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corrupte3d-mindz · 4 months ago

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His Angel

Possessive! Thomas Shelby x F! Younger Reader

Summary: Thomas can’t help himself when it comes to her, she gets everything she wants from him.

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warnings:

possessive! Thomas, head-over-heels! Thomas, lap sitting, kissing, soft talking, praise, lovey dovey things from Thomas.

Inspiration: Too Sweet - Hozier

The Garrison snug was thick with the familiar haze of smoke, the air heavy with the scent of whiskey and sweat. Thomas sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid yet relaxed, an oxymoron that only he could embody so effortlessly.

Arthur was mid-sentence, his gruff voice detailing the latest shipment, but Thomas’s mind was already elsewhere, drifting into the echo of his brother’s words. John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael murmured amongst themselves, the background noise a symphony of camaraderie and business. The soft knock at the door silenced the room instantly. It was a knock they all recognized, a signal that brought an immediate hush over the group. Thomas’s eyes flicked to the door, and his entire demeanor shifted. The sharpness in his gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing into something almost tender. He took a long and deliberate drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing bright in the dim light, before turning in his chair to face the door.

As the knob turned and the door creaked open, time seemed to slow. There she stood, framed in the doorway like a vision from a dream. Her off-white fur coat draped elegantly over her shoulders, contrasting beautifully with the dark, rich red of her dress. The dress hugged her figure perfectly, accentuating every curve with a grace that seemed almost unreal. The bottom hem brushed just past her ankles, revealing her black heels with their signature red bottoms—a custom pair made just for her by Thomas and his connections. Thomas felt a swell of emotion as he took her in. Her makeup was flawless, enhancing her natural beauty without overpowering it. The deep crimson of her lips matched the ruby drop earrings that dangled delicately from her ears, the diamonds in her dog collar necklace catching the light and adding an extra sparkle to her already radiant presence. Her hair was styled in a poodle bob, a classic look that gave her an air of timeless elegance.

He rose from his seat and stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray on the table; the movement drawing the attention of the room, but he paid no mind to the eyes on his back. His focus was entirely on her. With a few long strides, he closed the distance between them, his hand reaching out to pull her gently by the waist. As the door closed behind her, sealing them off from the world, he leaned in close, his breath warm against her ear.

"What did I ever do.." he sighed softly again, "...to get so lucky with someone like you?" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and the smell of cigarettes, whiskey as well as his natural musk he has. He tilted his head slightly, inhaling the scent of her hair—a delicate fragrance that sent a shiver down her spine. The sensation of his breath and the intimacy of the moment made her heart flutter.

She smiled up at him, her eyes full of warmth and adoration. "Maybe it’s not about luck, Tommy. Maybe it's just meant to be," she whispered back, her voice soft and melodic.

Oh, how she spoke to him; he loved it so, it always melted his cold and dark heart; tugging at his vulnerable little heart strings, oh he would do anything she ever asked him. The quiet laughter from the table behind them went ignored. Thomas was lost in her presence, the rest of the world fading into the background. He traced his fingers lightly over her waist, feeling the delicate fabric of her dress under his touch. Her skin was warm, even through the material, and he could feel her heartbeat quicken under his fingertips. He pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his own filled with a mix of awe and affection. "You’re too sweet for a man like me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a rough edge to his words, a hint of the darkness that always seemed to linger just beneath the surface.

She reached up, cupping his face in her gloved hand. "But you’re just right for me," she replied, her smile never wavering.

The sincerity in her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them; his eyes filled with love as he spoke softly just so she could hear. "ingerul meu," he said, his voice breaking slightly; as he spoke his romani language. It was a rare moment of vulnerability; but it was more rare for him to speak his language and say such caring words, it something that he only ever allowed himself in her presence.

For a few precious moments, they stood there, wrapped up in each other, oblivious to the world outside their small bubble. Her presence was a balm to his troubled soul, a touch of sweetness in his otherwise bitter existence. The noise of the pub, the business, the danger—they all melted away, leaving just the two of them. Thomas buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent, holding her as if she might disappear if he let go. Her hair smelled like wildflowers, a scent that clashed so wonderfully with the leather and smoke that clung to him. Eventually, the world intruded once more. Thomas pulled back, but kept one arm wrapped around her waist. "Come, sit wit' me," he said, his voice a low rumble, guiding her to the table. He pulled out his chair and sat down, before tapping his lap slightly, the gesture almost gentlemanly despite the roughness of his exterior. She blushed slightly before taking off her off-white fur coat and hanging it on the small coat rack next to him.

She moved to sit down in his lap, her movements graceful and cautious. Thomas helped her get comfortable; his hands gripping her waist to steady her. Each touch was possessive yet tender, as if he were afraid to break her. He occasionally let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear. These sounds were uncharacteristic of the man known for his stoicism, but with her, he allowed himself to be vulnerable. He eventually let go of her waist and rested his hands in the softness of her lap. Her presence grounded him, her warmth a stark contrast to the cold steel he often felt in his chest. The conversation Thomas once had with Arthur resumed, it was about a shipment of theirs, the details gritty and grim, but necessary. Time passed slowly as they talked about things she didn't need to worry about. She would occasionally feel uncomfortable in his lap, and moved slightly to sit differently. Each time she moved, he let out a soft grunt, groan, hiss, or a very, very quiet and still moan that only she would hear; his reactions a testament to how much he loved and needed her.

Soon, everyone had said what they needed to say, and they called the little meeting to a close. Arthur, John, Finn, Isaiah, and Michael started to get up and leave the snug, their goodbyes curt and businesslike. Thomas watched and waited as they filtered out, his focus shifting back to her as the room emptied. It was just them now, them and the air around them, them and the world only. Thomas sighed, the weight of the world momentarily lifting as he leaned forward to rest his chin on her head, his arms wrapping around her waist to hold her closer. He occasionally sniffed her hair; oh, how he loved how she smelled. The sweet scent was intoxicating, a reminder of the softness and sweetness she brought into his life. His arm now slightly wrapping around her waist; an action that held her more against him. His other hand found its way to her hands; cupping them both in his large, calloused hand, feeling the contrast between his roughness and her softness.

"I heard y' had problems when visitin' Polly the other day... why didn't y'-tell me? Eh'.." His voice was a low whisper as he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing against the soft flesh of her earlobe. The sensation sent shivers down her spine, a mix of his tenderness and the latent danger that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface with him. "I had 'em handle it, they won' give ye' problems anymore—" His voice filled with a mixture of slow-burning rage for the men who gave her problems she shouldn't have to deal with and a deep, abiding love for her.

His words were a promise, a declaration of the lengths he would go to protect her. His hand tightened around hers, his grip firm but gentle. She was the light in his darkness, the sweetness in his bitterness, and he would do anything to keep her safe. She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and love, and he felt a warmth spread through his chest, a rare feeling for a man so accustomed to the cold. Her voice was soft when she replied, "I didn't want to worry you, Tommy. You've got so much on your plate already." Her words were filled with the kind of understanding and compassion that only she could offer. She was too kind, too sweet, too loving, and he was acutely aware of how undeserving he felt of her love. He shook his head slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. "You never worry me, love. Yer the only good thing in this bloody world. An' if anyone tries to take that away, I'll deal with 'em myself." There was a fierce protectiveness in his voice, a promise of retribution for anyone who dared to threaten her peace. She leaned into him, her head resting against his chest, and for a moment, everything else faded away. The pub, the business, the danger—they all became background noise to the rhythm of their shared breath. Thomas stroked her hair, his touch gentle, his heart full.

Her presence was like a soothing balm to his tumultuous soul, and in these stolen moments, he allowed himself to savor the peace she brought him. His entire being radiated a dangerous intensity, a brooding darkness that was barely contained beneath the surface. The sharp planes of his face were etched with a perpetual look of determination, his eyes glinting with a mix of love and ferocity. There was a rage simmering within him, a fury that was always ready to explode at the slightest provocation. But with her, that anger was tempered by a tenderness he rarely showed to anyone else. As he sat there, holding her close, his thoughts were a chaotic whirlwind of emotions. He was a man used to control, accustomed to bending the world to his will. Yet, when it came to her, he found himself at a loss. She was everything he had never known he needed: kind, sweet, understanding, and loving. She was the light to his darkness, the softness to his hardness, and he was utterly captivated by her. His tone was dark, his words dripping with unspoken promises; he stopped petting her soft hair. He could feel the tension in her body as he spoke, her confusion evident in the way she shifted slightly on his lap. He picked her up slightly, turning her around to face him. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. His other hand left her hands and moved to cup her face roughly, his touch firm yet somehow gentle.

"If people ever fuckin' knew..." he began, his voice low and menacing. His eyes bore into hers, searching for any sign of understanding. But she looked back at him with wide, innocent eyes, not comprehending the depths of his words. "The thin's I'd be willin' t'do for yeh," he continued, his touch becoming more possessive, his fingers digging into her soft skin. There was a darkness in his gaze, a promise of violence that he would unleash upon anyone who dared to harm her. "They woul' realize t'one they should b' scared of is not me..." he said, his nose scrunching in a gesture that was both menacing and almost tender. "It's you, love."

She still didn't understand, and that only fueled his frustration. How could she not see that she held more power over him than anyone else ever had? How could she not realize that she was the one thing in this world that could bring him to his knees? He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her skin as he spoke.

"They don't know what it's like, lovin' someone like yeh. They don't know what I'd do, what I'd sacrifice, to keep yeh safe," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I'd tear the world apart for yeh, I'd burn it all down if it meant keepin' yeh by my side."

His words were a vow, a promise of the lengths he would go to protect her. He could feel her trembling in his grasp, whether from fear or something else, he wasn't sure. But he needed her to understand, needed her to see that she was the most important thing in his life.

"You make me better, love. You make me want to be better," he confessed, his voice softening for a moment. "But that don't mean I won't do what's necessary. That don't mean I won't become a monster if it means keepin' yeh safe." He could see the thoughts piling up in her brain, in her eyes; he could tell by the way her lips quivered, he brushed a thumb across her cheek. His touch was gentler now, a stark contrast to the roughness of moments before. "I love yeh," he whispered, the words carrying a weight that was almost tangible. "More than anythin' in this world. An' I'll do whatever it takes to make sure nothin' ever hurts yeh."

Her skin was soft and smooth, a delicate canvas beneath his rough fingers. He traced the curve of her cheekbone, his touch feather-light, almost reverent. His thumb brushed against her lips, and he felt the warmth of her breath against his skin. The crimson stain of her lipstick left a faint mark on his thumb, a vivid reminder of her presence.

"I've been thinkin' 'bout..." His voice trailed off, rough and gravelly, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid thoughts. He paused, his thumb resting against her lips, feeling the soft, pliant flesh beneath his touch. The struggle to find the right words was evident in the furrow of his brow, the tension in his jaw. "I just wish I could've met yeh before all this." The words finally came, a rough whisper in the quiet of the snug. His thumb traced her lower lip, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. There was a vulnerability in his voice that she rarely heard, a glimpse of the man beneath the hardened exterior.

He gazed into her eyes, those windows of softness and light that calmed the storm within him.

"Ești prea dulce pentru mine," he murmured, his voice a low rumble, rough and full of the gravel of his Birmingham accent. His Romani roots slipped into his words, a tender whisper of his heritage that only she was privy to. She smiled softly, her eyes reflecting the understanding and love she held for him. Her hand covered his, her fingers curling around his, feeling the strength and callouses of a man who had fought many battles. Before she could respond, he claimed her mouth in a kiss that was more battle than embrace. His lips crashed against hers with a force that spoke of desperation and need, a raw intensity that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

The kiss was a tempest of emotions—passion, anger, pain, and a lingering sadness that he could never quite shake. His arm tightened around her back, pulling her impossibly closer, as if he feared she might vanish if he let go. His other hand cupped her face, thumb brushing against her cheek in a gesture that was almost tender. She clung to him, her arms finally moving to encircle his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if anchoring herself to him. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping into her mouth, exploring and claiming in a way that was both possessive and reverent. He tasted the sweetness of her, a stark contrast to the bitter whiskey and smoke that lingered on his own tongue. Her taste was intoxicating, a heady blend of innocence and warmth that he couldn't get enough of. He gripped her face more firmly, his need for her bordering on frantic.

Time seemed to stand still as they kissed, the world outside the snug fading into oblivion. It was as if they were the only two people in existence, bound together by a connection that defied explanation. The kiss went on, a relentless exploration that left them both breathless. When they finally pulled apart, a thin string of saliva still connected their lips, a physical reminder of the bond they shared. Thomas's chest heaved as he caught his breath, his gaze never leaving her face. Her lipstick was smeared, a vibrant red that now adorned his own lips and around his mouth. She looked equally disheveled, her eyes bright with the same mix of emotions that churned within him. He watched as she leaned back against the table, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Without a word, he pulled her against him once more, her face finding its place in the crook of his neck, her breath warm against his skin. His hand moved to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he held her close. The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, a quiet that was both comforting and fraught with tension.

"îngerul meu dulce și dulce," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against her skin. My sweet, sweet angel. The words were a confession, an admission of a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to feel. In her arms, he found a sanctuary from the darkness that constantly threatened to consume him.

Her hand moved to his chest, resting over his heart as if to soothe the turmoil that raged within. She didn't need to say anything; her presence was enough, her touch a silent promise that she wasn't going anywhere. He tightened his grip on her, drawing strength from her unwavering support. Thomas's thoughts were a chaotic swirl of emotions, memories of a past marred by violence and loss clashing with the hope that she represented. She was everything he needed but didn't deserve, a beacon of light in his dark, dangerous world. He knew he should push her away, should protect her from the storm that was his life, but he couldn't. She was his, and he would do whatever it took to keep her by his side. As he held her, he couldn't help but marvel at the way she fit so perfectly against him, as if she were made to be there. Her kindness, her sweetness, her unwavering love—they were the antithesis of everything he had known, and yet they were exactly what he needed. She balanced him in a way nothing else could, her softness soothing the jagged edges of his soul.

Author's Notes:

This song is actually so fucking perfect, like it matches Thomas so well. God I can't believe I let this one shot sit on the back burner for this long!!! The reader is literally too sweet for Thomas; because she's too sweet like wine....ahhhhh!!! Please check out these articles to understand it more!!: What does it mean? 'Too Sweet' by Hozier.

The person who asked for an older and dom! Cillian paired w a younger reader; I must tell you that's its being worked on it's just I've had weird problems with it, like it's cursed. I've spent a couple hours on writing for it; then saved it only for it to not save. I've had text formatting problems; the whole 9 yards; everything and the damn kitchen sink.

However it is in the works and should be one of my next uploads; if I don't have problems with it.

To just a simple passer by; I hope you enjoyed this one shot as I did writing it.

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twola · 5 months ago

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Passerine : Chapter 3

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

One step forward, two steps back.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

Hi - I know it’s been over a year since I’ve updated this. Passerine is a love letter to trauma and the thereafter. It’s heavy. It’s hard to write. But thank you all for holding on to this. I promise it won’t be another year before I post chapters 4, 5, and 6 to finish it out.

Note: I play fast and loose with the passage of time as compared to the canon game.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous | ➵ Next

Abigail pulls the canvas around the tent’s opening closed behind her. She sighs as she arranges the fabric to preserve the privacy that you so desperately need.

