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red-doll-face · 1 month ago

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Snow Angel 11

Chapter 11: fevered Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur has been living by himself, laying low (for real this time) somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. After the whole Pinkerton and Micah debacle, he has been hiding away, waiting for it all to blow over, occasionally getting letters from the people who still know that he’s alive. He’s been alone awhile and at first, he thought he could handle a little loneliness. He has been wrong before. Lucky for him, you look like the perfect thing to break up the monotony.

Warnings: dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. Huge HUGe Voyeurism bit, arthur being a perv 🤨👀 huge weirdo energy LMAO small mention of wanting death, WC: 7780 Hello snow angels : ) here is chapter 11!!! this chapter will be from arthurs perspective so very exciting 😳 i had a ton of fun just getting nasty with him and writing his fucked up little thoughts 😈 arthur inner monologue was a bit weird at first but im sure ill get better at it by actually attempting to do it LMAO i hope you guys enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!! i wanna thank everyone who has left replies and asks about this series, all of you have been so supportive and amazing, couldnt do it without you guys 🥹🥹💖💖💖 also this ended up way too long so sorry Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol - What does it matter if the man who saved your life is a little strange?

It must be dusk falling too soon. Slow deprivation of heat and light; does things to his head, as if that wasn’t half screwed off already. Arthur’s fingers clutch the dusty curtain in front of one of two main windows at the front of his cabin; his eyes swear they can see…something out in the treeline. At first he thought of Pinkertons; to collect that bounty they were on about. Why they would follow him to the ends of the earth for that would be beyond him but Arthur had been known to do stupid things for a big payout. And of course, he hadn’t lived this long without a healthy amount of paranoia. Or what he called caution. Or perhaps Charles should have left his ass at the nearest asylum.

But he can sense that he’s wrong when nothing comes of it. No gunshots, no desperate shoot out for his life. Just the quiet again. In a minute, he’ll look out the window and watch the figure disappear. And he’ll shake his head, rub his calloused fingers over his tired eyes. He drops the curtain, pouring another cup of coffee at the silver percolator in the kitchen. He is not losing his grip; he isn’t. He’d leave that to Dutch.

It’s gotten worse with the winter; those strange things he sees from time to time. They make him feel more out of place than he already does. As if there’s something wrong with him, wrong with this moment. The frost grows over the windows like mold.

The summer sun kept the darkness from slipping in and leaking into his vision. But that’s long gone, been gone for a month. Shit weather up here, long dragging winters. Summers that were too short for his liking and an autumn that was beautiful but also short lived. The winter is too heavy now to do much of anything but loop out to the stable and back. Not much sightseeing to do, the same shock white landscape to see everyday.

In spite of how beautiful the mountain is; with its sprawling forest, creeks like liquid glass, the fresh winter air… Arthur finds it arduous to see it. Closing himself inside his cabin is easier. He could go and hunt something, draw the scenery. But was that any better than the fireplace? The comfort and simultaneous unease of staying inside the confines of his new home drag him in opposite directions. And even if his paranoid visions are just residue from another time in his life; he knows there are people who could be still searching, who might remember his face. Bad things had a way of following Arthur wherever he went.

Even more loathsome is the lack of sunlight. The sun disappears around 4 or 5 and it feels like it was midnight by 6. The windows of his wooden cabin blacken like soot, leaving him tired and groggy.

Arthur tries to keep himself going with bitterness like always. Coffee, cigarettes, and alcohol. He thinks the lack of light plays with his head. It’s easy to mistake shadows for ghosts, trusting himself was hard as it was.

Damn snow, cuts to the bone.

The stunning silence surprises him still at these odd moments in the day. Arthur thought that maybe the peace would do him some good. But there was a need that scratched incessantly at the front of his skull. Over and over and over.

He spent a long time being needed by other people. Dutch made him feel needed at the very least. Like he was part of something that symbolized how free a man could be. And he had devoted every shred of himself to the vision that Dutch had for the world. It was all that mattered to Arthur. His fealty was really all he had to give and so he gave it.

God, had he felt the fool on the last day he saw him, when Dutch walked away, as if everything Arthur had ever done was nothing to him. Twenty goddamn years of his life. If he was being honest, he knew that his loyalty was wasted before that day but he had waited to see if the man he knew would emerge. If he could kill that gutless rat and show Dutch the truth but he refused, leaving Arthur with nothing to show for it. Helping John, Abigail and Jack to safety was barely a comfort when he thought of all that he wasted. All he did was hand another man a chance at the life that he wanted.

But it was too late. As always with Arthur. (Everything was always too little; too late) Providing for others was embedded deeply in his being. It was something he had done for years, especially when he decided to get his shit together. He might have dallied, thoroughly enjoying his youth. But he learned (through several extremely painful lessons) why it was important that he pick up the slack. Loyalty isn’t represented by inaction. He hadn’t been all too kind to people but he had kept his comfort that in some part, his work was what kept that camp running. And when that fell apart; he really did try to help the less fortunate.

Really, he was making up for his failures to the people he cared about most. Arthur questioned if he had cared enough. If he did, maybe things would have ended differently between him and the people he harmed by being selfish.

