your life away. But now you’re not doing it from camp – you’re doing it on a pretty little piece of property in the Big Valley, thanking every breeze for drying the sweat on your neck. Arthur and a few of the men spend their days busting ass building a house, and with every sunset, you can see it come into shape a little more. Home.

Thank goodness your unruly babe deigns to wait until the roof is on before she makes her way into the world. You’re not sure who’s sweating more throughout the whole thing – you or Arthur. He grips your hand tight, shushing you as you pant and cry, and finally – there. There she is. Real and whole and healthy and yours, her tiny face scrunched up in fury, fists waving and flailing.

You’ve never been more tired, but you have to keep your eyes open. You don’t want to ever stop looking at her. Arthur lays her on your chest, and you can see that he, too, adores her instantly. His gaze is so warm and fond as he touches her little head with his big hand, so delicate, like he’s afraid of hurting her.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you, as the pair of you watch her learn her way to your breast. “You did so, so good.”

At age four, she’s got opinions for miles. Almost every other sentence seems to start with Daddy. She loves helping with chores and insists that when she grows up, she’s going to be a conman, like Grandpa Hosea. (Should’ve seen Arthur’s face when she announced that.) She’ll talk your ear off about horses or stars or the color blue – or anything that falls into her mind, really. She looks just like Arthur when she pouts or smiles, has his eyes and his build.

Her middle name is Eliza. And she won’t be an only child for long.

Users Tagged: @mrsmorgan7​, @bandersnatchmywigho​, @hansonveggieclub​, @amorgansgal​, @chalkicharli​, @bamiwijf​, @farbenfux​

[promenadewithme]

First of all, I want to thank all of you so much for the follows, likes, comments, reblogs and support in general! I can't believe I hit 50 followers so soon! I know it’s not much, but I actually didn’t expect any at all so I’m so happy!! Thank you ❤️

Now, this is how the celebration is going to work: first you chose a song and a character. Then send it to my requests with your pronoun of choice, along with any other specifications and I'll write you a fic based on the song! You can either send the song or specific quotes as prompts

To find the fics I will write, use the #Anastasia's 50 followers celebration

This event starts today (May 20th) and ends June 10th

Support Me on Ko-Fi - if you’re feeling generous 💕

Songs:

Fluff (Romantic)

Paper Rings - Taylor Swift

London Boy - Taylor Swift

Love Story - Taylor Swift

Lover - Taylor Swift

King of My Heart - Taylor Swift

Willow - Taylor Swift

Crazier - Taylor Swift

New Year’s Day - Taylor Swift

Daylight - Taylor Swift

Jump Then Fall - Taylor Swift

How You Get The Girl - Taylor Swift

You Are In Love - Taylor Swift

It’s Nice To Have A Friend - Taylor Swift

Today Was A Fairytale - Taylor Swift

State Of Grace - Taylor Swift

Mine - Taylor Swift

Delicate - Taylor Swift

Say You Won't Let Go - James Arthur

Naked - James Arthur

Rewrite The Stars - James Arthur + Anne-Marie

I Won't Give Up - Jason Mraz

I'm Yours - Jason Mraz

Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran

Tenerife Sea - Ed Sheeran

How Would You Feel (Paean) - Ed Sheeran

Kiss Me - Ed Sheeran

Afterglow - Ed Sheeran

Lego House - Ed Sheeran

Dive - Ed Sheeran

Galway Girl - Ed Sheeran

Everything Has Changed - Ed Sheeran + Taylor Swift

I Was Made For Loving You - Tori Kelly + Ed Sheeran

Make You Feel My Love -Adele

One Call Away - Charlie Puth

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

Just The Way You Are - Bruno Mars

Count On Me - Bruno Mars

Little Things - One Direction

Night Changes - One Direction

Can't Help Falling In Love - Elvis Presley

Andante, Andante - ABBA

Waterloo - ABBA

All Of Me - John Legend

Ocean Eyes - Billie Eilish

Snowman - Sia

A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

Arms - Christina Perri

Teenage Dream - Katy Perry

Halo - Beyoncé

The Only Exception - Paramore

Dandelions - Ruth B

Someone To You - BANNERS

Would You Be So Kind - Dodie

Someone You Like - The Girl and The Dreamcatcher

If I Could Tell Her - Ben Platt 

Absolutely Smitten - Dodie

How Long Will I Love - Ellie Goulding

Angst (Romantic)