Wiping the back of her palm across her forehead, she squeezes her eyes shut as she tries to stave off a headache.

“Mama!”

She jolts, steadying herself as her five-year-old son barrels into her legs, whipping his arms around her skirts.

“Jack…-Jack,” Abigail reels slightly as she places her hand on his head as he snuggles into her thigh. She pushes gently and he unwinds his small arms from around her. He steps half a step back and she stoops down on one knee to look him in the eye.

She tucks some of his hair behind his ears, her hands cupping his small cheeks, losing the last bit of baby fat from them as the boy grows in fits.

“Can you be a good boy fer me and go find Uncle Hosea? I think he has a new book fer you.”

His eyes flash in excitement as he nods, and Abigail gives him a wry grin as he tries to wriggle away, not letting go of him until she places a kiss on his forehead. When she takes her hand from his shoulders, he darts away across the camp, calling after Hosea.

Bless him, he’s like a grandfather to Jack. Between him and Arthur, sometimes, sometimes, she can almost forget how terrible of a father John is.

Speaking of which, she finds him staring at her from across the camp, elbows at his knees as he sits in front of the fireplace. She glares back at him before turning away, huffing in a moment of agitation.

She pulls back the tent's canvas slightly, confirming to herself that yes, you are asleep.

Frowning, she lets the canvas go and walks over toward the lakeshore behind where Arthur had set his tent wagon up, crossing her arms over her chest as the red-painted sunset reflected off of the still waters of Flat Iron.

When she had asked you when was the last time you bled, she expected sputtering, anxious eyes and having to come up with a way to tell Arthur that he’d gotten a child upon you.

Instead, your flushed face turned almost white as you shot to your feet and immediately stumbled away from the wash bin and toward the treeline.

Abigail dropped laundry she had been working on back into the tub and hitched her skirt to run after you, catching up only as you doubled over, leaning against a tree as you choked up bile onto the ground.

You had burst into tears in between wet, gasping breaths, your stomach heaving dry when there was nothing left to expel. Abigail rubbed your upper back soothingly as she pulled your hair back from over your shoulder.

“C’mon now, it’s gonna be okay. Arthur’s- he’s the best of the men, he’ll take care of you.” She cooed softly, her hand working in slow circles between your shoulder blades.

You sob aloud, which unseats her. “It’s…it’s….”

You could barely get the words out.

Abigail’s circles slow, “Is… it not his?”

You collapsed to your knees as sobs racked your body, wet coughs echoing through the woods.

Abigail spent the rest of the afternoon trying to console you, able to pry details between your fits of dry heaving and sobs. She narrows her eyes against the red sun in the distance, her shoulders finally letting down from how tightly they’ve been wound all afternoon.

The truth was much worse than she had been expecting.

She had managed to coax you away from the trees and usher you quietly into Arthur’s tent, where she immediately pulled the canvas shut before turning back to you and pushing you down gently into the cot, taking your boots off one at a time and placing them on the ground next to the cot.

In hushed whimpers, you told her about what had happened those months ago when the gang was still at Horseshoe. Her brow furrowed in shock as she brushed your hair off of your forehead, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of her skirt and dabbing it across your damp brow.

The truth, as terrible as it was, was not unfamiliar to Abigail. A whore by fifteen, she had seen her share of women forced against their will. A customer gone too far, a rat of a man waiting to catch one of the girls alone, not wanting to pay for services.

She herself had experiences with it.

But you, as you regaled the terrible details in hiccuping breaths, you had never been part of that world, and when the O’Driscoll forced you down on that bed, the act of sex had never been weaponized against you until that moment.

She had finally calmed you down enough that you drifted off to sleep, not more than an hour ago.

Rubbing the back of her neck, Abigail glances back toward where the horses are hitched, Arthur’s mare still missing amongst them.

She lets out a long, mournful breath. As many times as she had tried to assure you that if you were with child it was likely Arthur’s… all you could dwell on was that man who bound and gagged you and had you on the old bed in that dingy cabin.

You had cried yourself to sleep, and Abigail now has to figure out what to do going forward. Obviously, she thinks as she brushes the loose hair at the nape of her neck that escaped her bun, she needs to figure this out with Arthur. No matter what the decision was. She needed to talk to him before she made a trip to Saint Denis to collect the needed items.

A pang of memory flashes in her mind - the horrified look on John’s face when she told him she was with child. How it was months before he had her in his bed again. Only once, when she was swollen with child, did he lay with her - now years ago.

The sound of hoofbeats draws her from the fugue of her thoughts. She turns partway around to see Arthur ride into the camp atop his mare, weighed down with a whitetail deer strapped across the horse’s rump. Wiping her hands on her skirt, Abigail sighs and moves towards where Arthur dismounts, following him silently as he shoulders the deer carcass and slings it over Pearson’s table.

He scoots over toward the tub of soapy water to wash the blood from his skin.

“Arthur.”

Arthur looks up, shaking his hands from the wash bin, “Miss Roberts,” he drawls with a smile on his face.

Abigail does not return his smile.

“She was raped?”

Arthur stares at Abigail from under the rim of his hat, clenching his jaw, “How-”

“She told me.” Abigail sighs, leaning against the tree a bit away from the camp that she had led him to.

“She alrigh’? What happened for her to tell you?” Arthur mumbles, glancing back at the camp looking for you, but you are nowhere to be found.

“Arthur. I think she’s with child.” Abigail states in a hushed tone, and Arthur’s eyes dart wildly back to her.

“Child?”

“Yes, Arthur,” Abigail retorts, her patience frayed and finally worn out.

Arthur’s jaw clenches before he opens his mouth again, “It’s mine.” He mumbles, almost too soft to hear, eyes shooting down to the ground.

Much like how you refused to listen to Abigail’s pleading and reassurance as she tried to convince you of the same, Abigail brushes aside Arthur’s comment.

“Did he… did he spend in her?” Abigail rubs her eyes with the back of her palm, exhausted as dusk was closing in on the camp.

“I have,” Arthur says quietly, continuing to look at the ground.

“I know you have, idiot. But th’ first thing she thought is that this baby belongs to some dead O’Driscoll that raped her.”

Arthur’s jaw sets, unable to hide the snarl from his tone. “Ain’t no way it's his. We’ve been sleepin’ together for a couple a’ months. And I don’t always-”

“Yes, Arthur, I get that.” Abigail interjects with exasperation, “The question is - does she?”

The outlaw’s gaze flicks upward, landing on Abigail for a moment, before he turns his head to the side, looking over the western horizon at Flat Iron Lake.

“Look - I don’t know what y’all want to do. I don’t know what she wants to do. But…” She trails off, her gaze also looking out to the lake, “I can give her things to make it end.”

Arthur doesn’t respond.

Abigail dusts off her skirt as she begins to step away, “But Arthur…”

He finally can make eye contact as she looks back at him.

“She’s gotta make up her mind - quick.”

The dinginess - the sour smell of off-food and dirty men permeated the air. The kind of stink that simple cleaning would never get rid of.

Your head is killing you as you blink away the pain, but you find yourself biting down on a foul piece of fabric tied around your mouth. You try to pull it down, but find that your wrists are bound behind your back.

The door opens and the feeling of dread in your chest explodes into a blazing fire of fear.

“There’s my little girl.”

His greasy, dark hair is slicked back away from his disheveled beard, and he smiles that toothy, nauseating grin at you.

The O’Driscoll pulls up your chemise from your thighs up and over your belly, baring your bottom half to him. You try to clench your thighs together, but as he leans over you, you do not find that he forces your legs apart.

But you cannot fight him as his rough and dirty hand spreads out over your belly.

“Pretty miss - gonna be all big and swollen with my child.”

Your eyes shoot open, your fingers closing tightly around the blanket that you’ve pulled around yourself. You have to bite your lip to stop from screaming aloud.

Dusk’s shadows permeate through the canvas of Arthur’s tent, and you realize you’ve spent most of the afternoon sleeping. You push yourself up in the cot, breathing out heavily.

You pass your hand over your stomach. As soon as Abigail asked you the last time you bled, the cavern inside you opened up. You hadn’t bled since before the house in Cumberland. The nausea, the vomiting. God, you’ve been so tired too.

Shit, was it true? Could there be a child there, under the softness of your belly? Would you grow round and hard there beneath your fingertips?

Not only was there a pit in your stomach, but you felt like your chest had been cracked open - you’re drowning in yourself - why can’t you escape that O’Driscoll and what he did?

You curl up smaller in Arthur’s cot, pulling the blanket over you, trying to hide from the world.

Usually, it’s before a job that he reaches for a cigarette. Something to calm his nerves and hone his senses before roaring into a situation with guns blazing.

That’s not the situation he finds himself in now.

Arthur finds himself pacing in the wooded area outside of camp, smoking hurriedly as his palm clenches in agitation. He throws the half-smoked cigarette to the ground and smashes it under the heel of his boot, turning his face upward and exhaling a plume of smoke with a sound that could be described as a sigh.

The lantern lights of the camp start to glow in the distance. He hasn’t worked up the courage to rejoin the group since stalking out to the woods and smoking half a pack of damn cigarettes.

Flat Iron Lake is still in the distance, a few ships passing between Saint Denis and Blackwater illuminate the dark waters.

Arthur grabs his hat off his head with one head and wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of the other. He closes his eyes, letting another long breath out.

Arthur swears he can hear a child’s laughter. It ain’t Jack though. Another young boy - with tawny hair and freckles dusting his cheeks.

“Papa!”

A young boy who darts toward him as he slides off of his saddle.

The smile of a dark-haired girl leaning in the doorframe.

Fishing rods and toy horses and bedtime stories when he came around. A cup of coffee and pleasant conversation with a girl he shared a night with so long ago…

And two wooden crosses. Silence. Not even the birds sang that day he came upon the little house off the road.

Arthur continues to pace, cursing under his breath. He goes to reach for yet another cigarette when he stops, swallowing, and grits his teeth.

How goddamn selfish of him to wallow in his own miserable past when you need him. The pit in his stomach reopens as he remembers the sight of you in that cabin. Bound, gagged, and violated.

And now his dumb ass has gone and gotten you pregnant. Foisted this upon you when you were still so vulnerable and hurting and god damnit - he told you he wasn’t a good person. This absolutely proves it.

There’s no lantern light on in his tent, he can see through the woods, and he’s stayed out long enough. Lord only knows Abigail is going to come find him and smack him the way she’s hit John - but he wouldn’t be any less deserving.

With yet another long, burdened breath, he heads back toward his tent.

Arthur Morgan moves as quietly as he can through the canvas, pulling it shut behind him. Darkness has fallen upon the camp, and he’s thankful that he can reach the oil lantern on the table with just enough moonlight for him to light it low. A yellow-orange glow emits from it, illuminating the tent.

You’re sitting in his cot, in the darkness, and in the light, he can see the sheen of tears down your cheeks. Your hair is falling out of the bun it’s half tied into. Fuck, he’s the goddamn scum of the earth.

“Darlin’,” his voice cracks with uncertainty.

You shiver, the threadbare blanket pulled over your shoulders as you sit in the cot. Arthur holds the rim of his hat in his hands, fidgeting with it restlessly as he cannot meet your eyes.

“Abigail seems to think…”

“Abigail’s right.” You mumble, monotone while staring into space.

Arthur chews his lip, “This is my fault.”

“Ain’t your fault an O’Driscoll-”

“I got you pregnant,” Arthur interjects, moving to sit on the small stool across from the cot.

“You don’t know it’s yours.” You snap back with a vicious snarl in your voice and he nearly recoils as if shot. This he did not expect.

Neither it seems, did you. Your eyes widen when you finally meet his, and hold his gaze for but a moment before your brow crinkles and you shove your face into your knees as you draw them up to your chest.

You hiccup a sob, “What if this baby looks l-like ‘im? What if the baby has them cold dark eyes starin’ at me like when when he-”

“Shh,” Arthur hushes you, preventing you from speaking aloud your terrible truth. He wraps his arms around you, drawing you into his embrace, “That ain’t gonna happen.”

You wriggle uncomfortably in his arms, trying to pull away. Arthur lets go of you, but his hands move to cup your cheeks and force you to look at him.

“No matter what, I’m gonna be here for you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes are only able to hold his stare for but so long before you look downward. Arthur lets go of your face and you take the opportunity to scoot further away from him in the cot, unable to look him in the eyes.

You’ve pulled your knees to your chest and hidden your face in them, ashamed of the tears that spill down your cheeks again.

“I had a son.”

Arthur’s voice is not loud, not strong, not solid. You slowly raise your head, sniffling, to find him sitting with his elbows on his thighs and head hung low, staring at the dirt below his feet.

“…had?”

He nods, still not looking at you, “He ‘nd his mother were killed, long time ago. Robbery.”

You remain quiet, your gaze down to the ground also.

“I wasn’t there.”

You wrap your arms tighter around your legs.

“Wasn’t there for any of it. Wasn’t there when he was born, barely there as he grew up, wasn’t there when he ‘nd his mother needed my protection.”

Arthur rubs tiredly over his eyes, his thigh bouncing slightly with something you recognize as agitation, anxiety.

Fear.

It is several moments before he looks up at you again, swallowing before the low timbres of his voice fill the tent again.

“If you want this baby - I’ll be here. For all of it.”

You curl up on Arthur’s cot and try to sleep. At your obvious discomfort, he maintains a distance between you, pulling a chair in from outside and posting himself in it, pulling his hat over his head to try to get some sleep.

Just before dawn, the pit in your stomach threatens to open up, and you toss the blanket from your body and pad outside, hurrying toward the treeline for what has become your normal. You’re able to make it a few trees back before you have to stop and hunch over to empty your stomach.

You wetly cough between heaving breaths, and it is not but a few minutes later that you feel his fingers grab into your hair, pulling it up as you vomit into the leaves below.

You lean into the tree harder as you spit up the last of the bile in your belly. Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you stumble slightly when you try to stand up, and Arthur’s hands find your waist quickly to maintain your upright position.

“C’mon there, sweetheart, let’s lay you down again.”

You don’t answer him, instead allowing him to guide you back to his tent as the first vestiges of the dawn overtake the sky. You let him help you lay down, you let him pull the blanket over your body. Exhausted, you finally fall asleep.

You awaken several hours later, when a hand presses to your forehead, checking for a temperature. Your eyes flutter open to see Abigail leaning over you, and you scramble to get up as she moves to the end of the cot to sit opposite of you.

Abigail takes your hand in your lap after a few terse moments. “Y’ wanna get rid of it? I can make that happen, but we gotta do it sooner than later.”

You look up at her, unable to stop the sheen of tears from glazing over your eyes. Tears escape and trail down your cheeks as your gaze moves from Abigail, sitting on the cot with you, across the small tent to Arthur, sitting on an old chair with his elbows on his knees.

Behind those blue eyes of his is a maelstrom, one you know he’s trying to hide from you. Arthur’s whispered voice echoes in your mind as he tells you the sorry tale of his own fatherhood. His loss, the indescribable hole in his heart full of regret and sorrow. Arthur’s gaze moves from you down to the ground.

You close your eyes as another wave of tears slides down your face, sighing loudly as you try to gather what little composure you have left.

Finally, you look back to the woman gently rubbing your hand.