Maybe Dutch put some modicum of power in his hands and Arthur had wielded it badly, went around acting like the cesspool he felt like most of the time. But at the end of the day, the camp ate because of him, they had medicine because of him, hell, they even drank because it was him that brought back more money than anyone else.

There is no one who needs him now. Arthur scrubs his hand over his face then down to rub over his shoulders. Leans his head back. At first it was nice. The independence. No more debt collecting for Strauss, no more worrying if there’s enough food for Pearson, no more looking out for O’Driscolls. He thought he would like only having one person to worry about; he had been lying to himself. Although he still had other things missing from him. They’re like phantom limbs. He can feel where they were supposed to be but when he looks down they’re gone. Hosea’s guidance was missing from him. Even if he was terrible at following it. The sound of the girl’s giggling and gossiping. Even Uncle and Swanson ambling around, drunker than he thought was possible. Dutch looming, watching through his haze of maduro sweetened smoke. He keeps looking down but they’re gone.

The fire crackles and the wind howls; picks up the silence. Sometimes the wind from the flue sounds like the breeze over Flat Iron Lake. The fire doesn’t sound any different than it did when it crackled warmly around a circle of a mismatched band of criminals singing songs together, alongside the chatter and the drunken crooning. When it was the background noise to thick Irish blabbering. The poor kid. He was going places, as most of the younger ones were, he and Lenny would have run that gang when they got past their growing pains. He could have told them that when they were living, that sentiment would have meant something then.

It’s been a year or two, the days sort of connect like train cars and chug along, not because he wants them to but because that’s how life goes. It’s an endless drag, an endless struggle. He can’t see how this is much better than being dead. Arthur Morgan is one of the few people who knows how precious life can be, he spent a lifetime taking it away from people as he pleased.

He tries to savor this peace (as if he knows how to). Tries to remember what it was like, not having any time to himself, always at Dutch’s beck and call. Barely any time to take a piss, let alone really rest, really give himself room to be anything but what others wanted. How he loathes those memories. The years he spent dedicating himself to another man's dreams. Watched all those years slip away, ashes in a smoke stack, rising forever upwards until they’re forgotten.

Arthur refuses to recall how many things he gave up for that life; down to the simple pleasures. Love, privacy, a family. He convinced himself that anything else wasn’t living, that he couldn’t ever be tied down. That old life was just… what he had. There was nowhere else to go and when he was old enough to go his own way, there were kids like him with nothing left; nothing to return to, no one to look after them. He might not have been anyone to look up to. Maybe he was a shining example of what not to be. It was Arthur who was there to keep people in line, to show them how to be killers for Dutch’s aspirations. He’s sure he ruined lives more than he taught them anything useful.

Nothing about that life was rooted in anything real, substantial to the world. Pipe dreams. Vague imaginings of living free in the west or some such tropical paradise. What a waste. Just the thought of a secluded island with palm trees on it summons a bitter laugh.

He sits and watches the fire. Tries to ignore the shadow in the corner. It's thin and wavering. Today, it looks a bit too much like Hosea for his taste. Especially when the log on the hearth cracks, it sounds like that ominous cough that followed the graying conniver everywhere he went.

Arthur lights another cigarette. He’s been making (quite frankly, just awful) attempts at rationing and this is his allotted second cigarette of the day. He’s two for five. He curses himself every time he forgets to take the drags and it crumbles to ash too quickly, landing on the rug beneath his boots. He hisses, a singe on his fingers snaps him back to the present moment. It burns his fingers when he forgets that he’s holding one entirely, too busy drilling holes in the walls with his eyes. He can’t stand it but he doesn’t have another choice. The silence has the mysterious property of making Arthur lose track of himself. He should have listened but he never learns.

This deep into winter, not too far from the base of Mt. Pàtu, he can’t just head out on the road and get more cigarettes. The nearest town is a six or seven hour ride and that isn’t happening, not in this weather. He might take Currant out for a light trot so he can get some exercise but he can tell something big is coming soon. The bellows of air from the west have him readying for storm weather. Best to get a move on now if he were to be going out.

It’s dinner now. He’s not sure where the time went but he doesn’t mind too much. He’s got coffee and he’s got hot food. Salt pork with potatoes, boiled in the salt water from soaking the corns of salt off the meat. He’s gotten better at cooking at least. Arthur scoffs at the thought of the slop he used to be eating. He takes a glass out and sets it on the counter, along with his fifth bottle of Kentucky bourbon. He’s allowed 6 bottles a month. By anyone else’s standards it might be a lot but where he spent most of his time; around other drunkards and degenerates, it’s not enough.

The storm hits full force now, there’s gonna be snow all the way up to the porch by tomorrow morning. But the air inside of his cabin is still and smoky. From the window, he checks the stable to see if the doors stay closed. It’s well insulated so Currant should be fine. The storm will have scared most of the game into hiding away, he contemplates when he’ll head back out for hunting. He takes a seat at his plain dining table, spends a while on the same glass of bourbon. The smell of cedar and salt is nice. So is the warmth of his cabin but it’s all lost to him. His sense for how fortunate he is to be here and not dead in a ditch is dull. Only he could be the man to crave chaos and blood and the sound of gunshots while sitting on his ass all day, sipping bourbon.

