#John marston oneshot

[blackenedsnow]

The saddlebag prompt is so silly! I love it! I have a fluffy child reader idea too!

The child convinces Arthur, John, and some of the others to play pretend a passenger train robbery. While they play, John surprises the child by picking them up and taking them over to the "loot bag" Arthur is holding for the game.

The child is all giggly when John puts them in it, and Arthur hops on his horse to escape with the "loot".

the loot's alive

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader, Sean MacGuire & Child! Reader, Javier Escuella & Child! Reader, Hosea Matthews & Child! Reader, Charles Smith & Child! Reader

NOTE: I'm so glad you liked the saddlebag idea! Thanks for requesting this fluffy, fun story. I hope this one brought a smile to your face!

SUMMARY: The camp is quiet until you convince Arthur and John to play a pretend train robbery.

It was a lazy afternoon at camp, the kind where even the wind seemed to have decided to take a break. You, however, had far too much energy to sit still. After spending half the morning running around, you had an idea that just couldn’t wait. You found Arthur sitting by the campfire, sharpening his knife while John cleaned his guns nearby.

“Uncle Arthur! John!” you called, running up with wide eyes and a mischievous grin.

Arthur raised his head, his brow furrowing in curiosity. “What’s goin’ on, kid?” he asked, putting the knife down.

“I wanna play! Let’s rob a train!” you announced with dramatic flair, throwing your arms up.

John grinned and glanced over at Arthur. “Well, sounds like we’ve got ourselves a criminal mastermind.”

Arthur chuckled softly, shaking his head. “A train robbery, huh? Alright, kid. Guess we’ll need a loot bag then.” He got up, grabbing an old saddlebag from his horse. “What’s the plan?”

Your eyes gleamed with excitement. “We stop the train and take all the treasure! You, Uncle Arthur, carry the loot bag, and John, you handle the passengers!”

John played along, giving a mock serious nod. “Passengers, huh? Alright, kid, you’re the boss.”

As the two of them got into position, you ran around as the "passengers," pretending to be someone very rich. “Please, sir! Don’t take my treasure!” you cried, clutching an invisible pile of jewels.

John crept toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid we gotta take everything you got.”

Just as you were about to run, John grabbed you gently, scooping you up into the air. “Look what we’ve got here! The real prize!”

You squealed with laughter as John swung you around, making you feel like you were flying. He carried you over to Arthur, who stood there holding the loot bag.

Arthur looked down at you with a smirk. “Well, well. Looks like we found ourselves some valuable loot.” He held the bag open, and John carefully placed you inside, your giggles echoing as your legs dangled out of the bag.

Arthur grinned, lifting the bag with you still inside. “Better hold on tight. I’m takin’ off with the goods.”

Before he could start his "getaway," though, Sean came strutting into camp, his wild red hair bouncing as he caught sight of the scene. “Now what in the name of all things holy is goin' on here?”

You peeked out of the bag, giggling uncontrollably. “We’re playing train robbery!”

Sean’s face split into a wide grin. “Aw, shite! I love me a good robbery! Count me in!” He ran up beside John, rubbing his hands together. “So, who’s the unlucky bastard we’re robbin’?”

John shook his head, still smiling. “Already got the best loot right here.” He pointed at you, still giggling in Arthur’s loot bag.

Sean threw his head back and laughed. “Ah, but ya gotta watch out for them sneaky lawmen, Arthur!” He made finger guns and started shooting at imaginary enemies. “Bang! Bang! The law’s comin’ for ya!”

Arthur played along, hopping onto his horse. “Better outrun ‘em then!” He spurred his horse into a slow trot around the camp, with you laughing from inside the saddlebag.

By now, Javier had wandered over, his guitar slung over his shoulder. “What’s all the noise about?” he asked, amusement in his voice as he watched the scene unfold.

“Train robbery!” you yelled from the bag, waving your arms.

Javier chuckled and shook his head. “Ah, so that’s what I’m missing.” He strummed a few chords on his guitar, playing a lively tune. “Well, no robbery’s complete without a good getaway song, right?”

As Javier’s playful melody filled the air, Charles, who had been quietly sharpening his tomahawk nearby, couldn’t help but join in on the fun. He walked over, arms crossed, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You need any help making your escape, Arthur?”

Arthur snorted. “Could use some muscle to back me up.”

Charles nodded and jogged beside Arthur’s horse as he continued his slow ��escape” around camp, giving you a reassuring grin as you peeked out of the bag.

But then came Hosea, who had been watching from the sidelines with a bemused expression. He sauntered over, shaking his head. “I see you’ve all lost your minds.”

John grinned. “Come on, Hosea. You know you want in.”

Hosea chuckled softly, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I suppose someone has to play the lawman. You folks are in big trouble now,” he said, raising his hands like he was ready to arrest you all.

Everyone burst out laughing, even Arthur cracking a grin as he slowed his horse and “surrendered” the loot bag. “Alright, Hosea, you caught me,” he said, carefully lifting you out of the saddlebag and setting you back on the ground.

You wobbled slightly, still giggling as you dusted yourself off. “You got us all, Hosea!”

Hosea winked at you, his eyes full of warmth. “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful today.”

Sean came over, lifting you onto his shoulders with a playful grin. “Well, we may have lost the loot, but that was one hell of a robbery!”

They all laughed, Javier strumming his guitar as Charles, John, and Arthur looked on with soft smiles. Even Hosea shook his head with a chuckle.

“All thanks to our little mastermind,” Arthur added, tipping his hat toward you.

You grinned from your perch on Sean’s shoulders, beaming at all of them. “We should rob another train tomorrow!”

[rdrclo]

How they would handle your autism

Okay so before i start i just wanted to say i am professionally diagnosed with autism, i have been for a good few years now, and even though i wouldn't change it if i had the choice, its something that affects every moment of my life, and it can be super difficult to deal with sometimes.

So to anyone else who also has it, i hope these headcanons are a comfort to you as they are to me💘

Just the boys again sorry!😭 If anyone wants me to do the girls or any other characters, please just request.

-

Arthur:

Arthur's got a quiet patience about him. He notices the way you tense up when the camp gets too loud or how you fidget with your hands when overwhelmed. He doesn't make a big deal out of it—just adjusts. If you need silence, he takes you out on a ride, letting the steady rhythm of the horse calm you down. If you struggle with eye contact, he doesn't force it, just focuses on something else while talking to you.

He's a man of few words, but you don't need them to know he cares. If you have a special interest, he listens, even if he doesn't understand half of what you're saying. "That right?" he mutters, nodding along as you excitedly explain something. If someone in camp gives you a hard time, he shuts it down with a glare alone.

When your emotions get too much—when frustration or anxiety build up to the point where you shut down—Arthur doesn't push. He just sits nearby, waiting it out with you. When you're ready, he might gruffly mutter, "C'mon. Let's go for a ride." He knows the world's a little too much sometimes, but he's more than willing to be your safety.

-

Dutch:

Dutch is a talker, and at first, he doesn't quite realize that his constant speeches can be overwhelming for you. But he's observant—he notices the way you sometimes shrink away when there's too much noise, or how certain sensations seem to bother you more than others.

Once he understands, Dutch makes an effort. He lowers his voice when he's speaking directly to you, keeping his tone smooth and even. When camp gets too chaotic, he offers you a place in his tent to take a break. "You just take a moment, my dear. No rush," he says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Dutch enjoys your intelligence, especially if you have a particular interest or skill. He listens intently, even if you go on a long tangent. "You've got a brilliant mind," he tells you, meaning every word. If your way of thinking is different, he sees it as an advantage, something that makes you valuable to the gang.

He encourages you, but sometimes he pushes too hard, expecting you to handle situations that overwhelm you. If you struggle, he's quick to reassure you. "Now, now, there's no shame in that," he soothes, hand on your shoulder. He's not perfect at understanding, but he tries—and when Dutch believes in you, he makes you believe in yourself, too.

-

Micah:

At first, Micah doesn't seem like the kind of man who'd have the patience for your quirks. He's loud, brash, and constantly poking at people's weaknesses. But he's also sharp—he notices things fast. The way you flinch at loud sounds, how certain activities make you uncomfortable, or how you get stuck on one topic and talk about it for ages. At first, he teases. "Damn, you ever shut up 'bout that?" he'll scoff with a smirk, but if he sees you actually upset, he dials it back.

Over time, he gets used to you. Hell, he even starts accommodating you without thinking about it. If you struggle with eye contact, he talks to you while cleaning his revolvers or rolling a cigarette, giving you an easy way out. If camp is too overwhelming, he's the first to drag you off somewhere quieter—though he acts like it's just for himself. "C'mon, place is crawlin' with fools. Let's get outta here."

Micah doesn't coddle you, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. If someone tries to mess with you over the way you think or act, he's in their face before you even process what happened. He might tease you himself, but no one else gets that privilege.