“Seen you hanging all over Arthur,” Grimshaw eyed your waist critically, “It’s his, ain’t it?”

There comes a time that you can’t hide it anymore - the swell of your belly just under your skirts. You’re sure the girls know - you’ve seen their eyes flit on your figure.

You continue to stare at the setting sun over the lake. Part of you wishes you had the wherewithal to respond, but you don’t have the strength to anymore.

Susan had clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Idiots. The both of you.”

You avoid people. Get your chores done quickly. Don’t complain about not getting jobs. Arthur moved everything of yours into his tent, more permanently letting down the canvas sides.

From that very first day that you cowered in his cot away from his touch, Arthur had given you a wide berth since you pushed him away - hesitant, sleeping on either a chair or laying his bedroll on the ground.

You awaken many days before dawn, silently padding out to the wooded area south of the camp, far enough away that the rest of the folks couldn’t hear your retching. Several times in the beginning, Arthur follows you, and you angrily shoo him away before he stops tagging along behind you.

Over the weeks, your belly hardens, your breasts swell. You have to let out the waist of your skirt, and there is no hiding anything when the height of the summer finds Clemens - it’s so miserably hot that layers to hide your growing body must be shed or you’d sweat to death.

You’ve seen Dutch eye you. You’ve seen him argue with Arthur. You’ve seen Grimshaw join the fray. Hosea has been dropping ginger tea off to you in the morning with a gentle, knowing smile - it tasted terrible, but after the first few bracing sips, it did settle your stomach.

“Mind if I join y’ for a smoke?”

From the grassy spot you sit upon, you look up to find the widow Adler looking down at you. She’s shed her skirts and blouses in favor of work pants. Arthur had dragged her away from Pearson hollering some kind of awful and they returned with her much less agitated. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a braid, the scar above her eyebrow much more noticeable when she wasn’t wearing a hat.

You nod, looking back to the water, and the spurs of Sadie’s boots jingling as she pulls a matchbook from her trouser’s pocket.

“You know me, I ain’t gonna pussy foot about you. I know you ain’t gettin’ fat because of Pearson’s cookin’.” Sadie lights the cigarette between her teeth, continuing to talk through the process.

You remain silent, sitting there on the shoreline, arms looped around your knees, your skirts hiding your frame - your belly, swelling with child.

The match sizzles when she chucks it into the lake and takes a drag.

“Y’got a look about you that you ain't happy bout it.”

You frown, placing your forehead against your knees. “No,” you mumble into the fabric of your skirt.

She lets out a plume of smoke. Silence settles between you before you work up the courage to speak again.

“When they came to your ranch… did they… did-” you swallow, stuttering as your voice cracks.

Sadie drops the cigarette, mashing it into the ground under her boot.

“Yeah.”

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, sighing before your voice cracks again, “I… when we just got to Horseshoe - there was a house I was scopin’ a-and then… then an O’D-driscoll-” you start to sniffle as your vision clouds with tears.

Sadie does not meet your gaze, simply closing her eyes and breathing out her nose.

“And you're thinkin’ it's his.”

You nod, the tears slipping down your face. What a miserable excuse for an outlaw you are, weeping like a frail woman in front of someone who endured the same trauma.

She lets out a long, thoughtful breath, heavy with the weight of familiarity, “I know, better than most, that you ain't gonna listen to anyone, but y’know it's probably Arthur’s.”

You swallow, about to retort something back at her when she turns on her heel, her spurs jingling.

“You and he weren’t exactly subtle with what you were up to.” Her hand brushes your shoulder before she walks back toward the camp. You remain still, looking out over the lake with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Best if you start lookin’ forward instead of lookin’ back. You’re only gonna find pain there.”

You look back toward her.

“Are you lookin’ forward?”

Sadie Adler turns halfway to look at you, her jaw set and eyes hard.

“No.”

You dream of blood. Of the overpowering richness and stifling warmth in the stale air of the tent. Of movement, people, murmuring voices, and hushed tones.

You dream of pain. You dream of being torn apart from the inside. You dream of screams, nearly inhumane, echoing in the tent.

You dream of Susan Grimshaw dabbing a damp rag over your head, a soft, pitying look on her face.

You dream of the women of camp surrounding you - of Abigail and Sadie, Tilly and Mary Beth. Karen, even Molly. Sadness, forlornness in their eyes.

Abigail holds a whimpering newborn in her arms, swaddled in a blanket.

The bundle is placed in your arms, and as you draw back the linen, the child’s features are revealed. Instead of Arthur’s dark honeyed hair and blue eyes, the babe has dark, dark hair and near-black eyes that blink up at you. Dark, cruel eyes that are nothing like your own.

Nothing like Arthur’s.

You rocket up in the cot, gasping, holding a hand to your breast to calm your racing heart. Your movement has awakened the other person in the tent, and Arthur shoots up from his bedroll on the ground, his head darting this way and that, looking for potential danger before realizing that you had been plagued by a nightmare.

“Sweetheart-” Arthur reaches toward your face to wipe the tears from your cheeks but you flinch and draw back further so that he cannot touch you.

“I just… I…” your voice stutters in the night, “P-Please don’t touch me.”

His hand retracts from between you, “Course, darlin’.”

You gather the thin blanket around you closer, refusing to make eye contact with the man who has crawled closer to the cot from where his bedroll lay spread out on the ground. “Why are you doin’ this?”

“Doin’ what?” Arthur says quietly as he pushes himself up, from his knees to sit at the very end of the cot, opposite where you have curled yourself.

“This.” You gesticulate to the distance between you, then to his bedroll on the floor, “You shouldn’t be sleepin’ on the ground. You’re far too high up in this gang to be doin’ that.”

“You’re pregnant. I c’n sleep anywhere, don’t need a bed.” Arthur says, running his thumb over his bruised knuckles, also not making eye contact with you.

“I ain’t pregnant with-” You begin, clenching your fists in the blanket, your voice faltering.

“You are. Don’t start with this - you remember how many times we was stupid.” Arthur looks up, clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes in a look of irritation before sighing, running his palm down his face against the exhaustion creeping in on him, “Look, sweetheart. I don’t know why you keep thinkin’ the baby’s his. We’ve been sleepin’ together for months.”

You turn your head away from him, setting your jaw. He doesn’t understand, how would he ever understand?

Arthur lets out a breath and moves from the floor up to sit at the opposite end of his old cot.

“But what if he is? What if this baby’s daddy is that O-”

“My daddy wasn't nothin’ but the man that made me.” He interjects, “Hosea and Dutch raised me more than my actual father did.”

You glance at the mugshot placed on the wagon in the corner of the tent. Lyle Morgan stares at you, with unrepentant eyes, as if he were mocking you from the grave.

“If…if-” You stutter, your eyes watering over again as you draw your knees awkwardly to your chest, your belly getting in the way, The strap of your chemise slips down your shoulder, “If this baby is born and y’ see it’s h-his-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Arthur’s voice raises a bit, and as he realizes it, he slides closer to you on the cot, and grasps one of your hands in his own, his large, calloused hand engulfing yours, “I’m gonna be this child’s pa. Me. I’m gonna be that for the babe, and I’m gonna be that for you.”

You don’t fight his touch. Your eyes water over as you tightly close them, “I don’t know why you’d want another man’s-”

His thumb tenderly swipes your cheek, dashing the tears cascading from your eyes, “Cause I want you, sweetheart. ‘Nd anythin’ you create, it’s gonna be from you, and I want that too.”

You can’t hold back the sob from your throat as you crumble forward in the cot, Arthur winds his arms around you. You breathe in the musk of him - of leather and tobacco and safety.

And in the dim silence of the night, you allow it, burying yourself into his embrace, crying into his collarbone, your swollen belly pressed against his ribcage.

#red dead redemption 2 #twolafic #arthur morgan smut #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #passerine

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omgwhatchloe · 8 months ago

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REASONS WHY HAVING SOME RDR2 CHARACTERS AS YOUR PASSENGER IN YOUR CAR SUCKS:

Charles: Only talks to points out every single animal he sees. Other than that, it’s just silence unless you start the conversation or you’re Arthur. Oh but trust me, he wants the AUX. He’s just not gunna ask.

John: Either demands the AUX cord or just connects it anyway, then proceeds to be musically inconsiderate with what he plays. You despise this song with every ounce of your being? Too bad. This song reminds you of your lowest point? Suck it up buttercup. This was playing in the car when you crashed and killed the person in the passenger seat? Womp womp.

Dutch: Seems to think it’s his car. In fact, he feels completely free to change the music, turns up the heat as much as he pleases, winds the windows up and down, moves his seat constantly etc etc.

Reverend Swanson and Mary-Beth: Car sick. So very car sick. Your two options when driving them anywhere is the sound of heavy breathing with the sounds of the highway being blasted in through the open window, or bags rustling with the sound of puking and groaning. Trust me, they’d rather have walked as well.

Javier: Awful navigator. It’s fine when you know where you’re going, but absolutely awful when you need navigation. Half the time, you look over and he’s gone off the navigation app and is playing subway surfers and texting. The other half of the time, he’s misreading the directions then yelling at YOU. Not to mention it’s completely unsurprising to wonder why you’ve been driving for so long then find he’s clicked on the entire wrong destination without a second thought.

Sean: Acts like he’s never eaten before in his life as soon as he gets into the car. Sees a Wendy’s? He’s suddenly starving. Burger King? He hasn’t eaten in three days. KFC? He’ll pay you back, he swears! In fact, the man has absolutely no problem being late for anything if you stop for food. You could be on the way to Davey’s funeral, already running late and suddenly pull into the Krispy Kreme carpark and you would not hear a single protest from him.

Micah: Yaps a whole lot of waffle about how he’s all this n all that to the point you don’t even know what he’s saying anymore and neither does he. Also enjoys flipping random people off and yelling shit out of the window. Expect to be chased by an angry driver for at least 12 miles.

Bill: Eats and then just throws his trash on the floor without a single second thought. If you ask him to pick it up, he will, but not without angrily grumbling and snatching it up. Is in a bad mood for about 2 minutes before he realises he wants to yap so does.

Karen, Uncle, Abigail and Sean: Distracts the driver. Whether it’s with yapping or loud videos or drinking or messing with the music volume, they somehow keep it up from the start of the drive right to the end.

Hosea: Puts his feet up and puts his seat back like he’s in bed. Just won’t sit normally. Will give you a ‘look’ when you ask him to put them down.

Lenny: Makes things awkward, because the first thing he does is comment on the dirtiness of your car then looks extremely shocked and uncomfortable at himself for saying that for about 7 seconds before pulling out his phone and facetiming Sean for the whole drive and giving you the same looks Hosea does when you try to speak to him. When not on the phone, he tends to respond with shrugs and “Okay then,” while folding him arms and staring out of the window. Seems to be in an awful mood until he’s out of the car. He hates car rides if it’s not with his favourite people.

Molly: Acts like you can’t drive. Struggling to see what’s right in front of you? Molly’s got your back! Seriously, she will yell at you to stop at the red light you had already seen 7 seconds ago and started to slow for. Old woman crossing (while you’re already stopped)? She will yell at you not to go so loud you debate kicking her out and making her get her own car, since she knows so much.

Tilly and Strauss: Tries to get you to speed. It’s like they’ve never heard of laws before, and will insist you ‘go faster’ even though your way is blocked by other cars. It’s painfully obvious they both can’t drive and have never had to pay for gas money.

Miss Grimshaw: Absolutely disgusted by your car and wants to make that very clear. It wouldn’t be surprising if halfway through, she started to clean it herself.

Jack: Really really really wants to press that horn. You’d find it cute at first, but so goddamn annoying when your car starts honking in the middle of a busy crossing. It’s like a constant slap-fight except you’re pushing his hands away every-time they come for the horn.

Arthur: Constantly asking to pull over. He’ll casually say “stop here” as if you’re a taxi, not to mention you’re in the middle of nowhere on the highway and you really don’t understand what a stranger mission means. Commonly, you have to explain things like how you’re already an hour late and you literally do not have the room to drive that family of five that’s broken down anywhere, nor can you stop at an empty warehouse and potentially get arrested for trespassing because he wants to explore.

Kieran: Terrified when you go slightly over the speed limit. He acts like he’s in an F1 race with no seatbelt being hung out of the window.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption two #arthur morgan #red dead headcanons #headcanons #fandom #john marston #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #sean macguire #lenny summers #uncle #abigail roberts #jack marston #dutch rdr2

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wlntrsldler · 11 months ago

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marvel masterlist

bucky barnes:

series

DOPPELGÄNGER: Bucky has only been in love once and it was before he was put in ice and way before he became the Winter Soldier. What happens when Bucky meets Y/N, the exact look alike of the girl he used to love? (Social Media AU) (WIP) DISCONTINUED

ROSES: Bucky tells Y/N he’s the Winter Soldier. The next day, he’s taken by the government and that’s the last Y/N sees of him... until they cross paths again. But what if Bucky doesn’t remember her? (COMPLETED)

TO BE SO LONELY: When Bucky and Y/N signed up for this online penpal system, they never expected to grow attached to the other person behind the screen. (COMPLETED)

FALLING: Bucky has been distant lately. Y/N doesn’t know why. (COMPLETED)

THE BREAKUP CHRONICLES: A collection of imagines that can be read independently or as a whole fic about Y/N and Bucky’s relationship post-breakup. DISCONTINUED

one shots

NOT MY TYPE AT ALL: Y/N isn’t Bucky’s type but honestly, he doesn’t care about that anymore. (Not My Type At All by Jacob Whitesides)

SLOW DANCING IN A BURNING ROOM: Y/N knew that Bucky had to leave someday but that didn’t mean that she was ready when the day came. (Slow Dancing In A Burning Room by John Mayer)

CLOSE TO YOU: Requested! Bucky loves Y/N, he didn’t mean to snap at her. (Close To You by Rihanna)

LAST KISS: 1940’s Bucky tells Y/N that he got his orders. (Last Kiss by Taylor Swift)

KISS ME SLOWLY: Bucky keeps running away from Y/N. He doesn’t want to get attached. (Kiss Me Slowly by Parachute)

FALLING LIKE THE STARS: Bucky and Y/N fall in love but he’s sent off to fight the war. (Falling Like the Stars by James Arthur)

HARD PLACE: Bucky and Y/N can’t stop fighting and it’s getting too much. (Hard Place by H.E.R)

F&MU**: Bucky and Y/N hate each other… but they can’t stop letting their anger out through sex. (F&MU by Kehlani) 18+!

MAY I ASK: Y/N and Bucky see each other for the first time since the breakup. Y/N confronts Bucky on why he ended things. (May I Ask by Luke Chiang)

I WILL BE FOUND: Bucky finally found the place where he belongs when he met Y/N but at times, he wished that he could somehow take the life he used to have and magically fit it into the life he had now. (I Will Be Found by John Mayer)

10 AM: REQUESTED! Bucky is hopelessly in love with Y/N. He stops himself from saying anything to her because he’s afraid of getting hurt again, not knowing how much more he can take in his lifetime. (10AM by Keaton Henson)

FLAWLESS**: Bucky and Y/N are friends with benefits. They found a new thing to play with in the bedroom. The Winter Soldier. (Flawless by The Neighbourhood)

CHERIE: Bucky doesn’t understand why Y/N is always so happy. He never thought he would be one of the people who got entranced by her until he was. (Cherry by Harry Styles)

TEE SHIRT: Bucky and Y/N walk into a music shop and she hears the song her and her ex used to love playing in the background. (Tee Shirt by Birdy)

I’M LONELY: lex’s writing challenge! enemies to lovers; “Will you wait for me?” (i’m lonely by luz)

LOUD: Every time Y/N is afraid, she plays her music too loudly but this time, Bucky is there to comfort her.