He thinks he’ll read a boring book or pretend to keep busy by stoking the fire. Arthur listens to the silence, waiting to hear something but the crackling and the draft from a small crack in the wall. But there’s nothing. He should have listened to Charles. But he insisted that he would be fine. He can’t go back on that now, he’s always been fine by himself. He’ll just wear the groove into his leather chair even further like the sorry bastard he is, trying to ignore how small and stiflingly warm the room feels.

The blizzard gets louder and louder. Dozing off on the sofa or in his chair sounds like as good a time as any. But he isn’t exhausted, just annoyingly groggy. Bouncing his knee does not count as activity. Neither does all the fidgeting he does, twitching his fingers, putting his legs up and bringing them back down. He tries to pace a little but wearing treads on the floorboards isn’t doing any good either. He puts his hands on his hips.

He grabs his journal but he doesn’t have much to write. What would he write about? Surely, the exciting things he experiences everyday. Waking up feeling like hot shit on a platter after having too much whiskey was not the kind of thing worth memorializing in his journal anymore. He’s a little past the shame now too, the embarrassment. He lets his fingers feel the blank page, the tooth of the paper.

He lets his hand form images of spring, the point of his pencil worn into a dull tip, recollected as best as possible. It’s nothing but a pale comparison.

There’s a pat on the door. It’s soft and weak. And just as softly, there’s a voice pleading for help, asking if anyone is inside. A light shining in through the cracks of his world.

He pushes himself up. He knows he hasn’t had that much to drink tonight. The worst possible outcomes play in his head. A ruse from bounty hunters, a local gang taking advantage (not a whole lot better than he would have done only 3 years ago), or another ghost from his past (the ones that play at the corner of his eye). His chest gets a little tight but he’s been good at keeping unease from holding him back. Arthur shakes his hand out, placing the book on the mantle of the fireplace.

“Who’s out there?” It’s an oddity. To hear another voice. One that isn’t his own. It’s a beautiful noise, a pleasing beckon. But he’s no fool. He doesn’t even particularly want to be here, why would anyone be here if they didn’t have to be? He grabs his revolver from the small table next to the entrance, one of the only loaded guns in the house. “Please, sir, I promise it’s just me,” and the earnestness in that voice, he has to believe that promise is true. He has to open the door. With a deep sigh, he stuffs the gun away after a second thought.

The figure is much too bundled up to gather any immediate details. She’s not very much, standing there out in the cold icy fluff. It isn’t until he nods his head to direct her does she realize she should probably come in. He peeks out at the tracks, just one long line of horse tracks in the process of getting blown over by the harsh wind and the lashing ice. Her struggle up to the porch marked in snow. Arthur scans the tree line for any of those dark silhouettes but they’ve blown away in the wind, they’re pushed from his mind when he turns back and closes the door shut behind the both of them.

He turns to her, he doesn’t mind the way she shrinks away from his body, skittish and slight. Such a small girl, alone in a snowstorm. He can’t think of a single good reason why she would be going it alone and what she could possibly need more than a night in. She should be warming her hands next to a fire. He could do it for her, could gather them and breathe on them. He tosses that behind him like an empty tin can. He has other things to focus on, mostly trying to get a better look at her and prying an answer out of her as to why she’s out here like this.

He’s more rude than he intended to be but a little rudeness is nothing new to him. “What the hell were you doin’ out there?” He has been described as coarse. Intentionally and unintentionally. He’s a little bit like a puffed up rooster when he catches her looking him over, marveling at the size of him. But he lets that fall away, surely she needed no old man assuming things on her part. He knows he ain’t much to look at. At his gruff tone, she has no response. The poor thing is so cold, her teeth chatter, whatever she mustered up to yell at him over the storm has run out. Arthur feels a little of his hard veneer chip away.

He thinks to take her coat, covered in frost and not nearly as insulated as he had hoped, it’s damp with melting ice now that she’s inside. But he feels like he’s dreaming again, peeling her coat off and hanging it on the rack, a faux gentleman. He doesn't know why he’s trying to impress but there’s a chance that she’d like a man like that. So he plays, pretends. He’s surely done that before.

When her coat is shed, all of those visions he’s been having must have caught up to him.

Jesus, Morgan. You’ve really lost it now.

This disease of loneliness he’s been given has surely destroyed the vestiges of his sanity. He must be imagining some young soft handed girl with warm bright eyes and vibrant, shiny hair. Face of an angel, looking hopeful; grateful. Her eyes on him burn like hellfire. He feels strange, watching much too close at how her tongue wets her lips; chapped from the cold. Beautiful; she must be someone’s girl, he hopes for a widow who had lost her husband to the winter frost. He’d gladly pick up where the fucker left off. Pry her from his cold hands. Could just be the loneliness talking. He can’t bring himself to care all that much about it.