If you ever get overwhelmed to the point of closing off, he doesn't panic or push. He just waits it out, maybe making some offhand comment like, "Y'know, sittin' there like a damn statue ain't gonna fix nothin'." But his tone isn't cruel—it's grounding. If words don't help, he might nudge your foot with his boot or put something in your hands to fidget with. He's rough around the edges, but in his own way, he's got your back.

-

Hosea:

Hosea catches on quickly. He's spent a lifetime reading people, and he notices the little things. He doesn't ask a lot of questions; he just starts adjusting, making things easier for you in ways so subtle you almost don't notice.

If you get overwhelmed in camp, he gently steers you away before it gets too much. "Come on, let's take a little walk," he says, voice calm and steady. He happily listens to you talking with genuine interest, even asking questions to keep you going.

He's got a natural patience for your quirks. If you need things a certain way, he helps make sure they stay that way. You don't even have to ask; he just knows.

And if you ever have a moment where the world is too much—where you shut down or struggle to get your words out—Hosea doesn't rush you. He just stays close, offering a reassuring presence. "Take your time, no hurry," he says softly. He never makes you feel broken, never makes you feel like you need to change. To Hosea, you're just you—and that's more than enough.

-

Javier:

Javier is naturally warm and easygoing, and that extends to how he treats you. He doesn't make a big deal out of your differences —he just rolls with them.

If you have a special interest, Javier encourages it. He loves passion, and if you light up talking about something, he genuinely listens. He might not understand everything, but he enjoys seeing you excited. If your interest is music, he goes out of his way to teach you songs on the guitar, patient even if it takes you a while to get it right.

Javier is protective in a quiet way. If someone is rude to you, loud to you, he steps in before you even have to say anything. "Leave 'em alone," he says firmly, and that's the end of it. If you get overwhelmed or need time alone, he respects that, but he also makes sure you know you're never truly alone. "If you need anything, just come find me,?"

More than anything, Javier makes you feel welcome—like you belong, exactly as you are.

-

Kieran:

Kieran isn't the sharpest, but he's a kind-hearted soul who wants to make sure you're comfortable. He notices when you seem agitated. He knows you're different in a way that's just you—and he likes you just the way you are. Hes the same in some ways.

If you need some space, Kieran's the type to give it to you without asking questions. "You alright there?" he'll ask, his voice soft, before he backs off and leaves you be if you need it. He's not going to push or prod, but he's always there if you want to talk. If something's bothering you and you don't know how to say it, Kieran tries to make light of it, cracking a joke to bring a little ease to the situation.

He's the type to get a little flustered if you talk about something he doesn't understand, but he tries his best. "That's... uh, that's real interesting, I guess," he'll say, awkwardly. But there's no judgment in his voice.

He's not great with words, but he makes up for it with his kindness and willingness to just be there for you, even when he doesn't have a clue what to say.

-

Sean:

Sean's overly energetic and doesn't always understand the finer details of what you might be going through. You often flinch around him, due to his loud outbursts, and of course he rarely notices, not that any of it is on purpose. But when he does notice you're uncomfortable, he'll often try to lighten the mood, cracking jokes or teasing you, though he doesn't mean any harm by it.

If you focus on something passionately, he'll listen, though sometimes he might get distracted or not fully grasp what you're saying. He's not one to judge, though. "Sounds like somethin' alright," he might say, nodding along, even if it's more about hearing you out than truly understanding.

He isn't the type to overanalyze, but if anyone messes with you, Sean's quick to jump in. "Get lost, will ya?" he'll snap, not bothering with subtlety. For all his teasing, he's protective in his own way, and you can tell he'll look after you when it really counts.

-

Josiah:

Josiah is observant and gentle, with a deep understanding of people's different needs. He's quick to recognize when you need space or when something is too much for you. He doesn't make a big deal about it, though—he simply suggests you do something else, a moment of peace. "Why don't we go for a little stroll, eh? Clear our heads," he'll offer with his usual calm tone.

He doesn't rush you, always giving you time to process things at your own pace. Josiah listens to you attentively, offering thoughtful questions and keeping the conversation going. "Ah, quite fascinating. Tell me more about that," he'll say, genuinely interested in whatever you have to share.

Josiah's not the type to make you feel out of place. He adapts to your needs, and while he's usually quite expressive, he shows his care in subtle ways. If you're ever feeling overwhelmed, he might quietly sit with you or give you a little distraction, offering a book or a game of cards to help calm your nerves.

You enjoy his magic tricks, and he often does them for you, allowing you a good distraction from the world.

-

Charles:

Charles quickly notices when things start to feel too much for you. He doesn't ask questions or make you feel uncomfortable; instead, he simply offers a quiet space or suggests a quiet detour. "You look like you could use a break," he'll say, his tone gentle and understanding. He's the kind of person who doesn't need to talk much to know what's going on with you.

He appreciates your perspectives on the world, and often finds you easy to talk to. The two of you often open up to each other, late at night while no one else is listening.

But despite how much he treasures your deep conversations, he's also someone who will sit with you in silence, letting you have the space you need. He values respect and takes the time to understand you, always offering the kind of steady, unspoken support that helps you feel at ease.

-

John:

John is straightforward and not one to mince words, but he's also deeply loyal and protective of those he cares about. He quickly picks up on when things are getting too much for you. He does try his best to help, though sometimes he accidentally does the opposite.

John might not fully understand everything you go through, but he respects it. If you have a special interest or passion, he'll listen even if he doesn't get the details. "Alright, I hear ya," he'll say, nodding as if to show he cares about what you're saying, even if he's not completely following.

John doesn't try to force you to talk or explain your feelings and emotions. He just gives you a little space and waits patiently, knowing you'll come around when you're ready. "Take your time," he'll say quietly, his steady presence offering comfort without pressure.

When it comes to taking care of you, he shows it with actions more than anything.

-

Lenny:

Lenny has a quiet empathy that makes him easy to be around. He notices when you get overstimulated or need space, and he respects it without question, always offering a calm, no-pressure way out of any situation.

He's genuinely interested, in the way you are, but its rare he asks. He doesn't want to put you on the spot, but when you talk, he's good at giving you the time and space you need to do that.

If you need some quiet time or space to yourself, Lenny doesn't push or question it. He just lets you be, offering a reassuring presence from a distance if you need it. "No worries, I'll be around," he'll say, quietly letting you know he's there if you ever want company. He's steady and patient, making sure you feel respected without needing to say much at all.

[esquilone]

Micah Bell X autistic F! Reader

RDR2 | Micah Bell X autistic F! Reader

❤︎ Author note’s: this is just a small one shot of Micah, We have few Micah stories out there-unfortunately, so I had a little idea yesterday while I was having dinner, I passed the corrections up today and I hope some soul in this land can like it.

❤︎ Tags: Mentions of shootings, eating disorders, disorders, contempt and debauchery on the part of Micah (nothing too exaggerated), unprepared kisses, sensitive hearing....etc?¿

Micah Bell Was Not a Romantic Man.

He knew that very well. He wasn’t good with feelings, he wasn’t good with gentleness. But one thing he did know: when he wanted something, he took it.

And lately, he found himself looking at you more than he should. What he was strange for himself.

You weren’t the type to challenge him like Arthur or Dutch. You weren’t one of those women who yelled or rolled their eyes every time he spoke. But you didn’t flatter him either. Your way was different—you just sighed, made a face, or at most, threw a quick remark before going back to whatever you were doing. That intrigued him. So, he started testing. Getting closer. Speaking lower when you were distracted, just to see you flinch slightly. And he noticed—you got nervous when he invaded your space. But you didn’t run.

And that satisfied him.

————————

It was by accident that he heard it (The Discovery)

He was sharpening his knife near the campfire when he caught part of the conversation. Arthur talking to Hosea, or maybe it was Mary-Beth. It didn’t matter who. What mattered was what they were saying.

About you. About how you were… different.

He frowned and listened closer.

“She’s autistic, Arthur. That’s why sometimes she needs to step away, or gets overwhelmed by too much noise. I don't think she's fine today, she's been quiet, better give her space."

Autistic?

He didn't know exactly what that meant, but he took enough to understand. But it explained a few things. The way you got rigid in certain situations. As he seemed to prefer to be alone sometimes. How the noise seemed to irritate you in a different way than it irritated others.

Micah stopped moving the gun. His gaze flickered to you on the other side of camp. You had no idea what had been said. It was just still there, his fingers occupied, his forehead slightly furrowed

Actions, Not Words

Micah snorted. Not that it would change anything. But maybe it would explain why he liked to provoke you so much

After that, things changed. But only in his head.

Micah wasn’t the type to talk. He wasn’t going to ask anything. But… he started noticing more things.

When you went on missions together, he acted differently. If there were too many gunshots, too much yelling, he sped things up, killed fast, took care of the problem before it got out of hand. If you tensed up too much on the horse, he found excuses to stop for a bit. He said he was going to take a piss or stop for a drink, what got into him? He seemed kind.

And when he touched you… well, he noticed something interesting.

At first, you flinched, but you didn’t pull away. After a while, your body relaxed. You got used to it. And Micah realized he liked that.