Good 4 u - Olivia Rodrigo

Drivers License - Olivia Rodrigo

Deja Vu - Olivia Rodrigo

Brutal - Olivia Rodrigo

Traitor - Olivia Rodrigo

Enough For You - Olivia Rodrigo

1 step forward, 3 steps back - Olivia Rodrigo

Happier - Olivia Rodrigo

Jealousy, Jealousy- Olivia Rodrigo

Favourite Crime - Olivia Rodrigo

Hope Ur Ok - Olivia Rodrigo

Betty - Taylor Swift

Exile - Taylor Swift

Teardrops On My Guitar - Taylor Swift

Wildest Dreams - Taylor Swift

Tolerate It - Taylor Swift

You’re Not Sorry - Taylor Swift

Should’ve Said No - Taylor Swift

White Horse - Taylor Swift

You Belong With Me - Taylor Swift

My Tears Ricochet - Taylor Swift

Back to December - Taylor Swift

Breathe - Taylor Swift

The 1 - Taylor Swift

All Too Well - Taylor Swift

Invisible String - Taylor Swift

Evermore - Taylor Swift

Lose You To Love Me - Selena Gomez

The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez

When I Was Your Man -Bruno Mars

Someone Like You - Adele

Hello - Adele

All I Ask - Adele

Let Her Go - Passenger

Say Something - A Great Big World

Stay With Me - Sam Smith

California King Bed - Rihanna

Take a Bow - Rihanna

Broken Hearted Girl - Beyoncé

Tonight I Wanna Cry - Keith Urban

The Winner Takes It All - ABBA

SOS - ABBA

One Of Us - ABBA

Half a Heart - One Direction

Yesterday - The Beatles

If The World Was Ending - Julia Michaels

Colors - Halsey

Happier - Ed Sheeran

One Last Time - Ariana Grande

Why’d You Only Call Me When You High - Artic Monkeys

Play Date - Melanie Martinez

Just a Friend to You - Meghan Trainor

All I Want - Kodaline

Love You From A Distance - Ashley Kutcher

Potential Breakup Song - Aly & AJ

I Don’t Wanna See You With Her - Maria Mena

Let Her Go - Passenger

All My Tears - Ane Brun

Always On My Mind - Elvis Presley

Someone to you - Lewis Capaldi 

Before You Go - Lewis Capaldi

Others

Sit Still, Look Pretty - Daya

How To Be A Heartbreaker - MARINA

No Body, No Crime - Taylor Swift

Look What You Made Me Do - Taylor Swift

Blank Space - Taylor Swift

You Need To Calm Down - Taylor Swift

Getaway Car -Taylor Swift

Gorgeous - Taylor Swift

Bad Blood - Taylor Swift

The Man - Taylor Swift

22 - Taylor Swift

Dorothea - Taylor Swift

Marjorie - Taylor Swift

The Best Day - Taylor Swift

Mirrorball - Taylor Swift

I Forgot That You Existed - Taylor Swift

This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things - Taylor Swift

The Lakes - Taylor Swift

The Last Great American Dynasty - Taylor Swift

Since U Been Gone - Kelly Clarkson

When I Kissed The Teacher - ABBA

I Have A Dream - ABBA

I've Been Waiting For You - ABBA

You'll Be In My Heart - Phil Collins

Titanium - David Guetta (feat. Sia)

F**ckin' Perfect - P!nk

New Rules - Dua Lipa

IDGAF - Dua Lipa

Bad Guy - Billie Eilish

You Should See Me in A Crown - Billie Eilish

COPYCAT - Billie Eilish

Count On Me - Bruno Mars

Stand By You - Rachel Platten

Firework - Katy Perry

Because You Loved Me - Céline Dion

See You Again - Wiz Khalifa + Charlie Puth

NO - Meghan Trainor

Skyfall - Adele

Gasoline - Halsey

Castle On The Hill - Ed Sheeran

Save Myself - Ed Sheeran

Supermarket Flowers - Ed Sheeran

Small Bump - Ed Sheeran

Growing Up - Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, Ed Sheeran

7 Rings - Ariana Grande

Bad Liar - Selena Gomez

Rare - Selena Gomez

Who Says - Selena Gomez

I Turn To You - Christina Aguilera

Till There Was You - The Beatles

Sweetest Devotion - Adele

ps: sorry, I'm a Swiftie and a Sheerio <3

Characters

Character x fem! or GN! reader (ROMANTIC)

ACOTAR: Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Helion, Tarquin, kallias and Tamlin.