Arthur can feel shame eating away at him, like ants at the corners of a scrap fallen off the table. He could have found himself sick to his stomach not too short a time ago. A girl as young as her and he, an old dog with even older tricks have no business together. He knows it too. But he was done with that crushing feeling of dread that ate away at his very soul some days. He had enough of his life to feel awful about. Blood on the floorboards, forgotten promises, disregarded words of affection. Just these moments, where he can hoard the vision that is this girl to himself after so long of giving pieces of himself away.

What has that shame ever done but made you worse?

If there isn’t the will to keep his eyes off the girl then there’s the give in him. Like a levy, it cracks a little, breaks into a million pieces of splintered wood for her. It’s been too long since he’s seen something so pretty. All flesh and blood. No graphite on paper; recollections of the women from his past, no Gem of Beauty cigarette card. She carries the smell of soap and perfumed cotton. He thinks it's geranium scented or another delicate flower crushed to pieces to make her smell like she came from heaven too. It’s a weakness he hadn’t culled.

This girl of his; she must be something quite real. His wishful daydream would have diverted to more intimate topics by now, and he’d probably imagine a woman he’s at least met before. Deciding if he’d prefer her to be real or a misty figment of his imagination; he can’t make heads nor tails of it. Arthur knows he’d probably end up disappointing a real person more than he could offend a figure cooked up in his mind. He sighs. He turns to the iron stove beside the dining table. There’s still coffee and he can distract himself from his ridiculous train of thought by clumsily pouring it out for her.

Hopeful bastard.

“You mute, girl? Asked you a question.” He knows she isn't but he wants to hear her talk some more. And maybe if she hears what a brute he makes himself out to be most of the time, she’ll turn her nose up at him the way she’s supposed to. Lots of women have, she wouldn’t be the first warned away by his attitude like a bad smell. He could almost let that temptation win. To change who he is at this moment. If only for the selfish purpose of luring her further into his home. However, he’s too impulsive and his tongue is too practiced at offending. He has words that are about as gentle as a fist to the nose.

He sets her cup down on the table. Arthur doesn’t wait for her to figure herself out, grabbing another cigarette, swiping them off of the coffee table in front of the fireplace. To hell with the rations. It was a special day after all, a goddamned holiday. He strikes the match on the table, lighting it as she tentatively steps forward. Nearly singes his finger on the match he forgot to put out, wincing and waving it out to put out the flame.

She’s a pearl, surrounded by the ugly oyster that is the less than stellar home he keeps. Carefully, she steps into his space. Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every thing she could find awful or garish; his hunting trophies or the weapons or the wall. Or the mess of papers on the desk in the corner. It has him gripping his cigarette a bit too tight. Her face hardly moves in any particular reaction, as if used to him already. A simple neutrality is what takes her as she looks at some of the things over the mantle, then her eyes track over the small hallway, leading to the bedroom and some storage. She’s quick to bring her attention back to him, a soft smile that stuns him graces her face, kicking up some long buried hope of his.

If there was a woman who should be a lady, it’s her. She sets herself down on the sofa, neatly keeping her hands to herself, reaching for the cup he set out for her. But first checking to see if it wasn’t for him with a nervous flick of her eyes up to his own. He can hardly ignore how it pulls at him. She holds the blue speckled cup on her thigh.

“No, I…was getting something for my granny…” She explains she couldn’t make it to the doctor in the almost fatal weather outside. He has a humorless laugh. How could anyone send her out for the sake of some old hag; already knocking on death's door? Selfless girl but stupid. Defenseless. Her own mother, too. He supposes he can relate. The man he regarded as his father had been the one to let him down the most.

It’s always the ones you trust.

He makes his opinion known to her, maybe he can talk some sense into her.

“I can imagine. What kinda mother sends a pretty thing like you on a fool's errand? You really thought you was gonna bring your ol’ granny a doctor in this?” He reprimands her, she might need it.

Little girl gone out by herself. Needs you, don’t she?

What she probably needs is someone to keep her from doing things that risk her life for nothing at all. Doesn’t have to be him but he won’t turn the thought away. Breaking her open on her marriage bed. Such a pretty thing, a distracted smile into her cup of coffee. Lost in a snow drift because no one cared enough to keep her inside.

And she does nip back. Trying to give a rebuttal but he won’t have it. He knows he’s right, giving his idea of a light hearted joke, his particular brand of poking humor. Heavy handed as always.

“Your granny probably already kicked the bucket while you were out here, damn near gettin’ yourself killed.”

Perhaps insinuating her grandmother was already dead wasn’t the best attempt at familiarizing her with himself, her face tinges with an expression he’s used to seeing. Dutch said he had a sharper tongue than people thought. Hosea said it was too blunt.

“And if it weren’t for me, well…” she’d be dead. Forgotten somewhere in the snow with a dead horse for company. Such an image should hopefully be sobering for her. It’s a harsh reality but one he would prevent from happening. His hand comes up to scratch at his brambly jaw. She probably thought his slightly overgrown beard was ugly and unkempt. His fingers raise the delicate rolled cigarette to his lips. A nice calming drag helps his nerves calm down, they quit jumping under his skin every time her eyes pull over him, over his scarred face and his crooked nose and his gnarled hands. She looks like she holds something back. Her tongue, he thinks. He wished she would have just come out and said it.