BUBBLES: Short Bucky imagine about bubbles.

DOCTOR ME UP: Y/N is Bucky’s doctor when he wakes up in Wakanda.

WHITE DRESS: Bucky loves her, so so much, especially as she walks down the aisle in her white dress.

SHAWARMAS: Bucky has a crush on Y/N, the cashier from the Shawarma place.

NO CLUE: Y/N and Bucky hate each other. Nobody knows why. Whenever someone asks, the pair just say, “I have my reasons.” Some think that something happened between them when Bucky was in hiding. Some think that Bucky did something to Y/N when he was the Winter Soldier. Some think that there’s no actual reason- they simply hate each other.

RITUALS: You died on a mission and all Bucky has left is the voicemail you left him before you got on the Quinjet.

FAMILIARITY: Love is a foreign concept to Bucky.

peter parker:

JEALOUS: Where Peter tells Y/N that he’s Spiderman and things go down. (Jealous by Labrinth)

#bucky barnes #captain america #winter soldier #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes imagine #frances writes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x yn #marvel #marvel imagines #marvel oneshot #peter parker

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immajustvibehere · 5 months ago

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Amidst a Crashing World (5/5)

Paring: Arthur Morgan x fem!Reader

Summary: The life at your cabin after the train heist...

tags for this series: fluff, little bit of angst, no tb-Arthur, literally love redemption, no smut (probably), "slow burn"

Masterlist

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

reminder that d/n stands for whatever name you chose to give your female dog

6800 words

It took Sadie and Arthur a while to shake the Pinkertons after freeing Abigail in Van Horn. They rode fast and un-coordinated, not paying much attention to the direction they were heading to. As long as there weren’t any gunshots fired from that direction, they urged their horses to go at a decent speed.

A few more minutes after the last shot had been whizzed past Arthur’s ear, they slowed down their horses.

"Ladies! Hold up a moment!", Arthur holstered his gun and jumped off Sadie's horse. In their hurry to flee the Trading Post, Sadie and Abigail had mounted on Arthur’s horse.

"Arthur”, Sadie complained immediately, “There's no time.”

"There's time", Arthur huffed. The man turned towards Abigail, beckoning her to jump down in his arms. Abigial hesitated, feeling the uneasiness of the situation. Her question cut the air sharper than the bullets had done.

"What happened to John? Where's John?", she inquired. Though her voice was strong, there was an underlying quiver that revealed her fearing the answer.

Arthur couldn't bring himself to respond right away, but his eyes prompted Abigail to jump off the horse.

"He-", Arthur mumbled, "I don't- I don't know."

Abigail stuttered a few incoherent words, not sure what to say, ask or think.

"He got shot off the train. I sent y/n after him, but I don't know if...", Arthur swallowed.

He didn't know if either of you had made it. Even if you had taken the fall well, there was no guarantee that the law hadn’t killed you, or Micah. He also wasn’t sure if you had retrieved John and if he had survived in the first place. There were simply too many variables he wasn’t aware of and couldn’t account for.

"No", Abigail wailed. Sadie now jumped off the horse too, gripping its reins with a sad expression.

"I don't know if they made it", Arthur finally admitted aloud, swallowing thickly.

"We can just...", Sadie started but interrupted herself, "It makes no sense to start wondering. Jack and Tilly are safe, and they should be at the cabin by now."

Sadie was way more collected than Arthur and Abigail were. The latter just looked at each other as if already in mourning. Sadie put the reins of Arthur’s horse in his hands, then walked over to hers and mounted it. Abigail climbed on its back a moment later, leaving Arthur standing next to his horse, looking unsure.

"Come on, let's ride", Sadie suggested.

He hesitated.

He felt the urge to ride back to camp. To confront Dutch with what he had just learned from Milton, that Micah had been the rat all along. It was foolish, but he wanted revenge, wanted to kill Micah. And then there was the wish to just head West and not look back. Abigail and Sadie would reunite with Tilly and Jack.

Part of him didn't want to know if John or you had made it. It would hurt way too much to learn that both or either of you had died.

Arthur watched the setting sun, lazily petting his horse’s neck.

If it wasn't for Sadie, whose voice cut through the silence with: "Arthur. They're waiting" he might have really gone back to camp, or West. However, Sadie looked at him determined, as if she never doubted that you would wait for him at the cabin. Abigail looked queasy and sad, tears running down her cheek. But even for Abigail, Sadie’s calm and certainty was somewhat ensuring.

"Okay", Arthur huffed and mounted his horse.

When you saw Sadie and Abigail ride up the path to your cabin, you pulled yourself up. Your body ached and the more you moved, the more difficult it was to breath. As quickly as your bruised body would allow, you limped towards them. Your heart sank the closer you got, and you still saw only one horse. One damn horse with Sadie and Abigail.

But when there were only a couple of yards left and the clouds dispersed, revealing the moon, the other horse came into view. You recognized the familiar silhouette that only lacked its signature hat.

A wave of relief washed over you and for a second you thought you might faint, wasn’t it the anticipation and fear that had prevented you from falling unconscious – or asleep – earlier. You locked eyes with Arthur and limped faster towards him before Abigail’s voice cut you off.

" Is John-", she almost choked on a sob and her voice sounded meek, as if she had been crying for hours straight.

"Snoring like a pig", you replied quickly, before you collected yourself and halted next to Sadie's horse. Abigail must have been even more worried about her boys that you had been about Arthur, so you forced a smile on your lips and said calmly: "He's fine. He 'n Jack are sharing a bed. They're both okay."

Abigail began to cry again. Happy tears, clearly. Sadie rode up to the fence of your garden and dismounted with Abigail, who couldn’t wait to get into your cabin. Arthur and you remained behind.

He jumped off his horse and for a little while, you starred at each other as if trying to figure out if all of this was a dream. What were the odds of you having fallen asleep after nursing John and now you were dreaming of Arthur’s return. The blood splattered across his jacket looked awfully real though.

He was the first to break the silence and the eye contact.

"Lost my hat, did ya?", Arthur commented dryly, clearing his throat and knowing damn well that those weren't appropriate words for the reunion.

"It's in the hou- damn you, Arthur!", you wailed. You had tried to supress your anger about the fact that the man threw you off a speeding train. Had you remained on the train, crouching behind those wooden crates, your body might resemble more Swiss cheese than then the living and bruised shell you had to put up with at the moment. Still, he could have given a warning. He could have let you jump instead of pushing you.

Would you’ve been brave enough to jump on your own? Probably not, but still. There was a good chance that either of you wouldn’t survive this, so this definitely hadn’t been an appealing good-bye.

Arthur was leading his horse by the reins, his other hand found the small of your back and with this gentle connection, you walked towards the cabin.

"'m sorry, darlin'", the man apologized. He gave you a tried smile and by the way his eyes glistened, you could tell that he probably had been just as worried about you.

Abigail had long gone in, but Sadie was still busy with her horse, unloading weapons and provisions.

You wondered how secretive the relationship the two of you lead was still supposed to be, but you didn’t much care, as you pulled Arthur into a hug. For fearing that you’d never be able to do that, it was quite a relief to bury your fingers in his sweaty and dirty shirt. He reciprocated the hug and pressed you closer, which hurt so badly that you couldn’t breathe for a second. But it felt worth it.

"Didn't hurt ya too much, did I?", Arthur inquired, peeling you off him to have a proper look at you at scan for injuries.

"No", you lied, not feeling like explaining or handling more his guilt. He might have noticed how pressed your "no" sounded, how it was almost like wheezing, but he didn't ask any further.

"What's the plan for tonight?", Sadie's voice interrupted the moment you and Arthur shared. Still, Arthur’s heavy hands remained on your shoulder where he had put them to inspect you.

"I'll hide the horses in the forest. It's safe as long as they stay close to the cabin and if anyone comes by, they won't suspect that the cabin is packed with high bounty degenerates", you explained.

Sadie acknowledged you suggestion with a nod, before it was arranged that you and Arthur would keep watch for the rest of the night. You agreed a little reluctantly to this, because your body screamed for some sleep and recovery, but it would give you moments alone with Arthur, and somehow you needed this even more. Sadie retired into the cabin to put her bedroll wherever she'd find a free spot. It surely was crowded by now, but you didn't want to check. You remained outside with Arthur.

You settled in front of the house on the lawn. The night was warm, probably one of the last summer nights you'd get before fall would make the darkest hours wet and cold. For a while, neither of you said anything.

It was only after a while that you began to fill each other in on what happened.

Finally, you mumbled: "Sorry…for all of it."

Arthur had spent most of his life following a man who had turned into a lunatic, trusting the advice of a madman and betraying the two people he had once called his sons. You had sympathy for how Arthur must feel.

"Ain't yer fault", Arthur replied.

He was slouching, his fingers drawing circles into the dirt.

"Still…", you sighed. Mentally, you had been done with the gang when you left them a year ago. Part of you already knew you wouldn't return on your own accord, but Arthur’s case was different. Hadn't it turned out the way it did…he would have stayed. Even if it meant going down with the gang.

"'s okay, I think, in the end, we did our best", Arthur said.

He looked at you, and his eyes spoke books. Without you, Arthur thought, he might not have helped all those people. If he hadn't admitted returned to you after Guarma, admitting that that he had been thinking of you,…if he hadn't been confronted with the knowledge that he could still love somebody,…this all might not have been worth it for him. You had assured him that he could always return to your place, and he couldn’t decline that offer. You had always made him feel at home, even though he might not have been deserving of your hospitality at first.

"Aw shit, I almost forgot", you pulled out Mary's letter from your pocket, it was all crumpled up, "I saw it on your table today morning and I- I didn't know if you had read it yet….it might be important or something…" you mumbled your last words.

You had been mad at Arthur for throwing you off the train. The hours between nursing John and waiting for Arthur were a rollercoaster of being angry and being worried. You had thought about reading the letter or burning it. But you reflected that if you had as much as a few lines written by Arthur when you had left camp all heartbroken, you would have cherished them like a treasure. So, who were you deny an already betrayed man some words from a former lover. Despite it making your stomach turn a little.

Arthur took the letter with a straight face, but from the little twitch on his cheek you knew that he had felt it as soon as he grabbed it. He turned the letter around and a gold ring fell into his palm.

For a while, Arthur stared at it, a little shocked, only a small "oh" escaping his lips. Then he put it into his pocket and held the letter out to you.

"Wanna read it?", his voice was hoarse and a little weak.

"What?", you ask confusedly, "No? I guess. Why?"

"Jus' askin’…", Arthur shrugged and then he threw it into your small camp fire. It was burning when you asked: "What was it about?" of course, assuming he had read it.

"I don't know", Arthur admitted with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"What?", you stared at him in shock, "You didn't read it?"

"No."

"Why would you then-", you looked at the black, crumbling outlines of the paper. Even if you had risked burning your fingers, there was only a small corner of the paper left where the writing was still readable. After you had finished the thought, even this corner had crumbled to ashes.

“Oh you bastard!”, you complained, the curiosity now getting the better of you, “Why didn't you say so! I would have read it! I thought you knew what she wanted!!"

Arthur was amused at your hysteria and shook his head, mumbling a " I don't getchu women" but then he gave a proper reply: "Sending me back the ring I gave her, says all I need to know. She never sent it back, even when she got married…'s in the past now. It doesn't matter, y/n."

You nodded, calming yourself a little as you realized Arthur’s sullen mood.

"Will ya give me a minute?", he asked.

He waited patiently for your "'course", before he stood up and walked off.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Arthur came back, but you had laid down, stretching your tired limbs in an attempt to get more air into your lungs. Your ribcage still hurt from the fall, and you suspected that you might have cracked a rib or two, but there wasn't anything you could do about it. You heard Arthur's steps coming around the house again, you tried to sit up without grunting in pain.

When Arthur appeared, you leaned against your cabin wall as casually as you managed, looking up to the man. He gave you a sad smile. He just stood there awkwardly, looking at you briefly before his eyes went off into the distance, scanning the night for anything unusual. Finally, you asked: "Do you want a smoke?"

Arthur drawled his casual "Sure" and took one cigarette from the package you held out to him. You were still trying to find your matchbox, when you heard the man strike a match on his boot and lighting the stick. He took one big drag and you couldn’t stop thinking about how handsome he looked, the light of the small flames barely reaching his face and making the shadows dance. It was only a brief moment. The intense orange glow of the flame extinguished as Arthur threw the match into the campfire.

Arthur sat down next to you – right next to you, so your bodies were touching. After another drag, he handed the cigarette to you.

The both of you finished it together in silence. Even though he didn’t say anything, Arthur counted three yawns that you tried to supress as the cigarette wandered between you.

“Get some rest”, he offered in a hushed voice.

“I’m on guard duty with you”, you shook your head. It pained you to refuse the offer, but you didn’t want Arthur to stay awake on his own. Not after the day he has had. “I’m gonna walk around a little”, you added, forcing yourself on your aching feet.

The darkness swallowed you soon enough, but Arthur stayed put by the cabin. You walked around, going to a cliff and kept your eyes open for riders or lights in the distance that would hint at Pinkerton search parties. But everything was quiet and dark.

Quarter of an hour later, you dropped next to Arthur again. The words for today seemed to run dry and you realised your eyelids becoming heavier.

When you slouched and dropped against his shoulder, Arthur glanced at your sleeping body. From this minute forward, he tried to move as little as possible, though an earthquake wouldn’t have woken you.

The first day at the cabin was chaotic. You were the only one who could make a supply run, since your face wasn’t necessarily connected to the gang, so you took your horse and rode off to the nearest farm to get some food and d/n. It was decided that having a dog around would not only cheer the mood a little and distract Jack but was also additional security and a great help for you and Arthur, who agreed to take night watch.

Aside from your trip, the day consisted of hunting, fishing, and cooking. Soon, part of your garden was stacked with hay to feed the five horses that were lazily grazing in the forest behind the cabin. There was no “taking a meal together” or having a group discussion about how plans, as people entered and left the house constantly. Sadie was on patrol; you took Jack to the pond to fish, and when you returned, Arthur had gone off to hunt some rabbits. John alternated between the house and the garden, seeking the quieter spot. For him, the first day was mostly about resting, because he complained about his aching shoulder.

In the afternoon, Arthur fell asleep under a tree and with John seated at the table for a late lunch, you took the opportunity to lie down in bed and catch a few more hours of sleep.

It got quieter after the sun had set. Only you and Arthur were seated outside the cabin, again lighting a small campfire to keep you company through the night.

“I’ve been looking forward to this”, you sighed and briefly closed your eyes.

“Stayin’ awake all night?”, Arthur huffed jokingly.

You didn’t open your eyes but whispered: “Spending some time with you. Alone.”