He liked the way you got nervous around him, and when you let your guard down.

————————

He liked seeing the exact moment your body stopped resisting. Liked knowing that, even without words, he could get to you.

One night, after a mission, you both dismounted your horses and walked back to camp in silence. Micah pulled off his gloves and tossed them aside, watching you from the corner of his eye.

— You doin’ alright there, sweetheart? — His voice was casual, but there was something else underneath.

You looked at him, assessing, like you were trying to figure out where he was going with this.

— I’m fine. Why?

He shrugged, stepping a little closer. You didn’t back away as much as before. That made him smile.

— Just figured you liked it when I cared.

You huffed, but he caught the corner of your mouth twitching like you wanted to smile. Micah Bell wasn’t a gentle man. But sometimes—just sometimes—he liked to pretend he could be, just to get a different reaction out of you. You were the only woman in camp who looked him in the eye.

————————

Micah Bell Was Amused.

Leaning against the wooden shed, arms crossed over his chest, he watched you from a distance. You were sitting near the fire, fiddling with something between your fingers, too focused to notice his stare.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

— Hey, sweetheart.

You sighed, already bracing for the annoyance. Slowly, you turned toward him, your expression neutral—but Micah didn’t miss the way your shoulders tensed just a little.

— What is it now, Micah?

Pushing off the wall, he walked toward you, the soft jingle of his spurs barely cutting through the crackling fire. He already knew your reaction—he expected you to stiffen up. And yet, he liked watching it. Liked how you didn’t run, didn’t push him away… just sat there, tense, uneasy.

— Was just wondering… why do you always make that little grimace face when you see me?

He pulled a crate closer and sat in front of you, legs spread, arms resting on his knees.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers still clutched the piece of fabric you were sewing, but now, a little tighter.

— You’re annoying….– you murmured.

Micah let out a low chuckle.

— Annoying? Oh, sweetheart, you ain’t seen nothing yet.

He leaned in just a little, invading your space. You blinked fast, looking uncomfortable—but you didn’t pull away.

Micah watched, intrigued. Then, slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on your shoulder.

The reaction was immediate. Your body tensed, like an invisible string had pulled you inward.

Micah noticed.

And he liked it.

But he also noticed something else—you didn’t move to shake him off.

So, he left his hand there for a few extra seconds before pulling away, satisfied.

— That ain’t no way to treat a fellow companion, y’know? He grinned. You oughta be a little sweeter to me.

You rolled your eyes and went back to your work, but Micah saw the way your chest rose and fell just a little faster.

And he found that real interesting.

————————

The night wrapped the camp in a thick veil of silence. The only sound was the rustling of leaves under the lazy breeze and the occasional crackling of the dying fire. Most of the gang was asleep, worn out from another day of running from the law or planning the next heist.

Except for you.

Sitting alone at the wooden table, Eating something, illuminated only by the flickering light of the oil lamp, you idly pushed the food around your plate. The fork poked at the meal, but nothing looked appetizing. Every bite was uncomfortable, hard to swallow.

Far away, blended into the shadows of the trees, Micah Bell now watched.

His blue eyes pierced through the darkness like those of a snake—predatory and patient. He leaned casually against a tree trunk, hat pulled slightly forward, concealing part of his face.

He didn’t quite know why he was watching you so much. Didn’t know why his gaze stayed hooked on the tense set of your shoulders, the way your fingers drummed against the table.

Maybe it was just boredom.

Maybe it was just because, at that moment, you were the only thing alive and awake out there—besides him.

But then, he saw it.

The way your face twisted as you chewed, like the food was sawdust in your mouth. You swallowed with effort, your features tightening for just a moment.

Micah frowned.

“Fussin’ over nothin’,” he thought immediately. But even so, he kept looking.

And then, as if suddenly out of patience, you shoved the plate away with a sharp motion, pushing it to the edge of the table. Your arms folded over the wood, and you rested your head on them, exhausted.

Your hair spilled over your arms, soft and messy, catching a faint glow under the lamplight. The hem of your dress lifted slightly as the breeze brushed over your legs, and Micah noticed something else—the buttons of your aquamarine-blue dress were partially undone. Just a little, just enough to let your skin breathe. Cute.

You stayed there, unmoving.

Micah stopped looking.

Just for a moment.

But something inside him stayed caught on that image. Something he couldn’t quite name.

He huffed to himself, shaking off the thought. But he didn’t leave. He only remained in the shadows, watching from the corner of his eye, quiet.

And you stayed alone.

You accepted it.

Accepted that you wouldn’t be able to eat. Accepted that your body was too tired, that every forkful felt like a useless effort.

Time passed, and exhaustion started pulling you into that hazy state, where thoughts drift away, and the only real thing is the cold wood beneath your arms.

Until you felt it.

A weight on the table.

You blinked slowly, coming back to reality. The lamplight still flickered, and the rest of the camp was drowned in silence. But something was there that hadn’t been before.

A can.

You lifted your head slightly, squinting against the light to see better. A can of peaches

The same thing you used to take on missions…?

Your eyes moved slowly, confused, and then they saw him.

Micah Bell stood nearby, hands cleaning his guns like he always did, expression unreadable.

He was looking at you in a way that didn’t make it clear if he was bored, annoyed, or just waiting. And then, with that slow, venomous smile, he opened his mouth:

— You gonna stare at that can all night or you gonna eat, sweetheart? — he mocked, tilting his head to the side.

You blinked again, hesitant.

He huffed, amused.

— See? I’m a gentleman. Damn near a saint.

His sarcasm was obvious, but there was something else, hidden under the playful tone. Something he wouldn’t say out loud. You took the can and opened it, taking a small bite and chewing slowly. And, to your surprise, the food went down easier.

When you decided, minutes later, to look back at him, he was already looking at you, now much closer to the table, the devil’s smile on his lips.

— You gonna stare at me all night? — He raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. — Tryna ask me for a little kiss, sweetheart?

The exhaustion weighing on your body disappeared for a moment. Your face hardened immediately, a heat rising in your chest—not so much because of what he said, but how he said it.

Micah smiled more, seeing your reaction.

— Ah, so now you wake up, huh?

You huffed, grabbing the can without a word. You opened it and started eating, deliberately ignoring his presence.

Micah crossed his arms, watching you.

— Hm. Bet you’re feeling better now.

You swallowed, avoiding his gaze, but he didn’t stop.

— Y’know, I could’ve just left you there, all sad and starving… — He tilted his head slightly, studying your expression. — So, I think that means you owe me a favor.

You stopped chewing, already seeing where this was going.

Micah smirked wider.

— Don’t you think I deserve a little reward?

You rolled your eyes and went back to eating.

He let out a low chuckle, satisfied.

— Ah, doll… I love it when you ignore me like that.

But despite the teasing, he stayed.

———————

The sun was beginning to set over Lemoyne, painting the camp in shades of orange and gold. The air was warm, heavy, carrying the scent of earth and damp grass after a brief afternoon rain.

Micah was sitting on a log near the fire, a little away from the rest of the group, lazily sharpening his knife. The blade slid over the whetstone with a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound, his skilled fingers turning the metal back and forth.

He seemed distracted.

Or maybe just bored.

Whatever it was, he didn’t notice you.

You crept up behind him, your steps light, careful. It wasn’t exactly difficult—Micah was so absorbed in what he was doing that he didn’t even lift his gaze. Maybe he thought no one would dare get close to him like that.

But you did.

In a quick instant, before you could change your mind, you leaned in and pressed a kiss.

Quick.

Indecipherable.

Your lips touched his skin for just a second—whether it was his chin, catching his lips too, you couldn’t tell afterward. It all happened so fast.

Then, you stepped back, heart pounding, body ready to leave. You’d go to bed with a smirk tonight after this interaction.

But Micah…

Micah froze.

The knife’s blade stopped mid-motion, his fingers stiffening around the wooden handle.

The air suddenly felt heavy.

He blinked, those blue eyes drifting over the empty space in front of him as if trying to process something his own brain refused to understand right away.

Then, slowly—very slowly—he turned his face in your direction.

The look he gave you was unreadable.

A mix of surprise, suspicion, and something deeper, hidden beneath that ever-mocking smile.

And then, as if finally registering what had just happened, his lips curled into a grin.

Slow.

Dangerous.

Amused.

A low, rough chuckle rumbled from his throat, something cruel, something entertained.

“Hah~… well, well…” His voice came out lazy, almost like a purr. “You’re getting bold, huh, sweetheart?”

You didn’t reply.

You didn’t need to.

The way you averted your gaze, the way your breath seemed to quicken just a little, already gave everything away.

And Micah noticed.

His eyes gleamed.

He tilted his head slightly, watching you like a Maine Coon cat—curious, as if just realizing that maybe the prey actually liked the game.

But before he could say anything else, you turned and started walking away.

Not in a hurry.

But without giving him time to react.

Micah kept watching as you disappeared beyond the fire’s glow, your blue dress swaying lightly with the wind.