But she’s a polite little thing, stifling herself with another drink of the coffee. The satisfaction on her face and the small droop in her shoulders now that she’s warm makes him smile.

She speaks up with a tremor stuck to her words. “I’m sorry mister,” her nose scrunches a little, doesn’t even know how darling he finds it. “but I don’t think you gave me your name…”

In a well practiced motion, he leans and ashes his cigarette. It took him a while to remember that he can’t just ash them on the ground anymore. He had floors and a permanent roof now. He tends to get the hang of things at some point. He kicks his legs up on the table, gently so as to not frighten the girl on his sofa, warming herself by his fire, and drinking his coffee. The thoughts tickle that provider’s instinct so deeply embedded in his being. His name, he almost forgets all about that, looking into her pretty eyes, blinking curiously. Right.

“Arthur. You married?” He never liked small talk too much. Never one for the surface level bullshit people put on. He watches each of her features form into something like a smile but not. Too nerve-y, falls into something else when she presses her lips together, her brows twitch as they pull together and her fingers scrunch in her gloves.

As if she’d marry you, ain’t exactly the pick of the litter, are ya?

His fingers twitch, squeeze his short nails into the give of his palm. Then why does she call him? So enticing, then, looking at him with soft eyes, her legs pressed together and slanted. A real proper girl. Cute thing. Naive enough not to recognize someone like him at first glance. He’s something to be avoided. He wishes he could see a ring glittering on her finger, to ward away the seething heat in his head and his gut. Like a prayer muttered in the presence of evil but he doubted it’d be strong enough.

“No, I’m afraid not,” her voice is like velvet, the rub of a rose petal between his fingers. Her eyes flick away and her teeth press gently into her bottom lip, sweet looking. No man to look after her besides her worthless father, left her out here to freeze. Alone, really. Or she might as well be. The world has been known to be cruel to women. To his mother, to a woman whose life he had ruined, to Mary even, to Susan and Molly. Well, most every woman he knew. It wasn’t fair but many things in their lives were disparagingly slanted away from them, scales always uneven.

“Young lady like you, unwed and caring for your Ma, Pa, all by yourself?” Arthur scoffs, even as he points out her tragedy. “Now that’s just sad, is what it is,” His fingers push his cigarette into the ash tray a bit too hard, twisting it. And he looks at her blouse, drawing the outline of her with his eyes. He’d put it to paper later. She has a small nod for him. A shining opportunity. But he has to introduce his own dingy reality. The one where he was probably old enough to have been able to hold her when she had just been born.

“You are… a sight, for an old ugly bastard like me is all,” Honest words slip from him, too loose for him to keep them behind his teeth. The bashful look crosses over her face makes his lip curl up just a little. She deserved to have someone tell her how pretty she is, who wouldn’t ever let her forget for a second how lovely she looked. Where all of these sappy things come from is beyond him. They ooze into his mind anyway.

Delicately, she sets the cup down on the table littered with other cups he had forgotten to put away and empty packages of cigarettes. He rolls his eyes at himself, of course he doesn’t clean up the day he has company.

“I left my horse in the stable out front, I hope you don’t mind,” her hands pet at her thighs, he can see where the fabric is damp. Immediately, his mind clicks into place, thinking on how he can fix it. That’s what the fairer sex truly craved, wasn’t it? Not some puffed up egomaniac. A fixer. A solution. His hands itch to move. To pick up the pieces of her problems and push them back into the shape of something whole. “Ain’t no trouble,” the relieved sag in her shoulders tells him that she actually worried about it.

So Arthur does, he’s nothing if not a man of action. “Why don’t I get you somethin’ dry to wear? Should be turnin’ in soon. Gettin’ late.” He’s up before he can hear a protest. But she doesn’t give much of one. In his bedroom, his hands swipe his hair backwards. The small mirror he usually keeps around strictly for shaving catches the light of the small oil lamp.

God, his best years are way behind him. So say the lines at the corners of his eyes, the gouges of his age on his forehead and the delicate webbing of wrinkles under his eyes. All of the evidence of his lifestyle glares back at him. There’s a ruddiness over the higher planes of his cheekbones from burning them under the sun. Some of the fist and knife fights from his youth have left permanent evidence of his misgivings on his face. Mostly in the form of scars and his odd nose.

You disgust her, don’t go kidding yourself.

If he ever told her the truth of himself, he’s sure a girl like her would go running, suddenly not minding the cold. He never was good at keeping beautiful things by his side. They rotted or wilted, or blew away with the wind. His rough fingers rub at the back of his neck. He stares deep into his own eyes. Trying to force some normalcy, some sense into himself but it’s all in vain. He grunts, paying mind to other things.

He opens his cabinet, all of the simple clothes he keeps. Something new and not so weathered, or dirty, something clean. Like her. Some nice cotton knit union suit, something he bought when he was preparing for winter. He grips them tight and hesitates at the door.

Just go n’ give it to her, and try not to be an idiot; for god’s sake.