You felt Arthur’s gaze drilling holes into you. Still savouring the crackling of the fire with your eyes closed, you were startled by the touch of a larger hand on yours, which had been resting in the cool grass.

“’s that okay?”, Arthur mumbled after taking a few seconds to process his own move.

You nodded while opening your eyes, looking at a rather flustered man.

“More than okay”, you told him. The smile on your lips calmed him down.

…

“So, nothing has changed, huh?”, Tilly grinned at you.

The both of you sat leaned against the fence in the sun. Tilly had been reading, and so were you. But since Arthur had started to chop wood, your brain made the letters in front of you blur. Tilly had picked up on the occasional glance you casted towards Arthur.

“What do you mean?”, you asked curiously.

“You and Arthur. You still like him”, Tilly stated. Tilly had known about your crush ever since you had started to develop feelings for him…and seeing that was years ago, her statement held some truth.

A hint of a smile worked its way onto your lips: “Yeah. But this time I think he just might like me back.”

Tilly nodded, “Mary-Beth and I talked about this. Even before we knew that he found you, we suspected that he might have found someone. And we prayed that it wasn’t this Mary Linton all over again.”

“No, he actually burnt the letter-“, you started but were interrupted by Tilly: “He’s watching us!”

When you looked up, Arthur’s eyes were already on you. He had loaded some of the split logs under his arm, the sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Where do you want the wood, Miss y/n?”, Arthur asked with slightly raised voice, so you’d hear him properly.

“Behind the house is fine. Wait, I’ll help”, you were about to stand up when Arthur made you halt: “You better rest! Ya didn’t sleep well last night.” He chuckled warmly and stalked off to the firewood pile behind the house.

Tilly grinned mischievously: “So that’s what you do on guard duty? Sleeping? And he watched over you, apparently.”

You gulped down your embarrassment. It had been impossible to keep your eyes open last night, though the nightmares were a bit of a downer and had roused you again and again. Arthur had been awake, mumbling some reassuring words and once, you weren’t quite sure if it had been a dream or not, put a strand of hair behind your ear, that had annoyingly tickled your nose.

…

Around ten that night, you and Arthur settled on your positions outside the house. The rain had been drizzling down for the last two hours, but Sadie had helped you set up a cozy little fort in the garden. A canvas tarp stretched a spot big enough for you and Arthur to lie under comfortably without getting wet and shielding you from the light wind that might have blown the rain into your faces. Instead of a campfire, two lanterns flickered on either side of you, casting everything in a soft glow. And because of the afternoon’s lack of sunshine, the damp and cold soil had prompted you to lay down plenty of straw, creating a dry barrier between you and the wet ground.

Neither of you spoke until minutes had passed after the last noise had come from inside the cabin. Then you sighed: “Nobody’s going to find us here, right?”

You hadn’t seen any Pinkertons or law ever since arriving at the cabin, not even far in the distance, so you were feeling quite confident that it would stay that way.

“I guess”, Arthur agreed with a chuckle, grabbing a bottle of gin “better that way. Tilly and Sadie will probably be leaving tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ve heard.”

Because there was no law in sight, everyone had decided it was probably safe for them to leave. Your little cabin was simply too crowded to go on living like this for long. The amount of food needed to feed six adults, a child, five horses and a dog put additional strain on everyone’s nerves. Everybody had agreed that this wouldn’t be sustainable in the long run and that they had to move on before the weather got too cold anyways.

“The Marstons might stay a little longer”, Arthur commented and when you only nodded in reply, he asked carefully if you were okay with that.

“What? Sure, why shouldn’t I?”, you asked with furrowed eyebrows.

“Jus’ checking. I don’t take you to…be the kind o’person to kick them out if they got on yer nerves”, he explained, a smile playing on his lips.

You snorted – but he was right. The nightly watches with Arthur together were something you’d come to enjoy. Even if it wasn’t for that, you weren’t sure if you would have kicked them out any time soon. Sure, John was bickering a lot and complaining about his injuries – which were healing perfectly – and sometimes kids can be exhausting, but still.

You thought aloud: “It’s good for Jack to stay a while. He’s been on the run with the gang since he was a baby. He’s safe here and he gets along with d/n.”

Arthur mumbled in agreement and the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. You briefly looked at each other before you scooted closer and leaned against Arthur. The tickle of his beard against your forehead made you smile, a mix of cheer and calm washing over you.

“It’s time for a trim again”, you remarked with a smile, letting your fingers run through his beard. Arthur tolerated it without protest, well aware that you were officially his barber now and that he shouldn’t be reading too much into you scratching his chin.

“You just cut it barely two weeks ago”, he chuckled, amused by how much you seemed to enjoy yourself.

“Yeah, I just thought…”, you mumbled, “might get in the way while kissin’…”

You smiled innocently while Arthur’s heart skipped a beat. His eyes quickly locked onto yours and his gaze spoke volumes. It was easy to get lost in his eyes – you knew their colour perfectly well, though the dim light of the lanterns didn’t do them justice. And yet you saw the longing in his eyes, begging for an explanation. The man was yearning for another hint that it would be okay if he met his lips with yours right now. God, he hadn’t thought about much else the past nights. He kept telling himself that it was too soon and that he should hold back, just like you kept telling yourself to wait until the adrenaline of surviving the train heist had completely left your systems.

The suspense just lasted a moment too long so a “Woman, ya want me t’shave right now or…?” could leave Arthur’s lips before you closed the distance between you.

Your lips didn’t want to part. From the awkward side-leaning pose you shifted and scrambled, never breaking the kiss, until you were in a comfortable position. Arthur’s hands found your hips, and he pulled you onto his lap, eliciting some suggestive noises from you that made him forget there were people sleeping just behind the wall he leaned against.

Your hands were just as restless as his, raking through his hair, kneading his shoulders. When Arthur squeezed your sides and a weird-sounding groan escaped you, he paused for a moment. It pulled him out of the moment slightly, even though you were now rocking against his thighs. Arthur’s hands squeezed again and this time he caught your furrowed eyebrows. He hadn’t held you with a tight grip and he didn’t take you for the type to be overly sensitive, so your reaction threw him off enough that he pulled back, looking at you suspiciously.

It didn’t matter how suggestively his name rolled off your lips and how much you begged, when you tried to pull him closer again, Arthur held you at a distance, eying you.

“What’s wrong?”, Arthur asked with corcern.

“Nothing”, your eyes and senses felt dazed from making out, but since Arthur’s fingers were digging into your bruised rips, it became hard to keep a straight face. When he caught your expression of relief as he let go of your body, something made click for him and though it was unceremonious and blunt, he started to unbutton your blouse.

“A-Arthur, what-“, you stammered, trying to restrain his hands to no avail. He saw the bruises before even having reached the last button.

“Y/n…?”

Despite having all the time in the world, you hadn’t thought about an excuse yet. Trying to retreat from Arthur’s lap was met with his hands being placed on your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Only when you stopped struggling did one hand search for the lantern, lifting it to illuminate your torso.

“Jesus-“, Arthur groaned, his eyes widening at the sight of your bruised skin, “Why didn’t ya tell me?”

You tried to figure out the tone in Arthur’s voice. It must have been somewhere between disappointed and reprimand, but deep down, you knew he was feeling guilty – exactly what you had tried to avoid by not telling him.

“I didn’t want you to worry”, you admitted honestly.

Arthur’s voice dropped to a low murmur, a tone usually reserved for threatening people. Which made it even scarier when he used this ton to mumble to himself. “That was me…”, he grumbled as his fingertips ghosted over your bruises.

Arthur remembered this rush of uncertainty and anxiety after he had pushed you off that train. He should have warned you, should have told you to jump, hell, at least turned you around so you’d know when you’d hit the ground. He had stopped worrying after he saw you alive and fairly well; only to realise now that you’d put on an act for his sake.

“Yes”, you said firmly and gripped Arthur’s face with both of your hands, “You did what you had to do. I wouldn’t have jumped off that train, Arthur. I would have never jumped myself.”

Arthur met your gaze, his eyes now slightly wet and irritated. His eyebrows were furrowed in confusion as if he couldn’t grasp why you would ever justify him breaking your rips.

“They would have shot me off”, you added with a dead-serious face, “There’s no way I would have left you otherwise.”

“Still, I – I…”, Arthur stuttered, carefully closing the buttons of your blouse with shaky fingers.

“No. Stop it”, you interrupted, “I would have died on that train. You know it.”

Arthur closed your blouse without saying anything, then, when the silence became to deafening, he huffed: “So that’s why you snored like a monster the last couple o’nights. You couldn’t breathe.”

Your cheeks became warm and you crawled off Arthur’s lap as quickly as your tired body managed.

“I hate you, Arthur Morgan”, you mumbled, sitting down on your spot next to him, staring into the light of the lantern.

“I know ya don’t. Yer fool enough to like me…”, Arthur smiled carefully into your direction.

That much was true, you thought. Your heart grew when you remembered how quick he was with opening your blouse, how carefully he had touched your bruises. And then you remembered how you had even got into this situation. You had been in the middle of something!

When you swiftly looked up to Arthur, he read your intentions as if you had said your thoughts out loud.

“I know, darlin’…I want ya just as much”, he said bashfully, you almost saw a light blush on his cheeks, “but I don’t want to hurt yer any more.”

“You’re not going to. We can just-“

“You rest some”, Arthur interrupted in a tone that suggested there was no room for discussion. You sighed and lay down on your bedroll. Your dissatisfaction about how the night ended was clear to Arthur when he looked at you and saw a rather gloomy expression. He reached over to extinguish the lantern next to you.

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere”, Arthur said, thinking this would be sufficient to address your worries, “we got plenty of time now.”

“Yeah”, you mumbled, not really believing it. Sadie and Tilly would leave tomorrow. The Marstons would probably leave in a week or two. You wondered if Arthur was going to leave. You heard from Sadie how hesitant he was to ride back to the cabin, and you knew that there was part of him that just wanted to head West, back to the open prairie with no civilization for miles on end. There was a chance he’d pick that life over the one you could offer him right here and thinking about that put an even heavier weight on your chest than you already felt.

You were too scared to admit it openly, so you just wondered in silence until you fell asleep.

The next day was spent with prepping and planning, trying to make out a secure route for the women to leave the area. Arthur, to your great dismay, hadn’t made it a secret that you had a cracked rip or two and Abigail held a lecture on hiding injuries. You were doomed to vegetable cutting and reading to Jack, stuck to the cabin and its garden.

Arthur and Abigail were the only ones who took your injuries dead-serious. When you tried to take a big pot out of a cupboard, Arthur appeared behind you and did the job for you. Tilly and John teased you relentlessly about it. John jokingly said that you shouldn’t move so much when you picked up a piece of carrot that had rolled on the floor.

“Jealous, Marston?”, you shot back, “Wish you’d still be coddled like that, huh?”

With Abigail’s focus on your injury, John had lost his status as person in need for care and he wasn’t exactly happy when he was called outside to feed and brush the horses, since one of his left arm was still pretty much useless.

With Tilly and Sadie gone, your bedroll finally moved inside again, and it was the first night where Arthur shared guard duty with John.

The days continued, a little quieter and not as crammed as those before. After one week, you started to enjoy living with this group of people. Your injuries healed well and at the end of the week, Abigail allowed you to take Jack fishing. Arthur and John, in the meanwhile, had started to work on a bigger bedframe. Your old one was still broken and wobbly and since Abigail and Jack shared the bed every night, a bigger one would come in handy. Nobody mentioned it explicitly – and you feared that you were the only one thinking it – but if Arthur were to stay with you, you were in desperate need for a bigger bed.

Three days later, you dared your first ride to Annesburg. After you had given everyone at the cabin a haircut, you decided it was time to catch up with your regulars in town. You used their gossip as a way of getting information regarding the Pinkertons, and apparently, they had left town. There wasn’t more valuable information than that they had left, and they had gone South, which you knew wasn’t a route that Sadie and Tilly picked.

Another two days passed before John and Abigail decided to pack their bags and move. Fall was in full swing by now and the leaves were dropping off the trees like crazy. They planned to head West and later South. On their last night, John and Arthur got drunk, and you joined in with pleasure.

The night was a blur of singing and yelling mundane stories at each other. After a couple swigs of whiskey, Arthur became more touchy, openly wrapping his arm around your waist. John watched this curiously, as you and Arthur had never been so affectionate in front of others. But you enjoyed the attention. The night was cut short when one of your funny stories about a client had John and Arthur make such a fuss, that Abigail stormed out of the cabin.

“Jack is trying to sleep! Shame on you John, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow”, she scolded.

Arthur was in a good mood, so he stood up with a certain spring in his step: “Uh-oh, Marston! We’re gonna leave you to it!”

Arthur pulled you up with him and you stumbled out of the garden and into the woods for a nightly “patrol”…which was just a drunk walk on which you could laugh and scream without jeopardizing an innocent boy’s sleep. From telling jokes and drunk flirty banter, you quieted down after a while. Your arm snaked around Arthur’s to keep each other steady – and close.

After what felt like an hour of aimlessly wandering around were walking towards the cabin again, passing your little pond.

“Remember when I caught ya bathin’ in it?”, you recalled smugly.

“Sure”, Arthur grunted, walking up to the edge. You accompanied him, taking in the serene reflection of the moon in the water. The wind rustled the leaves in the woods behind you, sending tiny waves over the undisturbed surface. You knew there were fish sleeping down there. Suddenly, Arthur freed his hand from your grip and instead gripped your arm.

“How ‘bout we make it even?”, he said with a mischievous grin, giving you a gentle push.

You felt like you were about to topple over into the cold water, but Arthur’s grip on your arm was firm and stabilizing. The near fall left you with a wave of nausea and curses flowed from your lips like a waterfall.

“Ya son of a-“, Arthur was quick to interrupt you with a kiss.

You knew that John couldn’t see you from the cabin, even though you could spot the campfire in front of the house with the slim man sitting there. The moonlight wasn’t bright enough, and the distance was too big; he might only see two vague silhouettes, if he was even looking.

The kiss deepened and Arthur steered you away from the water until he met a tree. His hands had already slipped under your shirt as yours fingered his belt buckle, when he stopped and buried his face in your neck.

“No”, he complained, though you felt the grin on your skin, “I don’ wanna be drunk for this…”

“You sure this isn’t just an excuse because you don’t wanna hurt me”, you asked. Your sides were still bruised, though you felt significantly better and the pressure on your lungs had dissipated almost completely.

“That too”, Arthur admitted with a sigh, peppering the crook of your neck with kisses before pulling you into a hug, resting his chin on top of your head.

You were slightly disappointed, but bringing a little common sense into this, you knew that the forest wasn’t specifically the best place for sex. Especially drunk and with cracked bones. The hug lasted so long, you might have dozed off for a few seconds, but it was the rustling in the bushes that let both of your ears perk up. D/n came striding up to you, tail wagging and tongue out.

“Look who found us!”, Arthur exclaimed. He loved the dog. As soon as she appeared up, the hug ended and Arthur squatted down, dangerously swaying, to pet her.

“We should head back”, you suggested, “D/n’s probably alarming us ‘cause John fell asleep.”

And right you were. When you walked through the gate, you found John passed out and snoring.