And then, when he finally snapped out of it, he let out a low, rough chuckle, as if he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

He shook his head, huffing.

“Ah, little woman…” he murmured to himself, running his tongue over his lips as if trying to capture the taste of the moment.

Then, with a strange glint in his eyes, he went back to sharpening his knife. But now, the blade slid over the stone with just a little more force.

He let out a few deep laughs whenever he saw you from afar, laughing to himself.

And that smile?

It didn’t leave his face for a long time.

Author's notes:

Hey, hey! ˙ᴗ˙

That was the story, and I hope you guys liked it! I wanted to bring a little something different—maybe not exactly how Micah usually is, but hey… you never really know with him. Most of the time, you take a guess, and you’re right. But every now and then… he surprises you.

I was just looking for a bit of fun, so I figured I’d write it now before I put it off and forgot about it. After all, there’s barely any Micah stories on Tumblr, right? It’s so rare to see them, so I thought it’d be nice to leave this one here. Maybe as a little gift? Who knows! Maybe someone out there will enjoy it.

Thanks for reading! ♡

[the-karma-cafe]

My Kingdom for a Dance | Arthur Morgan

a/n: excerpt from a way longer work in progress i was working on many months ago, and haven't had the time to work on more. better to get something out now than nothing out ever, right ? - also will probmaybe post this on ao3 under same user

Arthur hummed, either not believing me or just not caring, and his eyes skipped down my form to the bottle clutched in my hand. His eyes widened a fraction, and he laughed, “You’re not messin’ around, little lady!”

I took another sip, trying to act nonchalant (never before had I fought a cringe so hard). “This is nothin’.” I shrugged.

Something sparkled in his eyes at that. “Oh yeah?” he laughed, and cocked his head over towards the other table. “You wanna put yer money where yer mouth is, sweetheart?” His hands rested heavy on his belt as he looked down at me.

I balked (and attempted to ignore the small flutter my heart made) at that. My eyes dragged over to the other table where Micah was pouring shots with Bill and John. I hadn’t meant for it to sound like a challenge.

Well. I couldn’t very well back down now, could I? Not when he was looking at me like that, calling me that.

I swallowed back my nerves and strolled over to the table like it didn’t matter. He snickered behind me, following.

“Thirsty, sugar pie?” Micah sneered up at me as I plopped down next to John.

“Parched,” I retorted, grabbing one of the shots from his spot across the table. Arthur settled down next to him, across from John, Bill, and I, and grabbed one of his own.

“One… two…” Bill began to count, but Micah threw his back before the other man finished. Irritated at not being followed, Bill scoffed and awkwardly cut himself off, throwing his back as well. John, Arthur, and I followed suit.

Or, well, John and Arthur did. Half the moonshine made it down my throat before I gagged and spit the rest back in the cup. Micah barked a laugh at me. “Bet you’d do better with somethin’ else in yer mouth, huh, girlie?” John laughed along with him.

My cheeks burned, if not for the drink, then especially for that. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” I bit back, stuffing down my embarrassment.

“Well,” he curled up his lip, “if the lady is offering…” He leaned back to gesture towards his lap.

I opened my mouth before I knew what I wanted to say, but thankfully was cut off. “You’re a real charmer, ain’tcha?” Arthur drawled. I glanced over at him, seeing that his cheerful expression from earlier had soured.

Micah shrugged and pushed up and away from the table. “Just the merry dance of the sexes,” he raised his hands in mock-defense. Bill pushed up to follow after him. Micah waved at me, his eyes narrowed and his grin wide. I looked back to Arthur.

“Creep.” Arthur muttered, his eyes not leaving the table.

My heart warmed a little. Arthur often defended the other women of camp from Micah’s comments, but I’d never had that kindness extended to me before now. It was sweet, his protectiveness. His gaze shifted across the table to my drink. He cracked a smile, “You gonna finish that?”

I snorted, pulling the cup towards me. “This is probably half-spit, you don’t want it.” I brought it back up to my nose, trying not to cringe at the smell. I held it away from me again. “How the hell d’you guys do this?”

John chuckled beside me. “Just don’t think about it, I guess.”

I nodded and took his advice, trying to throw the alcohol over my tongue to choke it back. I wasn’t sure what the percentage was on moonshine, but I was sure it didn’t matter at this point, my head now well-fuzzed. Arthur’s eyes were trained on me, a small smile on his lips. “You really are all talk.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a smile of my own. “Whatever.”

Arthur and John took a couple more shots, getting sloppier by the minute. John was friendly next to me, slinging his arm around my shoulder and talking too loudly in my ear. It was nice, though, hanging out with the two of them. Strange, but nice.

ARTHUR POV

He watched John say something else to her, but he wasn’t sure what, nor did he really care. His gaze was shadowed under his hat, staring across the table at them. John laughed, pulling (Y/N) closer as he rocked to the side. She smiled back at him, her cheeks ruddy. Arthur forced a laugh of his own, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered.

She looked nice.

He didn’t want to think about it, but with her right in front of him like this, it made things hard. He had tried all day not to think about that morning: waking up to the rest of the camp asleep, going to get coffee, getting distracted by the way the pale sun shone down on her hair, the sweet way she had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

He had found himself sketching it later, while waiting for Trelawney with Javier and Charles. He remembered closing his journal a little too quickly when he realized Trelawney had walked up and stood behind him to announce himself.

And she had washed his jacket. It was the slightest bit damp, but he kept it on anyway, even after he rode off. She pulled it out from under that blanket, bunched up by her side, and handed it to him. He wondered briefly how it would look on her一if she’d look as sweet in his jacket as she had with her blanket; if she’d grow to prefer it more.

He threw back another drink, seeking to quiet his thoughts. It didn’t matter, anyway.

John scowled at something (Y/N) said, and got up, stumbling off somewhere else. She turned those eyes of hers on Arthur. He fought the urge to look away, holding her gaze. “What’s his problem?” he asked.

“Told him to go see the missus,” she smiled, taking a sip of her beer. He forced himself to look away from the unfair way her lips looked pressed against it.

“Ah,” he hummed in understanding, raising his cup in acknowledgement. “Smart idea, gettin’ him to do it while he’s drunk.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

Dutch’s gramophone clicked to life, playing some fun, but calm, instrumental. Arthur glanced over, watching Dutch turn away from the machine and hold his hands out to Miss O’Shea, who happily stepped into his embrace. They swayed together to the music, her high laughter floating over the noise.

“That’s sweet,” (Y/N) whispered from across the table, just loud enough for him to hear. He looked back to her, watching her watch them, a soft expression on her face.

The sun was almost completely hidden behind the mountains now, the last valiant orange fading from the sky. Light from the nearby oil lamps and campfire took its place, most of her face shadowed despite their efforts. It played on the apple of her cheek, the bridge of her nose, the reflection in her eyes. His fingers itched for his journal again.

“D’you wanna dance?”

She blinked in surprise, and looked over at him. That was strange, though, because he hadn’t said anything. He wondered who asked her, although he hoped she would say no to them, and stay with him instead. Her cheeks appeared to flush the slightest bit一or maybe he was just seeing things一and she shyly smiled.

“Sure, Arthur, I’d love to.”

Oh. He asked.

He felt a heat of his own creep up the back of his neck and ears, and hoped it didn’t show. He stood up abruptly from the table, and swayed a bit on his feet. She mirrored his movement, getting up and steadying herself.

He held out his hand, forcing the other behind his back awkwardly. “M’lady,” he joked.

She giggled and placed her hand in his. It was a bit roughened compared to the night before, but still soft. It likely wouldn’t stay this way for long, running with them.

He tugged gently (or he tried to, at least), pulling her closer. She made a small noise of surprise and stumbled over to him, placing her other hand between them before they collided. It rested heavy on his chest, more an indicator of her drunken state than anything else. Warmth spread from her to him, and he wondered if he was giving any back.

Arthur brought up his hand to rest clumsily at her hip, unsure where exactly to place it. Why had he asked her to do this, again? He was clearly just going to embarrass himself.

Wherever he had settled it, though, she seemed content with, and she smoothed her hand up from his chest to rest on his shoulder. The line of contact seared like fire over him, and he made some noise in his throat. He hoped she hadn’t heard.

With their other hands clasped together, they swayed gracelessly, but he didn’t mind, and she didn’t seem to neither, a broad smile stretching her face. Her rings felt cool pressed against the heat of his palm. She kept laughing every now and then, stepping on his toes or knocking their knees together. He couldn’t find it in him to care.

He attempted a twirl at some point, but halfway through she fell backwards, losing her balance. He reached out and caught her, selfishly letting her head and back fall against his chest. “Y’alrigh’?” he slurred.

She tilted her head back, her face upside down, looking up at him with a sly grin. The campfire light caught her chest and jaw. “Better now in these big arms o’ yours, cowboy.” She winked, a stupid grin on her face.

He almost dropped her out of surprise. He stiffened, forcing out an awkward laugh that he hoped sounded casual.