And the sweet smile he sees knocks whatever sense he had gathered out of him, he can hardly form a word. He just holds the fabric out to her like an oaf. And she rises, as to keep things comfortable, good at reading his brutish signaling, taking them gently and skirting around him. And then she’s in his bedroom. With a mental cuss, he realizes that he forgot to clean the room before he left.

Ah, she’ll find out how pathetic you are at some point. Just a matter a’ when…

All those empty bottles and habits he’s formed from living alone. Dirty clothes piled somewhere and sheets that probably smelled a bit too much like sweat. Christ. He sighs, pinching his nose. He’s not sure why he’s putting so much thought into this. He doesn’t care. Not a care at all. Right…sure.

At first, he distracts himself with preparing food, his leftovers, hopefully enough for her. Doing this is an action which is perhaps a bit selfish. He wants to make it clear that he can give her things she needs. He could figure out wants later.. Typically, he hadn’t thought too much of what women wanted but with her he makes lists, takes out the fine brandy. Sometimes he took after Dutch more than he would like to admit, the man was all too good at forgetting about a woman’s wants and needs.

The food hasn’t gone too cold. His hands look for things to do, stirring unnecessarily. Fumbling the dish he places it on. However, the little comfort he gains from activity fades. He can only grip the counter like a vice while staring out the window above his sink for so long. The shades of brown and orange that make up his cabin blur into nothing, the wood grain isn’t as grounding as he wants it to be.

But then his legs drift in the opposite direction, He can hear a soft sigh and the rustle of clothing behind the door. He wets his dry throat. Arthur shouldn’t salivate. He does anyway.

You’re a creep. Something in his head laughs at him.

Been too long since you had a woman this close to your bed and she ain’t even in it with ya…c’mon. C’mon, just open the damn door.

His heart is about to pound his ribs into dust. He’s among the worst of the worst but this… pushes boundaries. Lines drawn in the sand. Peeping on women wasn’t something he was raised to do. And if he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was an accident.

You ain’t that bad.

He’s used to letting the tide wash those out so he can draw new ones. And here is a new one. When his fingers push at the door and he can see the sliver where she bares her own flesh. Rubs her hands up her thighs, stepping out of her clothes. His throat goes dry, his teeth bite bluntly at the tip of his tongue as his jaw gets tense.

His eyes follow the natural plush curve of her body, pale yellow lamp light glancing off of her. He’d kill a man to touch her and he’d kill a man for touching her. Devouring every inch, his eyes soak it all up, dedicating her to memory.

And then she’s stepping into the creamy cotton of his clothes. Doing up the buttons at her front. Unbidden by him, his cock fills out, half hard, pressing uncomfortably at just the sight of her. The perfection of her hips, her hair brushing over her back.

The guilt is chewing a hole in his conscience. It’s like there are termites gnawing away at the foundation of whatever restraint he had. He’s felt less disgusting after killing a man, making him choke on his own blood as it fills his lungs. But the reward had never been so delightful. A sweet girl, so trusting, putting her hand to her chest and smiling as she realizes he’s there. It doesn’t feel good at all, the realization that he’s drooling over her like a mutt. All she has given him is reluctance, nervous glances. She doesn’t touch him or leave her hand to linger. A sweet-as-cream smile is all he has, enough to tide him over. He wants her anyway, needs her to stay. Letting her walk out after this will be next to impossible.

“You scared me, Mister…” Mister. So polite, an angel delivered unto him. He can feel how his body is tense, tight like a spring. How she doesn’t notice the evidence of his wrongdoing, pressing at the front of his pants is luck or her naivety. His expression must be dazed, a foolish look because all he can do is stare, unable to stop himself. Observing the way his clothes drape over her, exaggerating how much smaller she is in comparison. How stunning she’d look, sprawled over his bed sheets. Precious girl; struggling not to cry when she gets all stretched out on something wholly too big for her. In his mind's eye, she mouths his name, looks at him like all she wants is him inside of her. Right. His name again.

He dips back into his own ease in which he controls all of himself with. He is self assured and well handled. And he certainly doesn’t curl in on himself. Lets her see how big he is, slips back into old habits with the ease that comes with capability. “Morgan, Arthur Morgan,” his real name, no Kilgore’s or Calahan’s. She should know it anyhow, if he has any real intention in giving it to her.

It’s dangerous and it’s like she can feel it, somewhere in her body is that base instinct. One she was born with to protect herself from people with bad intentions. But she has another instinct, bares her neck to him. Arthur has always been good at suppressing his hunger, desire for soft pretty things. Settling like sediment on them was the control he had, buried them and buried them and buried them. She's a rainstorm, flooding his mind, washing out his carefully maintained resistance. Leaves his want raw and exposed and actionable. He wants her too much, wants her more than he has any right to.

He feels what little control he has over his urges begin to slip with that thought. Usually, he let them take over. Let whatever pain and anguish in him manifest into pure rage, cold and unadulterated. At first, it revolted him, his actions. And the reputation he built to go along with them. But they began to grow over him like a second skin until they encased whatever hope he had for a better life completely. His self induced hatred hid whatever pieces of him weren't supposed to be his to have and to share. The things he had to hide from himself even to feel like a whole person at any given moment. And he let himself be that awful thing people thought he was. Arthur Morgan. A force of nature.