BRIDGERTON: Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton and Simon Basset.

GRISHAVERSE: Nikolai, Mal, The Darkling, Kaz, Matthias, Jesper, Wylan and David.

THRONE OF GLASS: Dorian Havilliard and Chaol Westfall.

HARRY POTTER: Harry, Ron, Neville, Draco, George, Fred, Oliver, Cedric, Young Sirius, Young James and Young Remus.

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley.

MARVEL: Steve, Bucky, Sam, Pietro, Loki, Thor, Peter Parker, Ned, Tony, Bruce, Vision, Clint, T'Challa, Scott Lang, James Rhodes, Peter Quill and Stephen Strange.

THE HUNGER GAMES: Peeta, Gale and Finnick.

GREY'S ANATOMY: Derek Shepherd, Andrew DeLuca, Alex Karev, Jackson Avery, Mark Sloan, George O'Malley, Link, Koracick and Ben Warren.

TEEN WOLF: Scott, Stiles, Derek, Isaac, Liam and Jackson.

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES: Damon, Stefan, Matt, Klaus, Elijah and Kai.

NARNIA: Peter, Edmund and Caspian.

STAR WARS: Anakin, Obi Wan, Kylo, Han, Luke, Poe, Finn and Din Djarin.

Character x platonic!/sis!/bro!/enemy!/daughter!/son!/mentor!/or anything else platonic Reader

ACOTAR: Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Feure, Nesta, Elain, Mor, Amren, Nyx, Lucien, Tarquin, Helion, Kallias, Tamlin, Ianthe, Suriel and Bone Carver.

GRISHAVERSE: Nikolai, Mal, Darkling, David, Alina, Bahgra, Zoya, Tamar, Tolya, Apparat, Kaz, Matthias, Jesper, Wylan, Nina, Inej, Tantee Heleen and Pekka Rollins.

THRONE OF GLASS: Dorian, Chaol and Aelin.

BRIDGERTON: Anthony, Benedict, Colin; Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, Hyacinth, Lady Violet, Simon, Lady Danbury, Penelope, Lady Portia Featherington, Marina, Sienna, Genevieve, Cressida and Queen Charlotte.

HARRY POTTER: Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Luna, Draco, George, Fred, Oliver, Cedric, Cho, Seamus, Fleur, Pansy, Myrtle, Sirius (old or young), James (old or young), Remus (old or young), Lily (old or young), Molly, Arthur, Bill, Percy, Charlie, Xenophilus Lovegood, Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, Moody, Flitwick, Umbridge, Bellatrix, Voldemort, Lucius, Narcissa, Peter Pettigrew, Helga Hufflepuff, Salazar Slytherin, Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Dobby and Nearly Headless Nick.

PRIDE AND PREJUDICE: Mr Darcy, Georgiana Darcy, Mr Bingley, Caroline Bingley, Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Bennet, Mary Bennet, Lydia Bennet, Catherine Bennet, Charlotte Lucas, Wickam, Mr Collins, Mr Bennet, Mrs Bennet.

MARVEL: Steve, Peggy, Sharon, Natasha, Bucky, Sam, Carol, Monica Rambeau, Pietro, Wanda, Agatha Harkness, Loki, Frigga, Odin, Hela, Thor, Heimdall, Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, Valkyrie, Peter Parker, Ned, MJ, Tony, Pepper, Morgan, Happy, Howard, Bruce, Vision, Clint, T'Challa, Shuri, Scott, Hope, Hank, Cassie, James Rhodes, Peter Quill, Gamora, Mantis, Nebula, Groot, Rocket, Drax, Stephen Strange, Wong, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, Maria Hill, Thanos, Ancient One, Red Skull, Ultron, John Walker and Zemo.

THE HUNGER GAMES: Katniss, Peeta, Gale, Finnick, Haymitch, Rue, President Snow, Primrose, Effie, Cinna and Johanna.

GREY'S ANATOMY: Meredith, Derek, Andrew, Alex, Jackson, Mark, Lexie, Cristina, April, Izzie, George, Callie, Owen, Addison, Arizona, Miranda, Amelia, Link, Burke, Teddy, Maggie, Richard, Carina, Ben Warren, Megan Hunt, Ellis Grey, Catherine Avery and Tom Koracick.