The entire morning was spent getting a waggon ready for the Marstons, loading it with what supplies and money you still had. By lunchtime, they were all packed. It was a cool fall day. There were maybe three weeks left until you, so close to the mountains, would see the first snow. Everyone took their time saying good-bye. While John and Arthur went over the route one more time, you chatted with Jack. You had decided to gift him one of your favourite books. Though it was still way too difficult for him to read, you told him that eventually, he’d understand everything.

You hugged Abigail who thanked you again and again for going after John that night and for offering your place as hideout. While you were busy with bridling John’s horse in front of the waggon, you listened to Arthur’s and John’s conversation.

“Thank you, brother”, John shook Arthur’s hand affectionately.

“No need to thank me, couldn’t have done it alone”, and Arthur’s glance met yours for a moment.

“What are you gonna do now?”, John asked, climbing up the waggon to take his seat.

“Oh”, Arthur huffed, “Not sure yet. But I’ll see you again. You too, Abigail”, Abigail hugged Arthur who then helped her up on the waggon. You stepped aside, leaning against your fence. Nothing more needed to be said, and with kind nods, John spurred the horse on. Jack was busy waving good-bye to you and Arthur until he was so far in the distance, that you couldn’t properly make him out anymore.

“So…”, you swallowed thickly, knowing there was no way around the question anymore, “how long do you plan on staying?”

You stared in the distance, focusing on the trees, the sky…anything but Arthur who stared holes into you.

“Ya want me gone or something?”, he joked, lighting a cigarette.

“No!”, you looked at him earnestly, “I’ve just been wondering…’cause it should be save to leave…head West and all…”

“I’ll stay here. As long as ya’ll have me”, Arthur said, putting all the meaning behind those words. He could sense your anxiety, and he figured you had been anxious for the last couple of days, which explained all the funny and sad looks you had given him.

“I won’t kick you out”, you reaffirmed, not sure how to feel about Arthur’s statement yet.

“Good”, he chuckled, a puff of smoke escaping his lips, “…was kinda countin’ on that.”

When he saw your still unsatisfied expression, he gave you a kind smile softly murmured your name. “I think I told ya before, but…I love ya.”

Ever since Arthur had returned with Sadie and Abigail from Van Horn and saw you alive, he had known that he’d stay right here with you. All his thoughts about leaving to go West, avoiding society that would eventually creep up those hills and maybe even reach your secluded cabin – all those thoughts paled in comparison to the feeling of being at home here with you. But Arthur realized that he might not have expressed that well enough for you to understand.

“’ve been a fool before, y/n. And I’m sorry for it”, Arthur sighed, “But if ya don’t mind…I’ll stay here as long as you’ll tolerate an old bastard like me.”

You chuckled at his words and realized that for the first time since falling from the train and crawling to collect John, the pressure on your chest was gone. It made you wonder if most of it had been your injury or your anxiety about the uncertainty of the relationship.

“Mhm”, you hummed, a relieved smile appearing your lips, “it’s gonna be real hard…but I think I can manage a couple of years.”

Arthur chuckled. He put his arm around you and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss onto your temple. You hugged him, inhaling the smoke and sweat off his jacked.

It was Arthur who breathed close to your ear, whispering: “Wanna head inside? There’s somethin’ I’ve been wanting to do for a damn while now…”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Thanks for the wait lmao and sorry for all the suggestive suspense, I can't write smut :)))

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taglist for this series: @pinkiemme @loveheartarthur @twola @shiokitsune @missredemption @kakashiislut @thewalkingdead1463 @yyiikes @renwai @walk-in-sunshine @rdrlady @ivybeeloved @trinswhimsys @reddedmiller @chiefqueefsosa @sauvignon-velvet @mrsarthurmorgan @readingcoco @pookiesnatcher @gloomdoomraccoon @nervousmumbling @pheesupremacy @destroyer-of-za-warudo @ratbrainbabycowboyprince @stray-npc

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nanamimizz · 8 months ago

Text

tags: height difference, gn reader, nsfw implied

for @ravengards-rogue sorry for always tormenting you my bad fr

john is never been aware of his height until he got into a spat with arthur at age 18 and realizes he was eye level with his older brother - neither dutch or hosea can say they have seen the boy that smug before. his height is something he’s always used to his advantage, whether for intimidation or flirtation. when he first met you he thought it would be another tool for him to gauge you, to see how easily you scare or fluster at his presence.

looking back it makes him laugh, thinking that something so simply would make you cower from him as if the look on your face was nothing but disinterested upon your first meeting.

a pretty face with brows furrowed and your lips drawn back in a disgusted frown - john likes to think that’s when he fell in love with you even if the version of him freezing on the mountainside didn’t know it yet. you stay at camp with one of your own and become a part of the group day by day and chore by chore. he’s even ridden with you on bounties and leads that always seem to go without a hitch when it’s just him and you.

you are beautiful with the backdrop of the dark blue sky behind you, and the golden fire in front of you as you carefully a strand of hair away from your face while watching into the vastness of the wilderness. long hair suits you, he thinks. the way it suits charles - it makes you seem nobler than any other. john leaves old boy’s hitch and comes to your side, noting something he never quite pieced together.

you are decently tall, standing higher than the other women and some men at camp (he snickers at how you are just an inch taller than javier - the revolutionary is always stung by that fact) but still you are shorter than him. you turn to look at him your lips forming words he isn’t listening to because john is too busy being endeared by how you have to tilt your head to look up at him.

it’s a sweet look on you, it lets him see the shine in your eyes and lets him feast upon the soft skin of your neck.

“are you listening to me?” you ask and john grins, slow and leisurely - filled with some sort of sleazy charm that he knows you aren’t immune to.

“can’t say i am, my angel.” you make that face - the pretty little peeved scowl that makes his grin grow as he tips his head a little further back to rack his eyes down you. he’s being smug again, just like the little shit he was when his world was just arthur, dutch and hosea. john can’t help that you bring that side of him despite the year in between you two.

“well you better start marston.” you hiss, face flushed with annoyance and your hand coming to rest on your waist. he barks a laugh, one that sounds like a wolf’s and that makes your tongue click in your mouth.

“i’ll try to - it’s just hard to hear you from down there sweetheart.” his teasing is strengthen by his drawl and he laughs loud and rickety when you curse him.

“go to hell john marston!” you hiss, pushing him at him and huffing in annoyance at how it barely moves him at all and stalking to the fire. john keeps laughing, bringing his thumb and forefinger to pinch the brim of his hat to bring it down. to hide his growing flush and the ache in his cheeks over this little fact.

#lamb.writes #john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #john marston fluff #john marston x you #rdr2 x you

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unboundprompts · 1 year ago

Note

Can I get prompts for two rivals/frenemies who start to bond over Horror films and Mystery/Detective books?

Thank you!

Prompts for Rivals Bonding over Horror Movies and Mystery Books

-> cw for spoiling the ending of some popular movies and books.

-> feel free to edit and adjust pronouns as you see fit.

-----------

Character A glanced up as B sat down across from them. They rustled through their bag and finally settled as they opened a book. "What are you reading?" A asked, returning to the paper they were working on.

"Murders in the Rue Morgue," B responded.

"Oh."

It was silent for a few minutes as A continued to type on their laptop. Finally, without looking up from their work, A casually said, "A monkey did it."

B paused in their reading to look up at them. After a beat, they chuckled. "Very funny, A. No way would I believe that."

A showed no sign of even hearing their comment, still typing away. A few more minutes passed before B slammed their book down on the table. Character A looked up at them with a smirk.

B glowered at them. "You motherfucker."

----------

"You haven't seen the Conjuring movies?"

"No, they don't seem that interesting."

"Okay, buddy. Come over to my house tonight at six, and you can tell me if they 'don't seem interesting to you' after we watch all three."

----------

Character A reached over to see what book B was reading. And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie.

"Good choice," A said nonchalantly, pulling out a book of their own.

B seemed taken aback, but quickly recovered. "Thanks," they said. "It's pretty good so far."

"Any ideas on who the killer is?"

B shrugged, flipping back a couple of pages. "Vera maybe? She seems too innocent to actually be innocent."

"No," A responded. "It's the retired judge. You don't expect it to be him because he faked his death."

"I'm going to kill you." B seethed. "What are you reading?"

A snickered. "Murder on the Orient Express, which I know you haven't read."

B pulled out their phone. "No, I haven't, but I just looked it up. 'Ratchett's true identity is revealed: he was John Cassetti, Daisy's kidnapper and murderer.'"

Character A snapped their book closed. "I hate you."

"We're even now. Don't let it happen again."

---------

Character A leapt out of the way as B came running past them. "Where are you going?" They yelled after them.

B slowed, but only for a brief moment. They continued to walk in the direction they were heading as they yelled back to A. "Character C just texted that they were going to watch Human Centipede! I've got to stop them before it changes them forever!"

A's heart ran cold. "Oh God," they whispered before sprinting after Character B.

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Character B stared at the book that A had just shoved into their hands. They raised a brow at them. "What's this?"

"Arthur Conan Doyle," A responded matter of factly. "Thought you'd like it."

"Oddly touching. You better not spoil this one."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

----------

A torn piece of paper fell out of the book Character B was reading. It was scribbled in Character A's unmistakable handwriting.

'Jack Stapleton killed him so he would inherit the estate.'

#ask box prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #otp prompts #creative writing #prompt list #writeblr #story prompt #mystery/thriller prompts #mystery prompts #hero and villain prompts #enemies to friends #enemies to lovers prompts #horror prompts #rival prompts

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dreamerschroniclesofstories · 11 months ago

Text

Hello, Thomas Shelby.

A/N: hello again! It’s so good to be back. I’m officially on Christmas break from university so I’ll be more active. This is part 2 of ‘ Goodbye, mr Shelby’. This came later then expected because I was in hospital over the weekend with a severe infection but I’m recovering slowly. Thank you for all your support and love on my precious works. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!.

I DON’T NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO REPOST THIS ON OTHER WEBSITES AND FOR TRANSLATION.

Summery: Grace has died and Tommy is grieving. Through his grief, he realises something. Something that has been in-front of him for years.

Word count: 926

In the quiet aftermath of her departure, a heavy silence settled upon the tommys world. The once vibrant hues of their shared life now muted, he navigated the echo of her absence with a heart heavy with grief and anger. Every room held fragments of her laughter and the subtle traces of her presence in Charlie, now haunting reminders of a love that transcended overtime.

The aroma of her perfume lingered, a haunting presence that both comforted and intensified the void. The weight of responsibility bore down on him, the business dealings of the Shelby Company requiring his attention, yet his mind was a tempest of grief.

Tommy spent most of his time in his office, either dealing with work or coming up with a plan to avenge grace for her death. He found strange refuge with his brothers Arthur and john.

Last night, Tommy had finally snapped at John after a meeting with then went wrong.

“ legitimate business John is the priority” Tommy states, his dark eyebrows pulling down towards his eyes. Patting his cigarette into the ashtray. The smoke filling the gap between Tommy and his brother.

“Since when” John bellows angrily, his voice immediately turning a switch inside of Tommy’s head.

Tommy suddenly stands up, causing the whiskey glass on the desk to rattle against each other , slamming his hands down then points towards John. Tommy lips tighten and curl inwards.

“ since my wife took a billet meant for me” he yells.

Polly had found out about this incident and knew she had to do something for her nephew, she did not like the route he was heading down by not accepting his grief.

Polly Gray held a conflicted relationship with Grace Burgess, harboring a certain distaste for her. Despite their differences, when faced with Grace's untimely death, Polly found within herself a sense of empathy. Despite her reservations towards Grace.

Without telling anyone but Ada, she had contacted someone that she knew could help me. Someone he hadn’t seen since the morning he married grace.Amelia.

Amelia’s house {London}

The bloody Shelby family. Amelia had been in London for just over a year when she had a phone call late last night.

As the soft glow of twilight spilled into her small room, Amelia sat by her window, watching as the stars shine down onto the London streets. She was immersed in the rarity of quietude of the evening. The outside world seemed to slow down and the rhythmic hum of the working city began to lull her into a peaceful and much welcomed state.

Suddenly, the tranquil atmosphere was rudely shattered by the blaring shrilling ring of the house phone. Startled, Amelia placed down her cup of tea on the window sill and instinctively rushed to answer it, the anticipation building with each step since it was late at night and she wasn’t expecting anyone to ring.

The unexpected call introduced a palpable excitement and as she picked up the phone, her heart raced with hidden curiosity. She wondered what surprise or connection awaited her on the other side.

“ Amelia thorn-field speaking” she announces.

“Well hasn’t London got you speaking polish” pollys voice echos through the phone, full of torment.

Amelia gasps softly as she hears the familiar voice “ polly? Oh Polly, is that you?” She asks, her voice full of hope.

“ it’s your lucky day dear” Polly hums through the phone “ now I wish I could catch up but I’m ringing on an urgent matter” the older woman admits.

That was 12 hours ago, for the past five of them hours Amelia had been travelling. Travelling back to the place she once swore to herself she would never return too.

Birmingham.

Amelia stood at the familiar crossroads on the outskirts of arrow house, a place she wanted to forget. The grit of determination she once held now fading as the memories of her lost love come swirling back into her head. The phone call had changed everything- news of tommys profound grief reached her. Causing an undeniable force to pull her back.

Amelia takes a deep breath as her heart quicken its pace. She gazed at the house as she walked closer to the house that held her love. The front door seemed both a barrier and a portal to the unknown, where the echoes of Tommy’s lost love awaited her.

Willing herself to face the uncertainty that lay behind the door. Leaving, her on the precipice of a reunion that held the promise of joy but also the promise of heartache.

As Amelia turned the door handle, the door creaked open, revealing the beautiful and homely interior of the house. Stepping over the threshold, every creak of the floorboards seemed to resonate with the echoes of Tommy’s wedding day, the echoes of her footsteps as she left the property on that fateful day.

Tommys office comes into view, Amelia’s throat dries up as she walks closer to his office. She knew she had to do this but she was so nervous she wanted to turn around and run away. However, she remembers Charlie and how that little boy had lost his mother and someone doesn’t help Tommy, he could also loose his father.

At that thought, Amelia opens the door slowly. Tommy was looking down at his desk, writing someone on a piece of paper. His glasses arched on his nose and a cigarette held between two of his fingers. The office closely from how many cigarettes Tommy had smoked. The smell of old and nice whiskey invaded Amelia’s senses.

“ not now Polly, I’ve got business. You know my schedule” he states stressfully, not looking from the paper.

Amelia doesn’t say anything, she wanted to put she couldn’t. She places down her bags onto the floor and walks closer to Tommys desk.

Tommy sighs “ Polly, what did i-“ he looks up, the words don’t finish as he makes eye contact with Amelia for the first time since his wedding day.

“ do I look like Polly?” Amelia jokes, trying to fill the tense quietness that has plagued the office.

Tommy stands up, walking around his desk and stands infront of Amelia. His hands reaching to her face, his cold skin making contact with her soft delicate and warm skin. His eye filled with apprehension.

“ are you really here?” He whispers, his eye glancing from her one eye to another.

Amelia heart swelled with an overwhelming surge of happiness. The awaiting reunion had lifted the loneliness that had attached itself to her months prior.

Tears welled up in her eyes, glistening like diamonds.

“ yes, I’m here” she whispers, lifting one hand to Tommys cheek, stroking his cheekbone solder “ I’m here” she repeats.