But he deserved it, didn't he? Everyone should keep their distance anyway. He has a habit of making things worse than when he found them. But all he wanted was for her to be close. Sure, he could play the vulnerable man who could pine after his sweetheart, go out riding after her, guide her home where she would forget all about him. Just a kind man out to help the world.

That's not what he wanted. He wanted her to stay here. Can’t bear the thought of being a good man, sending her away when the storm blows over. In sickness and in health, til’ death do us part. That’s what he sees when he closes his eyes. She’s standing in the kitchen, turning the spoils of his hunts into dinner. With that easy smile. His too empty house just wouldn’t feel like a home without her in it. He’s sick, he knows; but he’s sure she can cure him.

Arthur Morgan has always wanted more than he could have. He chews on the thought like tobacco. Bitter but eventually he begins to need the taste, to crave it.

“Put somethin’ on the stove for ya, man can’t leave no woman hungry…” God, his tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his jaw aches from gritting his teeth too hard. And of course, he lays all his cards on the table. Man can’t leave his woman hungry.

Every little gesture she makes, wrapping her arms shyly around herself, the gentle tilt of her head and the small affirmative gesture she makes is in no way unordinary. But they’re all dripping with her appeal. How can she smile at him like he doesn't look the way he does? Like he hasn't made the world worse just by existing in it?

He soils her just by laying greedy eyes on her neck, on her nipples which he can make out through the fabric of his union suit. And when she opens her mouth, he knows he’ll end up calling her what she is. Sweet and syrupy, soothing on his throat.

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan. I really appreciate your kindness,” Arthur is convinced he heard her wrong. But her honesty is in those radiant eyes, in her easy posture. It must be meant to be, it’s not every day a woman talked to him like that. Or talked to him at all. He was perhaps too busy making sure they knew what they would be getting into; dealing with him.

It may just be the respectful manners instilled in her. He supposed her parents had given her that; mannerisms that made her quite the catch. Utter perfection. But really, even that was a disservice. They damned her to him. Makes him see glimpses of a life he could have. Hundreds of conversations, every iteration of the precious babe they'd have together with his hair and her eyes, a son or a daughter. Two of each perhaps. Hours and hours of her gentle, refined voice taking up the empty room. He bows his head as if he can keep his disbelief and joy under the brim of his hat, currently hanging by his front door.

She comes nearer. He can smell her cotton scent, can see the way the light casts around her hair, feathering over her, turning it into gold. His body moves to make the smallest space for her. Hoping she’ll nudge against him. He doesn’t even realize the way he’s formed himself to keep her here for just a moment. So close, Arthur nearly loses track of what he was supposed to be doing.

“Been a long time since somebody called me a kind man, usually it was the opposite,” apprehension floods her body, her features. Her eyes focus on him, waiting for something terrible to happen. Arthur sees how she bristles. He only meant to be honest but she’s already read between his lines. Smart girl.

He shows her just what he means. Even when he knows better, even if he’s never been this far. It’s like he has to touch though. No where uncomfortable, just to be sure she isn’t a sign that he’s truly gone from this world.

“Please, I-”

Her plea goes down his spine. It rakes its teeth over the parts of him that are wrong. That weren’t formed with gentleness, aren’t intricate. Just instinct that he’s indulged.

He may not be a good man. But he can behave well enough to keep her. Now that he has the room for her. He doesn’t live in a drafty tent. He’s not a dog chained to the hand that fed him too many years ago. He would never treat her like an object to display or a mistake made in a drunken night of pleasure. He wouldn’t throw this away, this one chance at having something real. Wouldn’t lay waste to this opportunity to fill a hole in him that yawned empty for what felt like eternity. She’d be his wife and he; her man. A husband. Mister and Missus Arthur Morgan. A crock of shit, he would have said a month ago.

That ain’t the hand you been dealt and you know it. You’ve made a mess of things enough.

But now… it's a dreamy reality. It hasn’t quite taken shape but he can get it there. Determination starts to crystallize over the idea. She’s something good; doesn’t need him. He could try to make something better too, could make the best of a situation, try to show her the best in him. But he knows it’d never be enough for her. He always throws these good things away, always ruins it somehow. But he grips and shakes like a mutt at this idea, gnaws it until it's raw. He can just take what he wants. Done that before, hasn’t he?

Just leave’er alone. God, you never learn, goddamned fool…

His fingers graze over the skin on her neck, uncovered by the collar of the union suit he lent her. Here in the dark of the small hallway, he can swear there’s something in the way she breathes, shudders. “I think you need a man to take care of you, honey, need a man to keep you inside- wouldn’t let you go out alone like this if you was my woman… Lemme show you how a man looks after a girl like you,” He’s aware that he sounds like a right bastard but he’s only telling the truth. His hand settles at her back, like it’s supposed to be there. They’re meant to be, all he has to do is show her.

ok yall how we feeling LMAO i think his perspective was interesting and fun for me to write but idk if its any good, but i hope with practice ill get more confident 🥹🥹 bro is a freak sooo yeah it was fun to write him as a freak he is very conflicted about everything and he is super weird but also sexy sooo😳 i hope you guys enjoyed this lil backstory on why arthur is a weirdo 😊😊😭😭 lmk what you guys think !!