TEEN WOLF: Scott, Stiles, Malia, Lydia, Allison, Derek, Isaac, Liam, Jackson, Peter Hale, Chris Argent, Sheriff Stilinski, Kira, Melissa McCall and Noshiko Yukimura.

THE VAMPIRE DIARIES: Damon, Elena, Katherine, Stefan, Caroline, Bonnie, Jenna, Klaus, Elijah, Rebeka, Sheriff Forbes, Kai and Lexi.

NARNIA: Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy, Caspian and Aslan.

STAR WARS: Anakin, Padme, Yoda, Jarjar, Obi Wan, Kylo, Rey, Han, Leia, Luke, Poe, Finn and Din Djarin and Grogu.

No pressure tags: @venuswritesfanfic @for-bebbanburg @maggiescarborough @multifandomfix @sweetnspicysimp @lazypeachsoul @magravenwrites

[sometimesitrytowritethings]

Outlaw: Part 3

Image source

Mountain Man | Part 1 | Part 2 | PART 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 |

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: Angst, Swearing, Canon-typical violence, Stalking, Implied future assault, Fear of death

Summary: All you wanted was to be left alone, to forget Arthur Morgan existed entirely. But, damn it, fate still had other plans in mind.

Notes: "TrYiNg To PoSt EvErY wEeK." Lol, who was I kidding. Anyway, enjoy!

-----

The morning sun peeked over the horizon, casting your surroundings in shades of gold. Birds chirped in the spring air as a comforting scent overwhelmed your senses.

It took a moment for you to place it; campfire, hay, whisky, tobacco. It was him. It all smelled like him, and you suddenly hated yourself for enjoying it. For wanting to nuzzle deeper into the blanket, your son in your arms, and stay in this strange cot forever.

But, of course you couldn’t. 

Even if you could have, your pride wouldn’t have allowed it.

You were angry with the man, furious. There was no reason for you to lay there like a lovesick teen, getting drunk off the smell of his dirty blankets. 

You hated him, didn’t you remember?

Sighing, you raised your head quietly from the cot and pulled the blanket off of you. The cool, damp morning air hit your skin, and you could feel your hair stand on end. It had been a while since you had spent the night outside. The last had been when you were young, gazing at the stars with Andrew and then waking up, covered in a blanket, hair wet with morning dew and your husband beside you. Those had been some of the best times of your life.

The chill in the air and the dew on the grass brought back memories as you stepped out of bed, but it wasn’t the same. Instead of falling asleep under the stars with your lover at your side, you found yourself hiding out in the wild. Running from a gang of monsters who had never before paid attention to you.

Silently, you pulled the blankets back over Ben, still fast asleep, and glanced around the small space. 

Arthur’s space.

It felt wrong, almost voyeuristic, to be there without him. His entire life was on display in front of you. Some of the things you already knew, like a photograph of Mary with a letter tucked underneath. But there was so much more that you had never come to know during your short time with the man. So much that he hadn’t told you. So much you had never seen. Photos of his mother and father, a dog, a picture of him with two older men. An orchid, dried and in a jar. A chocolate bar and a child’s drawing. It was all so strange, and a completely different side to the man who you had known... who you barely knew.

Suddenly, you were shaken from your investigation by someone clearing their throat at the entrance of the tent. You turned quickly, embarrassed at having been caught, and were met with the sight of a young woman. Dressed in a thick coat, her dark hair pulled back into a low bun, she held two steaming cups of coffee. 

“Mornin’,” she said quietly, so as not to wake Ben, who was still sleeping soundly in Arthur’s cot. “Thought you might like some coffee.”

With a small smile, you followed her out of the tent before daring to speak. “That would be lovely, thank you,” you replied, taking the cup from her outstretched hand and following her to the nearby table. It was early enough that very few people seemed to be awake, and for that you were grateful. Their curious stares would only come later, after you had woken up a bit more.

The cup warmed your chilled fingers as you sat, looking at the woman across from you. She was young, a few years younger than yourself, with kind brown eyes and lovely dark hair. “‘m Abigail,” she introduced herself, taking a sip of her coffee. “Charles told me what happened last night. How’re you holdin’ up?”