The grief suddenly released from Tommys chest, making it feel like he could breathe again. At the moment, he realised that the grief wasn’t for grace but for his long lost love.

The air hummed with an unspoken tension as Tommy leant in, their breaths syncing in the quiet anticipation of their first kiss. Time seemed to stop as their lips met in a delicate dance, a fusion of warmth and vulnerability. In that fleeting embrace, their worlds faded away, leaving only the tender exchange of a thousand unspoken promises.

The gentle caress of their lips carried the weight of a love story unfolding, a symphony of emotions encapsulated in that beautifully shared kiss- a poignant beginning to a journey of intertwined hearts.

EPILOGUE

17 February 1926

Two years. Two years since Amelia went back to her love. She couldn’t imagine where she’ll be if she didn’t. She wouldn’t be married and she wouldn’t have two kids of her own and pregnant with her third.

As the first rays of morning sunlight gently spilling into the master bedroom. Amelia stirred in her sleep, feeling a soft warmth beside her. Slowly, she opened her eyes to her husband, Tommy with an ear to ear smile as he held their one hear old daughter with a smile mirroring his. The realization of a new day dawned, and so did the awareness of the life growing within her. Tommy eyes filled with anticipation and tenderness, met hers. One of his hands gently cradled her burgeoning nine month belly, a silent acknowledgement of the miracle taking place.

The room was infused with an ineffable happiness, and as Sarah felt the reassuring presence of her partner and the life they were creating together, the morning held the promise of a shared journey into the beautiful unknown of impending parenthood.

A/n: Well wasn’t that cute! 🥰. I can imagine Tommy and Amelia having ALOT of children.

Taglist:

@pipipopo24

@lainczgf

@mysticalbouquetwolf-posts

@chaimaarouaine11

@immyowndefender

@taniasethi

#peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #tommy shelby imagines #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders masterlist #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fandom #tommy shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby fic #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fluff #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfiction

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luvliewriting · 2 years ago

Text

❦Rdr What Are They Like In Bed?❦

❦18+ MDNI❦

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!!!!, the reader is afab but if you want an amab let me know

Note: Please have your age somewhere visible on your profile before reading this. If you are a minor please don't consume this content (I am not responsible for any damage this may do to your young brain)

Minors please block tag Luvlie18 or I will block you

I tried to do as many characters I could think of, even some that I've said I won't write for (except Micah, Micah can die a virgin)

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Arthur Morgan

He's 100% a giver, all throughout and very big on praise. I mean he isn't gonna turn down if you want to suck on him but if he had the choice, he would spend his days content and happy between your legs. He just loves to pepper kisses against your body and your tits while his fingers are deep inside of you, watching you moan and squeeze around his fingers as you get close. He loves more teasing the tip of his dick against your hole, just barely going in as he whispers in your ear, "you gonna be a good girl? Do you deserve this?" Of course, he can't keep his hands off of you so even when he's teasing you and trying to edge you as long as he can go, to take his time with you, it will always end with your body pressed against his, words of praise spewing from his lips and him emptying his load into you. One of his biggest no's is degrading though, he hates degrading you while enjoying your body, he'd rather be telling you everything he loves about your body and how good you feel around him

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Dutch Van Der Linde

Unlike Arthur though, Dutch is big on degrading and loves to receive. I mean he won't ask for it and he loves to give as well, he just likes a healthy balance of the two; sometimes at the same time if you're comfortable with it. Super big on cockwarming, especially while he's trying to read so its a healthy mixture of him getting to enjoy a nice book as well as a nice warm hole. Another one of his favourite things to do is have you in front of him in the mirror, have you watch yourself in anticipation while he plays with you, his hand squeezing a little more and more on your throat the closer you get to your finish. Of course, if you had a bad day, he has no problems being slow and taking his time to enjoy you. He's the perfect balance of gentle and rough. Although one of his biggest no's is anything to do with knives or guns, it's not that he isn't confident that he won't hurt you, its more he doesn't like the fear in your ears even if its all an act

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Hosea Matthews

Where do I even start with this man? You would think with his age, Hosea would be a little rusty but you would be wrong; he's actually very skilled with your body and knowing exactly what you need and where you need it. He is an absolute fan of cockwarming and it doesn't even have to be sexual, just the thought of getting to hold you so close to him and in such a vunerable but romantic manner just makes him so happy. Although he isn't opposed to having you on his lap with his dick inside of you and just suddenly thrust his hips up to hear the small moans you make with each thrust into your pussy. He absolutely hates anything that's too quick, he enjoys to take his time. His absolute no is quickies, he prefers to spend hours just enjoying you

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John Marston

Boy my god is this man crazy when it comes to dirty talk and degrading, I mean if you need praise he's happy to do that but this man can degreade and dirty talk till the cows come home. While Arthur is a fan of finishing inside of you, John prefers to finish on you, painting your skin white in his cum just to watch you scoop it with your finger and stick it into your mouth. He can and will eat you out for as long as he wants, even when you've finished over and over, he's not stopping till he's happy. He loves to wrap his tongue around your clit and do tiny circles against it, his fingers exploring ever inch inside of your person while your fingers tug tightly on his hair. He even loves eating you out more while you're on the other side of him, his dick hitting the back of your throat. His biggest no however is anything that requires him hurting you such as slapping

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Abigail Marston

She's not a very touchy person, especially after Jack was born, she didn't spend much time with you in bed. Abigail has had her fair share of being treated like a sex toy and she doesn't want that with you. She wants to be cared for, tendered, she wants to be held against you and feel you absolutely love her. Sex at the shortest can last an hour, the longest you two have gone is seven hours. She's like Hosea, she hates anything that is quick. If you wanna take control of her than she's happen to give you the leash, she doesn't mind laying back and feeling your lips against her; on her neck is where she's most sensitive. But if you want to have her take control, she also loves that. She loves to have your hands smooth through her hair and your grip tightening on her hips the closer you get while you two are rubbing yourself against her scissoring. Of course she hates anything that's too quick but another one of her pet peeves is being fingered, she just doesn't care for it all that much

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Charles Smith

Charles is a sweet heart and gentle, his favourite thing is your tits though. He loves how fuzzy you get when he takes his time. Slowly moving down your body, worshipping praises on your tits and pulling your nipples with his teeth lightly. He loves to kiss you so slowly and take his time, making sure your tits know his love for them and praises. Working his kissing down till he gets to rub his nose against your slit, leaving kisses against your clit till he flips you around and fucks his load into you. He can go for hours, round after round with barely any breaks unless you need it. Although one of his no's is having you give him pleasure, precisly letting you suck him off. He doesn't find much pleasure in having you take the control or having you choke around him. He prefers to have full control of your pleasure and to have you suck on him, he doesn't feel much control

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Sadie Adler

She's the dominant one, there's not much denying that. Her absolute favourite thing is when you're the only one exposed fully, she just loves how in control it makes her. You gotta remember this was a woman who felt like she didn't have control for a lot of her life so her need for control does leak into the bedroom life. Whenever you sit on her lap it almost always escalates from a makeout session into something more, especially if she's drunk which just makes her even more needy to feel your juices against her tongue. That's her favourite thing, getting to eat you out. While she's not much for fingering, she prefers to have her thumb rubbing on your clit while her tongue fucks your hole or having her mouth swap between the two. Her absolute no is being the bottom, she loves you but she's not gonna be the submissive one, she's 100% a stone top

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Javier Escuella

I'm sorry to say this, or maybe I'm glad to say this, but this man has a knife kink. He absolutely is infatuated watching the cold steel graze your warm skin, its such a contrast and high it makes him almost bust right there while having the knife against your throat while he's buried deep into you. Javier is a masochist but also a sadist, either he wants you to have the knife in your hand or have it in his, it really depends how you're feeling. He's fine doing either role. He's happy to be on his knees praising the flesh between your thighs while you hold the knife to him, threatening to cut him if he goes against your wishes. He's also happy to trace the tip of the blade against your nipples, watch you shiver due to the cold of the metal. Despite having a knife kink, Javier's big no is blood. He'll threaten to cut you yes but he's not gonna actually do it. He just doesn't think that blood should be brought into your bedroom fun with him; he sees enough of it in his everyday life

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Lenny Summers

Oh this boy is absolutely a soft dom, although during your first time he's so awkward that its adorable. He's just worried to do something wrong, he hasn't been with many people so he's not very experienced but with the way he fucks you? You would think he came out of the womb a master fuck machine. Especially when Lenny is drunk, he loses all of his awkwardness and knows exactly how to woo you with just a few words that make you get all giddy, the flesh between your legs quiver and throb, your legs crossing to get any kind of friction till he drags you from camp to care for you. His absolute favourite thing is receiving, he loves giving but he loves to watch you gag and see your beautiful look up at him while he's deep in your throat. He loves the little licks you give the tip before you deepthroat him, making it hit the back of your throat while you gag, moaning at the same time making his dick vibrate. His big no is any kind of pain though, he hates to see you in any kind of pain so he keeps sex as pain free as possible

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Molly O'Shea

Molly is actually quite vanilla, sex is almost like aftercare with her. She's definitely a pillow princess, not that you're complaining; she's heavenly. Molly's favourite thing to do with you is when she's sleeping and gets woken up by you between her thighs, she usually has to cover her mouth because you're at camp and she doesn't want anyone to know what you're doing between her thighs although the occasional whine or moan comes from the Irish girl. At this point, she ends up closing her legs around your head on instinct. Given how many times you've eaten her out before it's not that odd that she'd have a few dreams about it too; and when she gets woken from those dreams by you between her thighs, it makes her go all tingly. Her no though like I said before, she's a pillow princess so she's not much for giving. She prefers to just let you take control of her; not that you'll ever complain because she's delicious

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Karen Jones

She loves to act all sweet and innocent but Karen is truly a kinky woman who knows exactly what she wants which makes her a huge brat. She can and will put up a fight over anything, even when she knows she won't win the fight and it will most likely end with her muffling her moans behind her hand while you devour her. Karen has a loud mouth, she isn't afraid to show or tell how much she wants you in public or around camp, most people are just used to it at this point. At campfires when she's drunk, she will purposely follow you around to where the boys are, sit on your lap and whisper in your ear how much she needs you, slowly grind herself on your thigh when no one is looking. She'll keep it up till you get too frustrated with the teasing and drag her to your tent. Her big no is going on top, she's not a fan of it. She prefers to be on her knees for you, praising you and begging for your attention and kissing at your fingers. She doesn't want to be the dominate one

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Josiah Trelawny

This man is never short when it comes to sex with Josiah, it's almost always a guarenteed thing after a fancy date with him. Especially since Josiah can only be around so long at a time, he tries to make sex with you as special as he possibly can so it can be as romantic as he can makes it. Much like Arthur, Josiah is a gentleman so he's 100% a giver than a receiver, he actually really dislikes receiving oddly enough. When he's making you receive it makes him feel bad because he's not showing you pleasure. He also hates degrading, he doesn't see a point in insulting you while you feel so good squeezing his dick with your walls. No he much prefers praising you, telling you how good you feel, how beautiful you are, everything. Owning you though is his favourite, leaving marks along your body as he goes so he can see them next time he's with you. Covering up the almost totally healed ones with brand new bruised ones

❦❦❦

Mary-Beth Gaskill

She's very shy but when you do break her out of her shell, she'll tell you exactly how she wants it and how she needs it. She reads a lot of novels, some of them including the more erotic side of things so she's rather experienced in the bedroom, she's down to play either roles when it comes down to it. But if Mary-Beth had to choose, she would prefer the more vanilla side than rough. Mary-Beth is very touch starved so sex is more like just a way to be even closer to the person she loves. She loves to praise your body, kiss every inch of skin she can and treat sex like cuddling. She loves the feel of your skin on hers, pressed so close to her that nothing can come between you two. She hates to admit it, but she loves to be reading her novels while your face is in her thighs or on her nipples, sucking slowly and passionately at the flesh while she lets out tiny moans every now and again, her eyes going from the words to your eyes peaking up at her between her thighs. Her no oddly enough is having any kind of clothes on during sex, she loves the sight of you naked and feeling your skin against her

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Sean MacGuire

He hates to admit that he's a bottom but he totally is, he especially loves it when he's overstimulated. Handcuffing him to the bed as you take full control of him, all he can do is curse in his Irish accent at the pleasure of your throat bruising or your hole squeezing around his dick. He especially likes to be choked, the feel of your hand squeezing tighter and tighter on his throat while you ride him harder and harder could make him bust right there; especially inside of you where he loves to finish the most. One of his big no's however is inflicting pain on you, on him he has no problem with but he couldn't imagine ever hurting you even in a sexual way. He just loves the power that it gives you over him, he loves to have you straddling him and rubbing yourself on his dick while he begs for you to just let him in

❦❦❦

Tilly Jackson

Sure she acts innocent but we all know she isn't and that innocent little attitude follows to the bedroom. She's 100% a brat, definitely a "make me" girl. Tilly knows exactly what she's doing when she start stroking your thigh under the table while you're eating dinner with the rest of the gang. Surprisingly she says that she isn't hungry, yet chooses to sit beside you anyway, the rest of the gang doesn't seem to notice but you definitely do. When you drag her to your tent, it's no mercy when you pin her down to the bed and edge her for hours, only letting her finish when you are sure that she's finally learnt her lesson about interupting you from dinner. Tilly's big no is anything that has to do with holding her down so rope, handcuffs, stuff like that. She likes being able to touch you so anything that keeps her from doing that she just doesn't want. As much of a brat she is, Tilly has her moments where she is good and only wants to be held and cared for after a hard day

❦❦❦

Kieran Duffy

Much like Molly, he's a fan of being woken up by you giving him oral although he's a lot more whimpery and anxious when you do. Kieran would be a little spooked but not because of what you're doing but more out of fear of someone, specifically Arthur, catching you two. Gods know none the camp would ever let him live it down. After a little convincing, most of which is done by you kissing and sucking along his cock he can't help but lay his head back onto the pillow, his hands gentle threading through your hair, encouraging you to keep going, nice and slow, he wants to enjoy this wake up call for a good, long while. He hates to leave you hanging though when he does eventually finish down your throat so after that, you're usually met by him laying you down against the cot and him tenderly eating you like he's gonna break you if he goes too rough

❦❦❦

Mary Linton

Mary is a 50/50 person, it really depends how you want her. If you want her tied securely down to the bed while you have her legs over your shoulders and face buried into the gold between her thighs than she'll happily oblige with praising and moans. If you want her to bend you, your ass in the air as she holds a crop steady in her hand ready to strike your skin red, she's happy to oblige with a tend kiss on the cheek before she strikes it. She loves getting to caress and love on your body whenever she gets to, kissing down to your chest is her favourite since she gets to love on your breasts while another hand snakes down to your lovely pussy, hearing your breath hitch when her finger meets your clit. Mary isn't a fan of when you try to keep yourself quiet, what's the point of pleasing you if she doesn't get to hear your lovely voice cry out for her.