This was ridiculous, he wasn’t some blushing schoolgirl. She was just teasing. He willed his taut muscles to relax.

“‘S that right?” he brought his arms around her to cage her in, linking his hands together by the front of her hips一two can play at this game, Miss (L/N). He leaned his head down by her face. “How ‘bout now?” he cooed.

The grin dropped from her face, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, an embarrassed flush painting her cheeks. Damn, he hadn’t meant to come off like Micah.

His grip loosened, nervous now. (Y/N) wasn’t nearly as close with him as the other girls were, and he inwardly cursed himself for getting familiar with her like this. If only Mary-Beth or someone else had been nearby when he’d asked to dance一he could’ve pretended like he’d been asking them. Shit, he would’ve danced with John if he had to.

“I’m probably about perfect, now,” she recovered, her laugh ringing up towards him like a bell. She moved her head back to face forward, snuggling back against his chest.

He exhaled, a stupid grin overtaking his face. He began to rock them side-to-side, listening to the campfire song that had sprung up between Bill and Karen, the latter perched on a certain Irishman’s lap. Arthur hummed along under his breath, resting his chin on her head. Her hair was soft, still, just like the first time. This was nice. She was nice.

He wasn’t sure when his eyes had drifted closed, but (Y/N) made no attempt to leave his bear hug, and he found himself thankful for it. He felt his throat still rumbling with song, but wasn’t sure if he was humming anymore or actually singing.

“You don’t mind if I take over from here, do you, Arthur?” an amused voice whispered beside him. He cracked his eyes open, dragging his chin across her head to look at Hosea. The man was staring at him with a sort of fond pity, and he didn’t like it. He wasn’t a child. (Y/N) moved out from his embrace and he stepped back, keeping his hands up to steady her if he needed to.

She swayed, but Hosea caught her arm, throwing it over his shoulder and stepping in front of her. “Oh, hello, Hosea,” she greeted politely, but glanced around in confusion. Hosea jutted his chin over to where Arthur stood behind her, and she craned her neck to look at him.

He felt awkward and big and out-of-place, now, all by himself. He flexed his hands by his side and gave her a tight smile.

“Thank you for dancing with me, Arthur,” she said sweetly, her gaze fixed on him. The red bloom of drink had held steadfastly to her cheeks, her eyes glinting in the light of the oil lamps.

He felt himself nod and grunt some sort of response before he turned on his heel and trudged off towards his tent. That was enough drinking for him.

~Journal updated.

On one side, a detailed sketch of a plant, the words “Indian Tobacco” scrawled next to it. On the other side, a sketch of (Y/N) in the morning, her blanket tightly wrapped around her shoulders. There are the beginnings of a focus on her hair, with a random sharp line dragged to the side, as if the artist was startled.

[follineo]

New year new photo with my papercraft collection!!!

There aren't many because I'm very slow in gluing, I just finished Apple Lisa 1 just before the new year (I did it half an hour before midnight maybe) and she just became the tenth one in the collection, but I'm still happy with this!

I will have to remove everything else from the top shelf of the table for the next figure, but I can't get my hands on it, but I will do it and it will be completely for my figures!!!... Well, for small figures, I plan to glue bigger ones in the future, but with my speed it won't be soon eheh

At some point I switched from ordinary paper to thicker paper, because of which you can see the white middle of the paper on some figures on the fold lines, and then I realised how I can cut the figures from the INNER side, I only realised this on the fourth figure when I was gluing Javier hehehe oops

Here we have:

Yes man, Po3, Edgar x2, AM, Hal9000 and Hal9000 on the wall by @holymaccaronii

Artur Morgan, Javier Escuella and John Marston by @snuize

Niko by @kedama-craft (I make them bc my friend played OneShot and I remembered about him everytime when I see this figure. It is weird? Yes I know but I don't care)

Apple Lisa 1 by Rocky Bergen (planning make every papercrafts from here!)

Thanks for attention! And sorry for pings creators... You have very cool papercrafts!

[synthsays]

Oh my GOSH this took forever. It is 1 in the morning T_T

The oil painting is Love's Shadow by Fredrick Sandys

I redrew it as Mary Beth (epilouge age) biting forget-me-nots (representing Kieran)

[2demondogs]

I Was Just A Girl, Then | Arthur & John

Tags: John/Abigail, past Eliza/Arthur, and referenced VanDerMatthews; (CW) teen pregnancy (Abigail), canon character death, whole lotta brotherly angst, does it count as comfort if it doesn't work?, vignettes Words: 1.5k A/N: I think a lot about the fact she was only around 18 when she gave birth to Jack. Good grief.

Abigail is too young to look at Arthur with this much— pain. Pain is what it is, and he'd like to think his hesitancy to call it that is entirely because John is his brother, and men should always think their family is innocent.

Her hair is dark and long; her face is round and soft. In the light of the campfire, she looks like a woman he once knew. Shadows cradle her, fall harsh on the side of her belly that's facing the night. Grimshaw will need to alter her dresses a second time, and soon.

"He's your brother," Abigail is saying, throat thick with emotion, and he feels so very uncomfortable. He knows he is. He holds her hands, anyways, the knuckles rosy and chapped with the chill coming over the air in the last month, rough against his palms. She's never had soft hands, none of them have.

The seasons are changing, and so did John. He's been gone for six months.

"You know him. You know the way he thinks, don't you?" She's moved on from hoping, because he's not answered any of her letters. Now, Abigail is grieving. She doesn't know what she's asking, but Arthur does. "Why did he—?" A choke cuts her off before he can.

His face feels tight, almost as tight as his chest. "I used to know him," he says.

This grief is worse than when Abigail began to show, because now it is shared.

He thinks of Eliza, and if some other man held her hands, entirely enclosed in his, while she cried because she was unwanted, because her life had been decided for her by a wanderer who hadn't had to hold up the same burdens. Condemned to what so many girls dream of playing house, but— girls should never be with child. He looks down at Abigail's hands instead of at her face, how the fire catches the tears welling up in her eyes.

She's a strong girl. She wouldn't have survived as long as she has if she weren't, and he knows she will go on for much longer, too. It feels wrong to see her cry, and to feel the shards of heart pulsing through the veins along the backs of her hands whenever he gains the consciousness to stroke a thumb over one.

He's not used to comforting people. Not women, especially, who expect so much more than a clap on the back and a companion to sit out the silence with,the way Hosea taught him was proper for a man to offer, lest he be misunderstood. Never stopped him from treating Dutch how he treats Abigail, now. It seems so much kinder than silence.

Arthur is walking over those shards, and whatever he says could crack them into more. Abigail squeezes at his fingers and he lets her.

"It ain't you, Abigail," he says.

It's John.

She misconstrues what he means, and lets out a small sob of: "I know, Arthur."

Yesterday, Arthur wished they would've hanged him with his father before he had a chance to grow up mean. Today, he told John they should've hanged him when he was still sprouting.

After giving him that nasty, black ring around his eye, of course. He supposes it'd only be fair to give him one in return, brothers in bruises. Hosea seems more sad than anything and Dutch, more or less disappointed. Arthur thinks both are unwarranted, even if they are — as far as he knows — less severe than the anger he deserves for acting out as their son. Lyle would've given him a fresh scar along his face. His chin stings at the thought.

His son is dead.

Eliza, too, but not even grief can lie to him enough to think that they would ever spend a life together. He has little to mourn besides a woman that he wronged and his own pathetic attempts to redeem himself in her eyes, which he knew wasn't possible.

She cried when she saw him at the saloon, wandering through, all those months ago. When he had recognized her and taken her into his arms, she slapped him harder than he thought a woman their age could ever hit. They had dinner. She said he ruined her life and that pregnancy was her worst fear as if it were the weather, all over weeks-old bread that he thought tasted just fine as fresh before she spoke, and started to cry again. Then, it all seemed stale.

Issac's absence hurts differently.

Only men are supposed to die. Not boys, lest they open their mouth the way John has. Mocking him. Can't even shoot a gun let alone— and he's mocking him for trying to be a man.

It hurt because Arthur told himself the same things. He had a handle on things until he didn't, and now the reins have slipped from his fists again.

Issac's fists. They were so small, even though he was growing like a weed. Another month, he would've needed new clothes that Arthur could have stolen the fabric for. He wonders, now and then, how tall Issac would have gotten.

Much worse is another voice telling him that Eliza wouldn't have missed him had he died, because John had spoken it into reality. He had drawn it from the pit of his thoughts the way he always does — how Hosea and Dutch are able to, too, because apparently sleeping in the same camp makes your dreams intertwine and writhe around one another just enough — and he had given it life.

It's the first cigarette they've shared since John returned.

Arthur said they should've hanged him, and then said it twice more in the same week. Old habits die hard. John hadn't found it quite as funny as Dutch had, and neither had Hosea.

Dutch doesn't often realize when Arthur is capable of fratricide.

He's older now, but he isn't. John's nose still has that mean crack to it, scraggly old beard at his jaw, and he looks as much like a kicked dog as ever. Always has looked defensive, and sad. Arthur doesn't like to consider that he's picked it up from him, and that he picked it up from Hosea. The chains that bind suffocate the most when he yanks at them.