You cleared your throat and glanced around the camp, wary of eavesdroppers, before giving the woman your name. “I… I’m fine, I suppose,” you responded quietly, shooting a quick glance back at the tent where your son was asleep. “I’m still a bit… shaken, but thanks to Charles’s quick thinking we got out alright.” 

You took another sip of your coffee to steady yourself as the memories of the night flooded back to you. Walking home in the dark, being followed by those men - O’Driscolls, Charles had called them - the feeling of hot breath on your neck, the sound of gunshots ringing through your ears. By the time you had replayed the events over again, your hands were shaking lightly. You set the cup down on the table and pressed your fingers into your eyelids, as if that would push the images away. 

“I’m just glad… just glad that we were able to get Ben away too,” you murmured to her, finally taking your hands away from your face. She looked at you with sympathy before reaching out and gently taking your hand in hers. 

“I’m glad too,” her voice was soft, full of emotion. “If someone took my Jack from me… if I weren’t able to save him somehow... well, I don’t know what I would do.” You followed her gaze to a small lean-to across the camp, where you spotted a young boy, about Ben’s age, cuddled in a pile of blankets.

Then you knew - she understood. Smiling gently at her, you took another sip of your coffee in companionable silence, allowing yourself time to decompress. After a few minutes, Abigail rose to pour the two of you another cup, and you glanced around the camp once more. In the daylight, it was easier to make out the dozen or so open tents and lean-tos, each with a few dozing people beneath them. In the middle of the circle, stood a larger tent, its flaps tied tightly shut. 

Across from the large tent, stood what looked like a provisions wagon. Several skinned deer hung from a makeshift drying rack as a burly man got to work chopping vegetables on a dirty butchers’ block. Next to the wagon, was the campfire that boasted a pot and percolator full of coffee. Two young women stood with Charles beside the fire, who gave you a brief nod when your eyes met.

As the two of you shared your second cup of coffee, the camp slowly began to come to life. Several men came from out of the nearby trees and laid down to rest, as Charles and another man went to take their place. Guards, you suspected. 

Javier woke from his tent next to another campfire and gave you a brief nod before heading to grab an apple from the provisions. Sean, the redhead from the night before, still laid passed out next to where Javier had been sleeping.

You had to admit, despite the circumstances, this was nice. Somehow, peaceful.

As you finished your second cup of coffee, you could hear sudden, panicked cries coming from the direction of Arthur’s tent. “Mama? Mama!?” The moment your son’s frantic shouts reached your ears, you darted in his direction with Abigail on your heels. “Mama?!”

“Ben? Ben it’s alright,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm as you entered the tent. Ben had sat up in the small cot, tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes and nose were flushed red from crying, and he immediately sprung out of bed and into your arms as soon as he saw you. You shushed him, petting the top of his curls and hugging him to you. “It’s alright, sweetheart. I’m here.” 

His breaths came in sharp, panicked sobs, even as he began to calm down in your arms. He tried to speak, but his words only came out in stammered, broken sentences. “I… didn’t… you… home…” he cried into your blouse, clutching the fabric in tiny fists. 

“Shhhh,” you whispered into his hair, kneeling down to the ground and pulling him into your chest. “Mama’s here. It’s alright, sweetheart,” you continued to calm him, rubbing his back and cuddling him close, far too distracted to notice the small commotion outside of the tent. You can’t imagine how much of a shock it must have been, waking up alone and in a strange place. Kicking yourself for leaving the tent, you shushed him further. “I know, I know,” you whispered, your attempts to soothe the crying boy working slowly. “I’m here, it’s alright.”

It was only when you heard a throat clear that you realised someone else had entered the tent. For only a moment, you glanced up at the man standing behind you, a large buck slung over his shoulder and his eyes wide as saucers. Arthur was back, and was evidently not entirely happy at seeing you in his tent.

Unfortunately, he would need to wait. This was his space, but your son was your priority. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” you murmured, getting to your feet now that Ben’s sobs had turned to quiet whimpers. “Are you hungry? Let’s go see if we can find some food, alright?”

You felt his nod more than you saw it, as he latched onto your legs. Reaching down, you tried to gently pry him off and coax him into taking your hand. “Come on, I bet Abigail can show us where to get breakfast, and then you can meet Jack,” you said quietly, pointedly avoiding Arthur’s shocked gaze. Ben nodded again, and reluctantly let go of your legs to hold your outstretched hand. 