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Bill Williamson

You wouldn't think that this man could go for hours but he certainly can, three hours minium for him to be precise, he lost count of how long maxium is though. This man has so much energy that it usually ends by you having to tap out, there's yet to be a time between you two that he's the one to tap out. The fact that he can go for so long is also a good thing with his breeding kink and obsession with filling you to the brim with his cum, he can go for rounds and round filling you over and over again. His favourite thing is when he does finally pull out, he gets to watch it spill out of your pussy. Some still on his dick which you make short work of by getting on your knees after, cleaning him off as his hand runs in your hair. As said before, his big no is pulling out. As risky as it is, maybe that's what turns him on more.

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Thank you for reading, please reblog because this took me a long time

Taglist: @margowritesthings @lay-z

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laedback-taurus · 2 years ago

Text

Pretty Eyes

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1.8k Warning: None A/n: Well, it’s been a hot minute, but I really just had an urge to write again. Sorry if this sucks, it's my first piece since trying to get over my writer's block but I feel pretty good about it.

All it took was a drunken compliment for Tommy Shelby to change his mind about his opinion on love and all it took was the help of one fortune teller to realise he couldn’t never lose that love.

Tommy believed he was man that couldn’t be loved, he believed that he didn’t deserve someone that would cherish him, but you made it your mission to change his mind. You had met Tommy not long after he returned from the war, you applied for the position of his secretary, and he couldn’t refuse once he saw your skills with a typewriter. You of course immediately thought he was a very attractive man, it was undeniable, but you’d be a fool not to notice his cold exterior. After months of working for Tommy, you had tried to get closer to Tommy, the furthest you had got was he now accepted you calling him ‘Tommy’ instead of ‘Mr Shelby’, but it was extremely hard to break through the walls he had put up. It wasn’t until one night after work at the Garrison that you finally broke down a wall.

“Tommy!” You heard Arthur call out to his brother as he entered the bar, you were sat next to John in the private while Arthur had gone out to get the table more drink, stated that he wanted to stretch his legs. You had already had a few and were a bit tipsy so it wasn’t surprising that you got up at the sound of his name. You made your way over to the bar where Tommy and Arthur were ordering drinks.

“Let me buy you a drink boss” You offered as you stood in the middle of them, Tommy took in your slightly of balance form and smiled slightly.

“You know I own the place y/n, if anything I should get you a drink, but I don’t think it's wise”.

“Don’t ruin her fun Tom” Arthur slurred from the other side of you.

“No Arthur, Tommy’s right” you started, placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to steady yourself “I should get home, we have to work tomorrow after all. Tommy watched as you gave Arthur a soft pat on the shoulder before attempting to walked back to the private both to collect your coat and bag. Tommy sighed before throwing back the rest of his drink and putting his coat back on.

“Night Arthur” was all he said before he made his way over to you, he grabbed your coat and draped it over your shoulders. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks at the gesture, but you knew he wouldn’t notice as your cheeks were already flushed from the alcohol you had consumed previously. You waved goodbye to everyone before leaving the bar with Tommy’s hand firmly secured on your lower back.

The walk back to your flat felt painfully slow but you had also never felt safer than you did with Tommy next to you, you would often catch him watching the shadows and alleyways. Before long you reached your flat, you fumbled through you bag to try and find your keys, but they were nowhere to be found. You let out a groaned as you gave up.

“I can't find my keys” Out of frustration your eyes started to well up, you had finally gotten Tommy back to your flat, but you couldn’t find your damn keys. You heard Tommy let out a soft chuckle and before you could turn around and cuss him out for laughing at you, he reached around you and into your bag, pulling out your keys.

“Oh…” You stared at them for a moment before grabbing them “Found them!” You cheered, earning another chuckle from Tommy, he was finding this whole display quite amusing. You finally got the key in the lock and opened the door, throwing your coat on the ground as soon as you entered.

“Where’s your room?” Tommy asked casually, this took you by surprise.

“Being very forward aren’t we Tommy?” You turned to face him, maybe a bit too quicky causing you to become quite dizzy. Tommy smiled and leaned down so his face was only inches from yours, you very quickly forgot how to breathe.

“So I can put you to bed” he explained, bringing you back to your senses.

“Oh right, of course” You quickly turned back around again, making you dizzy once again, this time you stumbled slightly but Tommy quickly caught you, holding you by your shoulders. “Down the hall to the left”

Tommy guided you down the hall and into your bedroom, the first thing he noticed was hour empty it was, it only held and bed and a dresser with a chipped mirror sitting atop it. He knew you didn’t live in luxury, neither did he but he expected more maybe more photos or perhaps more plants, he wasn’t sure. He guided you to your bed and helped you sit down on the edge.

“Where to you keep your night dresses?” He asked, you pointed to your dresser, and he made his way over there.

“Top draw” You quietly called out, now starting to realise the extent of you situation. Tommy grabbed a garment from the top draw and brought it over to you, you took it from him and looked up to see he had turned his back. You got up slowly and started to undress, highly aware of the gorgeous man starting only a few steps away from you. You pulled on your nightwear and looked over at Tommy.

“You can look now” He turned and found you trying to pull the covers of you bed down to get in, but you were struggling. He came over and pulled them up for you, allowing you to slip in underneath them, once you were in, he pulled them back up and pretty much tucked you in, you watched him with hooded eyes the whole time.

“You have very pretty eyes” You whispered before your eyes fluttered shut, before you were fully asleep, you felt a slight pressure on your forehead, making you scrunch your face up slightly in response. Tommy smiled seeing your reacted to the kiss he placed on your forehead, he stood there of a moment processing what you had just said to him. He watched as you drifted off to sleep, peaceful and oblivious to the way you just made him feel. He hadn’t been complimented on his eyes for a long time, the only and last person to compliment them was his mother. She always loved his eyes and as a boy he hated it, no young boy wants to be called pretty and he would always complain when she brought them up but after he lost her, he found himself longing to hear her say it. but instead, it was you, a persistent woman who he knew had been trying to find a way into his life, he swore he wouldn’t let you; he didn’t want the world he lived in to ruin you, but maybe he needed you to fit it, maybe he needed you to fix him.

That night was six years ago, five years ago Tommy asked you to be his wife and not long after you were married, you fell pregnant with your first child Charlie, then nearly two years ago you fell pregnant with your second child, your daughter Anna. You never knew the moment Tommy Shelby fell in love with you, you had asked a few times but he usually just shrugged it off, you had always wondered why, it wasn’t until your wedding night that he told you it was when you called his eyes pretty, you were baffled because you didn’t remember telling him that but then he told you the story and you had never felt more shame but you also never knew the impact those five small words had on Tommy. One night while the two of were getting ready for bed he suddenly spoke.

“Do you know the moment I realised I couldn’t live without you?” The question took you by surprise.

“When I told you your eyes were pretty?” You asked, looking at him in the mirror as you brushed your hair.

“No, that’s when I realised I loved you, I’m talking about when I realised my world revolved around you and I vowed to myself to never lose you” He explained as he came up behind you, nuzzling his head into your neck, his wet hair from his bath brushing your cheek.

“No?” you didn’t quite know what to say. He lifted his head from you neck, meeting your eyes in the mirror.

“I went to see a fortune teller” he said simply.

“You did what?” you spun around it your seat to face him, he smiled and grabbed your face in his hands, looking down at you.

“A friend of Polly’s, it was not long after Anna was born, some lowlife gangster had threatened your life and I was having second thoughts on if I was doing the right thing, putting you in danger by loving you and I just needed any kind of advice, I don’t know why I went to her, but I did” He explained.

“What did she say?” you asked, still looking up at him.

“If I told you that your life was supposed to turn out differently, to change, would you want it to?”

In that moment Tommy saw you, lying in his arms, looking at him with that look of adoration that you only reserve for him, then he thinks of his children, the ones you blessed him with, the way his son smiles at him, how he sees his father as a normal man and not a monster and his precious daughter, how she lights up whenever he is around her, how she cries to him when she’s upset, knowing that her father will always protect her from her fears.

“No” was all Tommy said.

“That is why I won’t read your fortune, there is no point. You’re where you’re supposed to be already, you’re a troubled man and you can’t lose what keeps you grounded”.

Tommy knew she was right, he was scared to lose you but if he pushed you away, he’d lose you anyway, your safest place was with him, he belonged with you and he wasn’t going to let anyone change that, not even himself.

“She’s a wise woman” You joked, smiling up at him.

“Of course you would think that love” Tommy leaned down, placing a kiss on your forehead before heading over to bed. You finished brushing your hair and joined him.

“I want you to feel safe” You lifted you head from its resting place on his chest and rested your chin there instead, looking up at him.

“I am safe with you” You whispered, looking into those pretty eyes your adored so much.

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby one shot #tommy shelby drabble #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinders x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy

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cowboyfromh3ll · 1 year ago

Note

how about for arthur, john, and charles: your hcs on how each would react to a shyer (not naive) reader who has a crush on him and keeps needing his “help” for various things so she can get his attention, and eventually working up the nerve to be more forward and hopefully pique his interest. who would catch on the fastest? would any of them realize before or after she becomes more forward and how would they react from there? smut absolutely welcome 🙏🏻

HC for Shy!Reader ft. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Charles Smith

HCs are so easy and fun to write

Warnings: smut

Arthur Morgan

Arthur did not allow you much time to go and ask for help given his repeated and lengthy absences from camp

But when he was around to help, he put his all into it

No matter how mundane or small it may be, he always made sure to help you until satisfaction. Similar to the way he helps random people around the map, he helps you in the same way.

But the level at which you asked for help was quite baffling to Arthur, but he never made a comment on it. He would never want to make you feel as though you were somehow less competent at doing things than the average person

He liked the way you would try to strike up conversation with him whenever he was helping you, recounting his travels to you in detail upon request

Part of him wondered why the two of you didn’t just talk more often outside of his time helping you. What he didn’t know is that you were unable to come up with a decent, not-too-forthcoming, excuse as to why the two of you should spend more time together alone

He probably wouldn’t catch onto that fact too quickly, instead thinking you were just a person who wasn’t afraid of asking for help

He’d definitely think something was up when he realizes he’s the only one you ask

Maybe he’s just a dependable guy? He thinks to himself

But when you ask him to help you go fishing, come to find out you didn’t even have a rod, it was too late to back out as the two of you were already alone down the lake at Clemens point

He felt quite touched when you told him you really just wanted to spend time together, and that you weren’t sure how else to ask

Insisted you be more forward with him to establish a level of comfort between you two, but he still found it quite cute when you would shyly ask him for help

Eventually led to you two becoming very close, noticeably sweet on each other. Even the gang was able to catch on.

NSFW

Even though the two of you had been in an established relationship, your bashfulness did not end.

Asking for help for sexual matters was something you subtly hinted at or wordlessly requested, rather than outright saying it

Arthur himself was a man who needed clear permission, and your hints would be met with crudely sexual questions asking for confirmation

“You wanna have sex? Is that what you’re saying? Or am I understanding this all wrong.”

His forwardness would have you burying your burning face in your shared cot as you nodded

Arthur was a very perceptive man, so when asking if he was rubbing your clit just right or if he needed to slow his thrusts down, you’d squeak out an embarrassed response

When you wanted him to touch you in a certain place, you’d nudge him in the direction, yank on his hand or hair, or simply just bashfully point wordlessly

Makes sure to constantly ask questions because he knows you’re not very vocal when it comes to self advocacy

Extremely tender and very patient with you, just wants to make you feel comfortable in the end to be able to vocalize your needs

John Marston (my pookie)

This man is as dense and stupid as a bag of rocks

The man himself doesn’t even know what he wants, so figuring out what you want is mental gymnastics on its own

He’s around pretty often helping around camp, and he doesn’t mind taking on the brunt of your chores as well

Doesn’t realize what you’re trying to do so sometimes he turns you down, saying he’s too busy

“Are you really that helpless?”

He’d stand there confused as you stormed off angrily, only to have him follow you around camp begging for forgiveness

“I ain’t mean that, I’m happy to help you. I’m a fool, honest.”

You’d forgive him eventually

If it’s a more tedious task you need help with, he would get into the zone. Honing in all his attention while trying to fulfill his efforts in helping you as competently as he can

Focuses so much, that sometimes if you try to strike up a conversation about his day, he’ll either shut you down, or be so concentrated he won't even register your question

“Hold on, can you stop talking for a sec? I’m tryna concentrate.”

Would be equally as confused when you huff angrily and turn away while crossing your arms

You realize yourself that John isn’t picking up any hints, so you offer your own help as a form of “repayment” for everything he’s done for you

Is also dense about that

“I appreciate the help, little lady. Though I don’t see why you’d willingly offer to help to fix a wagon wheel.”

Kinda laughable how oblivious he is

Eventually you have to muster up all the courage possible to ask him on a date to town

Emphasize the word date. Or else he’ll think you just want help with errands or something

Will accept, but won’t shut up the whole time about how sudden this is and how he would’ve never seen it coming

NSFW

Would get very excited if you even hint at something sexual

Much like Arthur, he’d ask for confirmation, but much more enthusiastically

“So you wanna fuck right? Right?!”

Kinda desperate but who can blame him, you’re equally as horny

Get so caught up in excitement he gets straight to it, has to be reminded to ask questions and check up on you

The one time where you actually feel compelled to tell him things straight up instead of just hinting at it

“For the love of god, slow down Marston!”

He would for a few minutes, then get back to it

Would still be shy with asking, but you get so frustrated with how dense he is you’re kinda forced to

His excitement rubs off on you, so he doesn’t mind at all when you just shove his face between your thighs, that does all the speaking for you

Says shit like “You like that, don’t you?” without actually waiting for a response

Gets very embarrassed when you say no and ask him to do it another way

Charles Smith

This man's love language is literally acts of service

He’d probably end up falling for you in the process of helping you out so often

Will be more than happy to take you up on every request for help

Not only does it make you happy, but it makes him feel good for being able to help someone

Literally thrives off of it

He would be the one to pick up on it the fastest, but he wouldn’t make a comment. He doesn’t want to scare you off by being too forward and therefore curtailing your requests for help

Would be very intimate while helping you

“Hey, come closer to take a look at how I do it.”

You would lean in incredibly close, so much so that you’d be able to hear his breathing

Would sometimes take your hands and make you do it as well

Hands would linger far longer than necessary while helping you

And you aren’t naive! You knew what he was doing! He was flirting with you!

From an outside perspective, it appeared as though the two of you were just sitting around together and flirting rather than doing something to help you

“Like this?” You’d ask, which was followed by a giggle

It was pure self indulgence

He would often approach you himself and ask if you needed help on anything

Other times, he’d ask if you wanted to learn something new, showing you how to make weapons or how to identify certain plants from one another

Some tasks would be found mundane by others, but it was the most entertaining thing in the world as long as Charles was teaching you

You would feel most comfortable with him with asking him out, your question sounding more like a mutual profession of love from one another

NSFW

So so gentle

Much like in your relationship, you’d feel far more comfortable expressing your wants and desires to him

But you still struggle to maintain eye contact while saying it

If you turn your face away during sex he’ll gently cup your cheek and move your head to face him

Can pick up on your body language if you don’t feel too vocal

Will slow down or pick up the pace based on how your body reacts

Your moans are also a good indicator for him to know

Will also ask you questions before and after sex, like your some sort of food critic and you’re giving him feedback on his dish

You guys will probably sit down and have whole talks about your sex life, as embarrassed as it makes you, but he finds it necessary

Guy is a huge giver, in no time, he’ll know your body and what you do and don’t like like the back of his hand

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