John's an ugly sight against the setting sun. He misses when he could tell him as much and John would laugh instead of saying it wasn't very fair. Fair, fair, fair— that's all men care about: fairness. Life isn't fair, so maybe John really is all grown up, because he expects some kind of civility out of a world where people like them die in the streets everyday.

He dreams despite it all. Arthur does not, and that is why they aren't the same.

Surely, they cannot be the same. Eliza cried at the sight of his face, and Abigail fell to her knees. Arthur is nothing like his brother.

He misses John terribly. He misses when he could tell him he was ugly, and when he could push him into the water and feel good about calming the panic in his eyes.

Isn't that what brothers do? Torment and save, over and over? This only feels like one or the other, day after day.

John asked to bum a goddamn cigarette when he proposed a smoke, though he must have his own pack. Arthur was handing it over filter-out before he even opened his mouth. The instruments are out of sync, but the music still plays.

He misses adding onto one another's insults of Dutch's operas, when he first began listening to them. That was only two years ago, but the memory tells him they were both boys yet.

It seems warmer than this summer evening. John's hair is shifty and blue-black where once it looked like it could've been brown when he was born, merely darkened with age. The sun used to show some part of the man that the night couldn't. Anymore he's all midnight, all of the time. And when he looks at Arthur, his eyes are full of shame that he knows intimately and yet not at all.

"She's jus' happy you're home," Arthur says, before he can speak.

John grimaces. "I know."

Arthur likes to think he is not all nighttime himself. Every loathing thought dissipates when he must confront the issue of John Marston, and he finds himself a better man in every way. Beneath the jealousy, he knows he's better in no way at all.

The creek is still from where they sit. Arthur feels the anger build up, and he can hardly swallow it down enough to even his voice.

"I held her hand while she gave birth," he says. Turns to John, and lets the hatred seep into his eyes. "It should'a been you, Marston."

John looks away, and grimaces. "I know."

He could say that she screamed unlike anything he'd ever heard before; that he found very little beauty in the newborn, like Susan had, that he thought maybe he should visit his mother's grave, if he could find it, he hadn't thought of her in over ten years; that he had seen the look on Hosea's face while he wiped the cool cloth over her forehead: disappointment, and not in Abigail.

None of it would change anything.

[ialreadymadeyouapromise]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

➝ arthur morgan

➝ sadie adler

➝ john marston

[vanderlesbian]

daughter of a cop

arthur morgan x fem reader

now playing: daughter of a cop - tv girl

— a short fic inspired by the tv girl song! this is my first actual piece of writing on this blog so i hope you guys enjoy it <3 i think i have a ghost fic planned that ill start working on soon :) (it may or may not be based off a mitski song)

warnings: slight suggestive content/references

masterlist

saint denis was the epitomy of growing industrialization. factories, tight neighborhoods, trolleys that didn't seem to care if someone was crossing the pavement, and most importantly; police. it wasn't a place for a man like arthur morgan to be lingering around, and he knew it. he didn't enjoy the city, anyways. it was congested, and there were far too many rules for an outlaw like him to follow. the constant glares from men in blue uniforms and silly hats irritated him—this was nothing like the west he was used to.

however, within saint denis, there was a spot where the police didn't go. a small saloon hidden within a maze of an alley way, disguised by the neighborhood homes that surrounded it, making it appear as just another residence. it was a place that arthur frequented, but not for any reasons that his fellow outlaws would think. he didn't go to gather intel, nor did he go to have chats with dutch. no, he went because of one thing. or, perhaps one person.

he went because of a woman.

he would never admit it to the others, for several reasons. one, he was simply just embarrassed over it all, but two, she was a woman of higher class. a young woman who wore a new dress each time he saw her, with her manners being rather formal compared to the sloppy outlaw, yet she never found his habits strange or uncivilized.

that woman was you, and you were nothing other than the daughter of a cop.

it was obvious that you liked arthur. from the way you let your hand linger on his bicep each time he made a silly remark, to always hushing him when he began to talk bad of himself, telling him that he was handsome and kind. though, arthur refused to believe that was the case. he tried not to show his own affection and often wrote notes to himself in his journal that he would never meet up with you again, but time and time again he made his way into that saloon, eyes searching for you in the crowd of other outlaws. he would curse himself for coming again, but all of his anxieties were eased the moment he saw you push through the saloon doors.

you stuck out like a sore thumb—or, to put in nicer words as arthur thought he should, perhaps a daisy in a field of clovers? the moon on a clear night? arthur crossed out several made up metaphors in his journal. whatever the metaphor was, you were different from the outlaw men that frequented the hidden saloon. you were full of life, clean, unscathed, and rather innocent. arthur noted the way your eyes widened each time he told you a story about his many days of being what he called "a bad man", and how you would bring a hand to your mouth as it fell into an 'o' shape from pure shock and surprise.

though, you were never scared of him, and that's something that arthur also took note of. you held some level of empathy for outlaws, for ones that come from challenging backgrounds. you had met arthur because he had saved you from a couple of strange men, and immediately you knew that he was a kind man. there was something about him that intrigued you, aside from the fact that you found him to be attractive, and you had made it your goal to get to know him.

"i know a place where the cops don't go." you had told him. before he could say anything, you grabbed his wrist and led him through that maze of alleys, leading him to the saloon that became your special spot.

"how do you know this place?" he had asked you the day you first took him. you simply shrugged and held a hushing finger to your lips. he chuckled, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

eventually you had told him that you were the daughter of a police man. you expected him to get upset at that fact—and he did, but it wasn't anything serious. he furrowed his brows and questioned in a low voice if you were in on some kind of ploy to catch him, to which you sincerely told him that it was nothing of that sort. your father wasn't even aware of the fact that you were seeing this man with a five thousand dollar bounty hanging above his head. arthur didn't grow as upset as you expected him to because deep within himself, he had already trusted you. it was more of a natural instinct to grow suspicious of you, but immediately felt eased the moment you placed your hand on his knee and told him that you weren't working for your father.

so, arthur continued to visit you. he waited for your letters at his camp, and he also kept each one. the other members of the gang would raise eyebrows at the mysterious parcels, to which arthur would always bashfully shrug off with a "it ain't none of your business" before riding his horse into saint denis. what was originally one visit maybe every three weeks became one visit every week, then two, then the both of you simply began to walk into the saloon any time you felt like it in hopes of seeing the other already there.

both of you knew it was risky, yet neither of you cared. your father began to question where you were going, to which you always had an elaborate excuse. dutch would question why arthur was in saint denis so often, and he would reply with some half thought out lie that made dutch raise an eyebrow in return, but ultimately shrugged off. the two of you had even began spending time outside of the saloon, out in the open streets of saint denis. arthur was rather hesitant about it all, not wanting you to be seen with a man like himself, yet you insisted.

you took arthur to your favorite spots around saint denis; gardens and parks where you sat along the edge of a pond, and to theatres where you would watch whatever event was on that evening. accidental faint brushes of finger tips had become full blown hand holding, and each time before you would hop on the trolley to depart, you would place a kiss on the stubble growing on his cheek. it was this strange stage between the both of you, one where neither of you had admitted your feelings simply because both of you were afraid of the differences in your life, yet the feeling of his lips against yours was no longer a foreign feeling, and it simply kept growing.

perhaps it was just the both of you being eager and needy, but there were several instances where you had found yourself pressed against the wall of an alley way with arthur's large, calloused hands snaking up the skirt of your dress and running along the bare skin of your thighs. privacy hardly existed within the city which cornered you into sometimes uncomfortable spots, yet you couldn't ride out on the back of arthur's horse, especially with the increased questioning from your father. the blindness of the love you were experiencing with this outlaw had completely shrouded you from the fact that your father had begun investigating your whereabouts—not until the police had barged into that saloon that had stayed hidden for so long.

you saw your father among the uniformed men, making eye contact with his furious gaze. you were the one who had grabbed arthur and ran with him out the back door of the saloon, starting a chase that was probably much bigger than it should've been. arthur had called you insane as the two of you snuck through nooks and crannies in an attempt to make it back to his horse, but there was an obvious hint of amusement in his voice as he said it. you were a woman completely separated from the world of outlaws, yet you were a natural escape artist.

eventually making it to arthur's horse, the two of you attempted to flee the city. the adrenaline was something you had never felt before, and you could hear arthur's thumping heartbeat as your ear pressed against his back while you held onto him. the police held no guns upon your father's instructions, insisting that they capture arthur alive and keep you unharmed. though, their numbers quickly increased, and you began to see the concern growing in arthur's expression.

while guiding him through the streets, arthur suddenly took a different turn than what you had told him. the feeling of his horse coming to a sudden halt made you gasp, and you hardly had time to process as he dismounted his horse and held his arms out to help you off.