It took a lot of patience and soothing words to drag Ben over to where Abigail stood, waiting. She held out two rolls and an apple for the both of you with a gentle smile at the child hiding behind you. Without a word, she led you back to the table where your coffee sat, now cold. You sat in your chair from earlier, pulling Ben into your lap and setting the roll in front of him. 

He didn’t touch it.

Instead, he turned to you and buried his face into your shoulder, shy and embarrassed. With a sigh, you rubbed his back, trying your best to ignore the stares that the earlier outburst had now drawn. 

“He’ll come ‘round,” came Abigail’s voice from across the table. “Must’ve been awful scary wakin’ up in some strange tent.” She sat down across from you, pulling out a small knife to cut the apple. It would be much easier to coax some food into your son this way. 

You mouthed a “thank you” towards her as you felt Ben turn his head slightly. He was still nuzzled into your neck, but had one eye out, looking warily at the woman across from him.

“I’m Abigail,” she told him, reaching across the table with a slice of apple in her hand. “Here, you hungry?” Slowly, Ben finally to face her, but diverted his eyes to the grains of the wooden table. His whimpers had all but faded, but his eyes and nose were still swollen from his tears.

You nudged him slightly, urging him to take the bit of apple. And, after a moment, he did.

Gingerly, he held it in his hand and began nibbling on the end as he looked warily around the camp. Luckily, the stares had mostly stopped at that point, as everyone had moved onto their morning chores. However, one pair of eyes were focused directly on the two of you. 

Even if you hadn’t followed your son’s gaze, you still would have felt his turquoise eyes burning holes into you from across the camp. He had handed over the buck to the man at the provisions wagon long ago, and now was speaking quietly to Javier, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Your eyes met his and the world froze for just a moment.

Immediately, you were taken back to the few occasions you had met him. The night at Smithfield’s, the hotel bath, behind the town jail, the boarding house, and finally, the Downes ranch. Your short relationship had been tumultuous, to say the least. Unimaginable highs and electric chemistry followed by crashing lows and a devastating realisation. At that point, you felt you had seen enough of the man to know what you needed to know. Not only had he made it abundantly clear that the two of you wouldn’t work, but he had additionally gone on to strongarm your surrogate family just a few weeks later.

You should hate him. You should despise him for how he had treated Thomas. You should loathe him for how he left things with you.

And yet…

Here you were, unable to tear your eyes from his. Unable to contain the butterflies that had reemerged in your stomach.

And instead of hating him, you found that you hated yourself.

You were pulled harshly out of your thoughts as his name rang across the camp from the large tent. “Arthur, son, I need to talk to you for a moment!” He jumped slightly, before letting out an irritated grumble and heading in the direction of the voice. 

Swallowing hard, you turned again to look at your son, who had finally nibbled his way through an apple slice and was looking with interest at the other small boy who had just woken up across the camp. Abigail seemed to have taken notice of this and called for him, “Jack, why don’t you come over here and join us?”

The boy nodded eagerly and galloped over to his mother, climbing into her lap. “Morning, Mama!” he chimed, grinning wide and grabbing a slice of apple from the table. He looked the two of you over, before leaning into Abigail and whispering something in her ear.

She laughed lightly and introduced you and your son. “Maybe you can show him the chickens? What do you think?”

Jack nodded in excitement and hopped down to the ground. “Sure! I’ll show you my favorite! I call her Clucky, but no one else does,” he rambled. Ben, now significantly calmer and slightly excited at the prospect of a friend his age (or maybe he was excited about the chickens?) looked up at you for permission. You smiled at him and nodded, relief flooding you as he climbed off your lap and ran with the other boy to the edge of camp.

Kids were resilient, you knew that, but it still was heartbreaking to see your son so scared and confused.

“Thank you, Abigail,” you said after a moment, fiddling with a slice of apple that had been left on the table. 

“It weren’t nothing,” she replied quickly, standing from her seat. “Now, I gotta go get some work done, but I’ll be ‘round in case you need anything.”

You nodded to her again as she walked away, before taking a moment to let out a long, exhausted sigh. What now?

The camp bustled around you; doing chores and talking amongst one another, largely ignoring your presence. They seemed friendly enough, but were obviously very busy. Across the camp, you could see Ben and Jack walking behind a chicken, trying to coax it into their arms.

A small smile graced your lips. It was good to see him spending time with children his age. Lord knew there weren’t many other children in Valentine he could socialise with, so this was a very nice change of pace.

After a few minutes, your eye was drawn back to the large tent in the center of camp as the front flap was drawn open. Arthur stepped out and held the canvas wide for two other men who followed him into the sunlight. The first, a man a few years older than Arthur with an ornate red vest and dark hair slicked back with pomade, gave you a quick glance before addressing his companions. “We will take care of Colm, I promise you,” he said, voice projecting over the campsite. “But you need to take her home, this camp ain’t no place for a child.”

“Now, Dutch,” cut in a second man, older and thinner than the first, with graying hair and an outfit that was likely once high quality. “We can’t forget about Jack. It may be good for him to have another child around. And we don’t know where Colm is, let alone if we can handle him at the moment. It would be more reasonable-”

“Hosea, you know as well as I do that we can’t afford another mouth to feed,” explained the first man, Dutch. “They seem like a lovely family, they do, and if something happens, I am truly sorry, but we need to look out for our own first.” At this, the older man raised his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose in a way that reminded you of Arthur.

“We can’t just leave them at Colm’s mercy. You know that, Dutch,” he continued, waving a hand in your general direction.

“And we won’t, Hosea,” Dutch cut in quickly, turning in your direction and making his way to the table. “Have a little faith, won’t you?” He reached you quickly, confidence radiating from each step before he sat down across from you and extended a hand. “Dutch van der Linde, good morning,” he introduced himself with the same sort of cocky air you had seen on plenty of businessmen visiting town. “This is Hosea, and of course you know Arthur.”

You reached for his hand and gave him your name, glancing at the two other men. Dutch’s handshake was firm, strong and slightly intimidating. Hosea seemed a bit frustrated, worried about the prospect of sending you home, while Arthur tried his best to keep his feelings at bay. “Thank you for letting me stay here last night,” you continued, pulling your hand back. “I don’t know what I would have done if Charles hadn’t been there…”

“Think nothing of it, my dear,” he continued before the other two men could speak. “Those men are monsters, I am just glad we were able to get to you in time.” 

We? He hadn’t done anything.

“But in the meantime, this gives us a golden opportunity of sorts,” Dutch’s eyes lit up as began explaining his plan. “Now these were some of Colm O’Driscoll’s boys from what I’ve heard. Monsters, downright rotten, all of them. And with a taste for vengeance, I might add.” You looked from Dutch to Arthur and Hosea, who both seemed significantly less enthusiastic about this plan. 

“From what I gather, they aren’t very fond of you right now, my dear. And I’d wager that they’ll come back for you if we give them the opportunity,” he explained, and your eyes narrowed. 

What was he getting at? Was he really considering sending you back there to be kidnapped by people he, himself, had described as monsters? You paused for a moment, growing tense. “So, you want to use me…. and my five-year-old son… as bait?” you asked, slowly, words laced with venom.

Maybe Charles had made a mistake in saving you last night. 

“You want to put us in danger so you can get… revenge? Or whatever it is that you want?” you continued, looking Dutch directly in the eyes.

He let out a loud laugh and leaned back in his chair, attempting to break the tension and smooth you over. “Now, now, that’s not it at all!” he chided, leaning back further and taking a cigar out of his vest pocket. He lit it and shook out the match with a flourish before continuing, “Rest assured you and your son would be safe the entire time! You can even leave him here until the deed is done!” 

Lips pursed together and taking a deep breath through your nose, you let him continue. “We will send you back in a wagon with Arthur, who is our best sharpshooter, I might add. And we will have a few of my men follow behind you at a safe distance. Once Colm and his boys show up, we will take them out and you can go on living your life as you wish.”

“Dutch, I-”

“Damnit, Dutch-”

“Now, Hosea, Arthur, let the woman speak for herself.”

Hosea shut his mouth, frowning. He obviously wasn’t entirely happy with being sidelined by his friend. You looked over the three of them again. This was insane. Charles had saved your life, yes. They had been perfectly hospitable for one evening, yes. But you had no reason to risk your life for them so they could play at their little game of revenge. “And if I disagree?”