"come on." he told you, eyes glancing to the side to check for signs of the law. "you ain't coming with me."

stubbornly, you refused. it wasn't until the sounds of whistles began growing closer that you saw genuine concern in arthur's face, and you hopped off the horse into his arms without a word. however, when you peered back up at him, arthur was smiling; a smile that looked as if he were holding back a chuckle.

"you are one crazy woman." he told you in a hushed tone, lifting his worn hat from his head and placing it on yours before letting you go. "now get on out of here, you shouldn't be caught up in all this."

you immediately knew his hat was a sign from him telling you that he would see you again. it was too big for your own head and blocked your eyes from seeing his horse gallop away, but when you lifted it to look, the law was racing down a nearby street with arthur nowhere to be seen. a large smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you disappeared into the alleys between buildings, taking a complex path back home to avoid detection.

needless to say, your father wasn't pleased when he came home to you innocently prepping tea for yourself. you didn't listen to his nagging words; something about uncivilized people, chaos and getting involved with the wrong kind. however, your interest was finally piqued when you heard that arthur had been arrested.

"it wasn't his fault." you immediately told the man, forgetting about the boiling kettle. your father scoffed, but you continued to tell him that you were the one who made arthur flee. though, he didn't budge, raising his voice as he nagged you for getting involved with such a dangerous man.

the word 'dangerous' seemed to strike something within you, because you had yelled back that arthur had saved you. that evening, those two strange men, the way arthur held your shoulders and reassured you that you were alright; there was nothing dangerous about him in your eyes. you saw your father's expression lose it's anger, and it seemed that was when he noticed arthur's hat sitting loosely upon your head.

"what's that?" he asked, pointing at the tattered leather hat.

you shrugged. "a gift from a dangerous man."

arthur had stayed in the saint denis jail for two days. what he thought was his fellow gang members coming to bust him out ended up being you, a soft smile on your lips as you wrapped your fingers around the metal bars of the jail cell. his hat still sat on your head, making arthur chuckle at the sight of you.

"did you think i was going to leave you in a cell to rot?" you giggled, allowing space for a law man to unlock arthur's cell.

"thought i was gonna have to use other means to get out of here." arthur replied in an amused tone as he stood up from the metal slab that the jail called a bed. the law man cocked an eyebrow, to which arthur raised his hands in defense. "kidding, of course."

your father waited at the jail entrance, arms crossed and a dismissive look sprawled on his face. he was the one that had told the law men to set arthur free, you explained. arthur seemed rather flustered at that information; he didn't want to thank a cop. he figured a nod of the head was enough of an acknowledgement, though it only earned a cold glare from the older man.

"how the hell did you get that bastard—" he cleared his throat. "apologies, that fine man to let me out?" arthur questioned as the two of you left the jail. you playfully hit his arm at the comment, then shrugged your shoulders.

"i was honest. told him you saved me." you answered, lifting the hat from your head and placing it back onto it's owner. you brushed a strand of arthur's long blonde hair from his face and smiled. "there ya go, cowboy."

arthur rolled his eyes, tipping his hat downwards before replying. "you know, i enjoyed that little chase of ours." he told you, holding out his arm for you to link yours with. neither of you knew where you were headed off to; you simply strolled down the street as if nothing had happened. "but don't think about doin' something that stupid again."

"i did too, actually." you then admit with a chuckle, somewhat ignoring his nagging. "it makes things fun."

after the events of that rather chaotic day, your father agreed to leave that hidden saloon alone upon your pleading requests, and it once again became your favorite spot to frequent with arthur. the two of you did earn a bit more freedom to roam saint denis and it's outskirts, allowing the two of you to enjoy some privacy, and eventually express your true feelings for one another. however, there continued to be close encounters with the law every now and then simply because of arthur's antics with his rowdy gang, but it always ended in silly laughter and breathless kisses from running so much.

arthur wrote many things about you in his journal, mindlessly sketching portraits of you next to entries about how you enjoyed sneaking around the city after dark and running errands with him whenever possible. though, at the end of his entry, there was a phrase scribbled in his neat cursive:

she was the daughter of a cop.

[eveomo]

wowowow!!! so many people have followed me since i uploaded chapter 3 so hi and welcome!!!

i am currently taking requests for oneshots (both sfw/nsfw) so please feel free!! also dont hesitate to ask me my thoughts on certain characters/interactions/and missions!! i love to drabble on about this silly cowboy game :’)

[multiverse--wanderer]

Under Western Stars [ENG]

[Oneshot based on the OTP between John Marston and Arthur Morgan from Red Dead Redemption ] This is a Patreon exclusive text, take a look at the different memberships and what each one can offer you!

...

REMINDER:

This story has been written in Spanish, which is my native language. This story has been translated to the best of my ability, although it is possible that it may have mistakes.

This is just a way to transport my writing to a common language for the rest of fans like me. For a better immersion, I recommend reading the story in its original version.

Thank you so much for reading me and see you in the stars.

...

——— Under Western Stars

The night was a perfect canvas, painted with the silver brushstrokes of the full moon and the tiny twinkling jewels called stars. The murmur of the waterfall at the bottom of a tree-covered valley mingled with the nighttime song of the crickets, creating a symphony that filled the air with deep calm. The heat of the fire still clung to the nearby stones, its glow fading little by little like a dream that begins to dissipate at dawn.

John shifted on the makeshift bed of furs and blankets inside the tent—one far larger than he was used to when he rode alone. Something had woken him, a subtle instinct, the absence of a warm weight at his side. His hand reached out for the empty space, confirming what his body already knew: Arthur wasn’t there. He opened his eyes, blinking to adjust to the faint light filtering through the tent’s entrance.

There he was, sitting in the doorway, his silhouette outlined against a landscape that seemed pulled from a fairy tale. Arthur Morgan, always so still and contemplative in moments like this, had his gaze lost in the reflection of the sky upon the lake. The stars danced on the water, rippling with the gentle movement of the surface, while a firefly fluttered near his shoulder, briefly illuminating the curve of his jaw.

John sat up carefully, trying not to break that fragile bubble of tranquility. The sound of his movement was enough to make Arthur turn his head slightly, though he didn’t look directly at him. There was something about his profile, in the soft curve of his lips, that spoke of nostalgia and peace, as if the man burdened with scars and shadows was, at that moment, reconciled with the world.

Without a word, John slid over to him, kneeling behind his partner. He wrapped his arms around his torso, resting his forehead against Arthur’s broad back, which smelled of leather, smoke, and earth.

—Couldn’t sleep, huh? —He murmured, his voice still raspy from sleep.

...

CONTINUE READING THE FULL CHAPTER HERE:

[blackenedsnow]

omg I love the rdr kid fanfics and had a semi a og idea based off them. Like a child! Platonic fluff fic

What if like Arthur or John found the reader trying to steal some of the camps supplies? Idk I know it's not a great idea but thought it was neat

caught in the act

WARNING: None

PAIRING: Arthur Morgan & Child! Reader, John Marston & Child! Reader

NOTE: Oh my god HAHA this was too good. I know you said Arthur OR John but I wanted to do both. Hope that's okay!!

SUMMARY: When Arthur and John catch you sneaking supplies from camp, it doesn’t go quite the way you expect.

You thought you were being so sneaky. Slipping through the camp, darting from one shadow to the next, your little hands carefully reaching for a jar of beans. You weren’t sure how long the food would last, but it didn’t hurt to nab a little extra, right?

Your heart raced as you pulled the jar from its place near the wagon, looking around to make sure no one had seen you. You were so focused on your prize, you didn’t even hear the heavy footsteps approaching behind you.

“Now, what do we have here?”

You froze. Slowly, you turned to see Arthur, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between amused and disappointed. His lip twitched in that way it did when he was trying not to laugh.

“Arthur, I—uh—wasn’t…” You stuttered, cheeks flushing red. You weren’t sure what to say. You’d been caught red-handed, and there was no easy way out of it.

Arthur just raised an eyebrow, leaning down so he was eye-level with you. “You know, kid, I’m not sure stealing from the camp’s gonna win you any friends.” He sighed but then cracked a grin. “I get it, though. You’re hungry.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but Arthur stopped you with a wave of his hand. “Not that I’m encouraging it, but if you’re gonna steal, at least do it right. You could’ve gotten caught a lot worse than this.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps echoed from behind you again. You both turned to see John, who had clearly witnessed the whole thing.

“Arthur, you gonna let the kid get away with this?” John asked, his voice low and stern. But when he saw how you were looking up at him with wide, guilty eyes, his expression softened. “Alright, alright. I’ll let you off this time, but next time, don’t be so careless!”

Arthur chuckled, giving you a little nudge. “Looks like you’re in good company, Y/N. But you better not make a habit of this.”

The two of them watched as you slowly set the jar of beans back on the ground. You didn’t say anything, but it was obvious you felt bad for what you’d tried to do.

“Next time you’re hungry, just ask,” Arthur added with a small smile, ruffling your hair. “We’re a family here, alright?”

“Yeah,” John chimed in with a grin. “Just don’t go pilfering our food, or you’ll have to answer to both of us.”

You nodded quickly, grateful for the forgiveness and the way they looked after you, even if it was in a roundabout way. With that, you ran off.

[hellsbells88]

Carried by God

At Clemens Point, Micah and John clash over how to raise young Jack, revealing the complexities of their own pasts. Amidst the tension, Jack glimpses the hidden depth in Micah’s tough facade, understanding more than meets the eye.

Micah’s laugh pierced the humid air at Clemens Point, contrasting sharply with the gentle rustling of leaves in the moist environment. Jack set his book down slowly, his young face scrunched in a mixture of curiosity and confusion, as he looked up.

John’s hand landed like a weight atop Jack’s head, his fingers rough against his soft hair. “The boy needs to learn how to fend for himself, Micah. Not live in these stories.”

Micah was watching him, a playful twist to his lips. His fingers artfully twirled in the air, mimicking an aristocrat to mock John. He grinned at Jack, the smile offering a certain harsh kinship. “What you got against your boy learnin’ how to read? From what Dutch tells me—you ain’t even got a daddy of your own. What makes you think you know what the hell you’re talkin’ about?”

John grit his teeth and glared. “Ain’t nothing wrong with him reading,” he shot a gaze down to Jack. His voice softened. “Your Pa's just.. just trying to prepare you for the world.”

“But.. mama likes me the way I am,” Jack's voice chimed into the conversation, eyes wide and innocent.

Micah’s laugh rippled through the air again. “I reckon she does.”

It was then that Abigail came upon them, her face flushed in the evening's dying light. “What the hell is going on here?!” Her hands were fisted at her sides.

Before Micah or John could answer, Jack piped up, “Pa says I need to be more tough like him, learn to.. be a man.”

Abigail’s anger seemed undeterred. “Enough! What in God’s name is wrong with you two!”

John opened his mouth, a retort tugging at his lips, but Micah cut in. “Just a little disagreement is all, Abigail.” He widened his grin. “I'll be leavin’ you to it.”

He sauntered away, leaving a cloud of tension in his wake. Micah pulled out a well-used cigarette and lit it, his back resting against the rough bark of a nearby tree. He chuckled to himself, a yellowed grin splitting his face. “Don’t ask a boy to be a man, John,” his voice echoed back to them, “not so soon.”

Micah’s laughter died down as he walked away, the soft glow of his lit cigarette illuminating his roughened features. He leaned onto the gnarled bark of a nearby tree and stared off into the distance, his mind threading back to another time. The dying sun brought with it memories, wrapped in twilight-hued nostalgia.

He could still see the young, chubby face of his brother Amos, wide eyes staring up at him in fear and admiration combined. Their father was a beast of a man, terrorizing the lands, dragging his sons through the dirt and gore that he sowed, crafting murderers in his own image. Amos’ hands, however, remained clean enough in comparison to the rest them, thanks in no small part to Micah’s subtle efforts at shielding his round-faced brother from their father. The name “Amos,” meaning “carried by God,” lingered persistently in Micah’s thoughts, a detail he found himself unable to shake off.

A sad smile twisted onto his face as he remembered the innocence in Amos’ laugh—a rarity heard only in their stolen moments away from their father’s grasp. Micah was three years Amos’ senior—three cruel years that had forced him to grow up too soon, cutting away at his boyhood with a ruthless precision.

“Micah..” A voice cut into his thoughts, a soft echo of the past. But it wasn’t Amos; it was Jack. The boy stood a few feet away, an inquisitive spark in his eyes. “Do I really gotta.. b-be a man?”

An eerie stillness wrapped around them as Micah loomed over Jack. His gruff voice echoed in the yellowing daylight. “Jack—we... Me, your Pa—we’re men,” he drawled, his tone gritty. “Are you a man, Jack? Hm?”

“No,” Jack squeaked, his eyes dropping to the grass under his feet.

“No, you ain’t,” Micah confirmed, his voice a harsh whisper against the wind. A wicked half-grin tugged at his lips as he looked down upon the boy. “And you best remember that. You’re still just a boy and you ain’t ready to be no man. Not yet.”

He shoved himself off the tree and turned slowly, his gaze never straying from Jack. “Go on, now, boy,” he ordered, waving a dismissive hand in the boy’s direction. The gruff timbre of his voice held uncharacteristic warmth, almost exposing the harsh exterior he’d carved over the years―an exterior that served as a cruel shield over his buried past and torment.

Jack watched Micah as he stalked away, retreating into the gathering darkness of the night. Small as he was, Jack could sense the instability beneath Micah’s icy veneer. He caught a glimpse of the messy cluster of pain, remorse, and care that the rough man kept hidden. The sight was a stark contradiction to the man who had mocked and scolded his father earlier. The man who seemed to always be simmering with cold rage.

As he turned back to fetch his book, a shy smile crept on to Jack’s face. He is indeed a boy, but he could sense the unspoken care beneath the brutish exterior. In that moment, he felt a curious sense of understanding for Micah Bell, a man few truly knew.

[roamingtigress]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde Characters: Hosea Matthews, Dutch van der Linde Additional Tags: Spring, Old Married Couple, Married Couple, Married Life, BAMF Hosea Matthews, Hosea Matthews Lives, Dutch van der Linde Has a Plan, Dutch van der Linde Lives, Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, No Plot/Plotless, Affection, Belly Rubs, Bees, Butterflies, Cute, Sleepy Cuddles, Video Game: Red Dead Online (2019), Minor Character Death, Reminiscing, vandermatthews, Hosea and Dutch are an old married couple, Good Parents Hosea Matthews and Dutch van der Linde, Mentioned Arthur Morgan, Mentioned John Marston Summary:

Spring often brings new beginnings, but for one old man couple -- Hosea and Dutch -- it's another chapter in their lives. Who will spot the first bee of the season, who will see the first butterfly?

[spcewild]

Boundaries & Fandom I will write for !

Just restating games/Fandom I will write for ;

Rdr (1&2)

Re (resident evil - Leon Kennedy, Carlos, Luis Sera, etc.)

SR (Saints row - all main characters [Johnny gat, Carlos, Shaundi, etc.])

COD (Black ops, newer cod games, etc.)

Mortal Kombat (1 & 11)

Borderlands (1,2,3 + Tales From Borderlands only!)

Spiderman; across the multiverse

TKAM [To kill a mockingbird] (ADULT characters + platonic/parent like relationship w/ others)

DBH [Detriot: Become Human] (any ADULT characters and ADULT androids)

The Walking Dead [Rick Grimes, Daryl Dixon, Shane Walsh, Maggie, Glenn, etc.] (ALL ADULT CHARACTERS)

The Punisher (All ADULT main characters)

The Outsiders (All Characters EXECPT for antagonists/Socs [NOT INCLUDING CHERRY])

Rumble Fish (Motorcycle Boy, Rusty James, Patty, etc...)

Tex (All main characters)

TMNT (Bayverse only)

《☆》

What I refuse to write for:

Character x character, minor x adult, incest, weird kinks, actors/real people including streamers/youtubers (I simply do not want to make them uncomfortable even if they consent to fics abt them..), etc etc. (Pretty much just the weird and illegal stuff <3)

Genres:

Smut, fluff, angst, etc!

Boundaries:

(What I am and am not comfortable with)

What I refuse to write for will either be because I am simply uninterested in writing it, or it makes me uncomfortable. If you are unsure if I am comfortable with writing a certain thing/idea, PLEASE ASK!! I will not be mad! :)

I AM okay with being reblogged! It is very welcome, and I appreciate it! But along with this and reposting my work (which I am also okay with), I must receive credit.

Which pretty much means don't steal my work lol

If you wish to address me in any way, you can refer to me as:

Spce, space, spcewild, and wild. Or any other nicknames you may have for me! <3 (as long as it isn't inappropriate, I do not wish to be referred to in any sexual way)

(Pronouns are listed in my bio if needed!)

I AM also okay with writing what I believe is called a match-up...? (Correct me if I'm wrong pls lmao) where you describe yourself, and oc, persona, etc. And I get to match you up with who I think you match the best with romantically or platonically!

I am ALSO okay with writing for male, female, gender neutral, intersex, trans, and any other LGBTQ+ readers!! I will also include POC readers, chubby, thin, or any body size of reader! Not only this, but if you wish for the reader to have a specific physical quality you want me to write for (and can be an insecurity) pls let me know! :)

Lastly, I am okay with writing for readers with disabilities, mental issues, etc. (Please correct me if I mistake anything when writing for specific things like this! <3)

if anyone has any questions feel free to ask <3

Requests: OPEN

[thececil666]

X Reader Requests Are Open

Hi I’m a little rusty on writing fanfic so I wanna do some requests with the gang to get back into it since I have a *big* fic idea I want to write eventually <3

I’ll write for pretty much anyone in the gang so long as I like the request hehe

Also I’ll write suggestive stuff but probably not all out smut sorry

I’ll probably write what you want so long as I have time <3

DON’T BE SHY ASK BOX IS OPEN HEHE