At that, Dutch’s charming smile turned into a grim frown. “Now, I’m afraid that ain’t an option, my dear,” he responded, leaning forward on his chair once more. “See, you can’t stay here. We simply don’t have the capacity for two more mouths.” He gestured around at the two-dozen or so men and women around camp. 

“Dutch, I said-” started Arthur, before being cut off by the other man once more.

“And it would be unfortunate to send you home without a guard. Like I said, Colm’s boys are monsters…” Dutch trailed off, but you understood the implication perfectly. Colm’s boys are monsters, and you know exactly what they will do if they find you without protection.

“Now, be reasonable Dutch. We can’t send a woman and her child to their deaths,” Hosea scolded, to no avail. Dutch continued looking in your direction, waiting for a response.

“We won’t be sending them to their deaths, Hosea,” Dutch taunted, trying to make light of the situation. “We would be there to protect them. And if we get rid of Colm O’Driscoll in the meantime, then so be it.”

Hands clenched in front of your face, you could see your knuckles turn white as you tried to think of any other way out of this. You could leave on your own, but he was right that those men would probably catch up to you rather quickly. You could find someplace new - a cabin outside of town, perhaps - but you would be starting from next to nothing and had absolutely no idea how to go about that. You could use what little money you had and take the train to New York or Chicago or Saint Dennis… but then you would be left penniless and homeless in a new place.

By the time you had thought through the various scenarios, your jaw was shaking and you could feel the tears of frustration welling up in your eyes. This was all so stupid. You were stupid.

You should have known.

After Arthur, after everything, you should have known that your saving grace the previous evening would come at a cost. 

These were not good people.

But, now, you didn’t have a choice. You were alive, Ben was alive, and you didn’t have a choice but to repay the people who had saved you. For your sake, for Ben’s sake, you would have to go along with this plan.

“Fine,” you spat, glaring at the man across the table. “But Ben stays here, at least until this is over… at least until it’s safe.” 

Dutch clapped his hands together and leaned back in his chair again, blatantly ignoring your frustration. “That’s great to hear!” he said, his voice once again projected through the entire camp; a show of dominance. He let out a loud chuckle and stood from his seat, turning to the others, who were now paying attention. “Arthur, ready the wagon, we’ll leave within the hour. Bill, Charles, Javier, with me. We’ll finally take this bastard down!” he could hardly contain his mirth, rubbing his hands together and grinning as he walked back to his tent. Almost as an afterthought, he turned to you, “And we will get you and your boy home safe, of course.”

In that moment, you wanted to scream. You wanted to lunge at this strange man and tear his perfectly coiffed hair from his head. You were about to risk your life as payment for it being saved, and he was happy? He kept calling those men from last night monsters, but you were starting to think he may have been exactly the same.

Instead, you swallowed your fury and made your way to Ben and Jack. The two boys seemed to be completely unaware of the situation, the chickens having kept their attention through the entire thing. As you approached, the two of them had hold of one of the chickens, Clucky, you guessed, and were petting it lovingly as they fed it corn kernels from the palm of their hands and giggled.

You cleared your throat and plastered a smile on your face, hoping your fury wasn’t too obvious. “Ben, sweetheart?” you called. He looked up from the chicken, curls bouncing and a large grin illuminating his face.

“Mama! Look!” he responded, patting the chicken on its head. “This is Clucky! Me and Jack are gonna teach him to do a trick!”

Your laugh was less amused than it normally would have been, but it seemed to do the trick. “Oh, really? And what trick is that?”

“I’ve been trying to teach him to fly, but it didn’t work,” Jack explained, the poor chicken still clutched to his chest. “So, we thought if he can’t fly, maybe he can roll over.”

Drawing air through your nose, you let out a forced chuckle. “Well, I certainly have never seen a chicken do either of those things,” you responded, stepping closer to the two boys and kneeling on the ground, “I can’t wait to see the results.” The boys both giggled. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t I go fetch some things from the house, and we can stay another night. That way the two of you will have more time to work on Clucky’s new trick. What do you think?”

Apparently thrilled at the prospect, the boys nodded and shouted their agreement enthusiastically - terrifying the nearby chickens. Luckily, this seemed to have distracted them enough that they didn’t see your face fall as you pulled Ben to you and kissed the top of his head. “I love you, sweetheart,” you murmured into his curls before pulling away. With another deep breath and a forced smile, you looked him in the eyes. “I’ll be back soon.”

You only hoped that would be the truth.