#❄️ snow angel #red writes #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #low honor arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 x reader #tw dark content #tw dark fic #tw dubcon #red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption two #red dead redemption #arthur morgan x female reader #low honor arthur morgan

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zarkishere · 2 months ago

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On the fifth day of Christmas, Zark gave to me...

art + chapter :3

chapter also below

_____ Some jobs go well, others not so much. TW// SLURS. _____ The next morning everyone woke up really early—the sun barely peaked down upon them from behind the mountains and clouds, the birds just starting to sing, the sky still very much a dark blue...yet Ruben was wide awake and heating up some cans by the time everyone had gotten up. He had trouble sleeping—always had, but with strangers that odd fear within him only got stronger. Technically, these people weren’t strangers, but they weren’t close enough for his fears to settle down either. He got up so early he felt like he hadn’t slept at all...but he needed something to do, so while the others slept he had gone out to get more sticks and dead leafs to start up the fire again. That wasn’t easy, given it had rained...most everything was dripping wet, which was unfortunate, but with patience and determination it ended up working. Arthur was the only one to give his thank yous—well, Javier tried, but was promptly ignored. They ate, cleaned their faces with a rag Javier had brought and gotten wet, and hit the road yet again. Thankfully, they had slept only a bit away from town, so by the time they got there the town was buzzing with people. Left and right, people worked and singed, calling others to come over and check out their goods, others argued and...it was just so nice, Ruben looked around with excitement and had to be stopped by the others from running to check stuff out more than once. Of course, daytime isn’t exactly a good time to rob, so Arthur ended up deciding that they should just make time by looking around. Maybe they’d find some other house to rob. Or just something exciting to look at… Mac and Davey left together, to no ones surprise, and Arthur left on his own...leaving Ruben and Javier (once again) set up to be alone in front of some shop where the others had split up.

To Ruben, it felt like some sort of bad joke by life itself, being stuck with this guy.

Javier cleared his throat. “ Entonces...quieres ir a ver algo? “ (So...you wanna check something out?) he asked, looking at Ruben expectantly. Ruben whined and groaned, having a bit of a temper tantrum…to which Javier chuckled at. “ It’s not funny “ Ruben huffed. “ It kind of is, though. “ Javier responded, a slight smile on his lips. “ How? I don’t want to be around you. “ Ruben responded, crossing his arms. Javier stopped smiling, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “ Pero porqué? En serio no entiendo qué te he hecho. “ (But why? I really don’t understand what I’ve done to you.)

“ Déjalo, si? Solo déjalo. “ (Leave it alone, alright? Just leave it.) Ruben grumbled, kicking the dirt. “ Pero—ay, dios...actuas como un niño mimado, sabes? “ (But—oh lord...you act like a spoiled brat, you know?) “ Tú eres el problema aquí, yo no! “ (You’re the problem here, not me!) Ruben said, pointing at Javier.

He slapped his hand away, growing more and more frustrated. “ No te he hecho nada, Rubén! Me miras como si te hubiera escupido la cara! “ (I haven’t dont anything to you, Ruben! You look at me as if i had spat on your face!) “ Fue culpa de TÚ gente que—” (It was YOUR peoples fault that--) his voice got cut off as another man approached. “ Can you two greasers cut it out!? Get the hell away from my shop! “ He yelled, practically squaring up to fight them. Javier tightened his fist and quickly looked at him, his face spitting venom, making the man cower without even a few words spoken. “ Listen—your arguing is—uhm...scaring my costumers, alright? Just...go argue somewhere else! “ He said, stuttering and stumbling over his words. Ruben never understood why people got so scared...that face didn’t have that effect on him. Strange. Ruben felt guilty for starting that argument... The two did end up leaving, walking around town with no more words spoken between them. Houses so big and tall, shops, horses, everything seemed so fancy. So clean and pristine. He felt like they didn’t fit in—well, Javier was better dressed than him, so he could get a pass...somewhat….people were still so very rude to them. They went through multiple places; plenty shops, a bar and even a park that was at the center of town. It was gorgeous; plenty trees, places to sit at, a huge water-fountain… “ You wanna toss a coin? “ Javier asked, taking a coin out of his pocket and placing it on the palm of his hand. “ Hm..? oh, sure. Gracias. “ (thanks) He took the coin, their hands briefly touching. Ruben placed it between his hands, closed his eyes and blew air into it before tossing the coin into the water. Javier watched him the whole time, eyes gentle in that special way that made Ruben want to smack it off. “ What did you ask for? “ Javier asked, leaning in ever so slightly, like a secret between them. “ I can’t tell you! If I do, it won’t come true. “ Ruben huffed, leaning away and crossing his arms with a slight pout. Javier chuckled and shook his head, shrugging as he started to walk off again. Ruben watched him for a couple of seconds before going after him. After a while of looking around Javier bought a new necklace—it was very nice, Ruben couldn’t lie—a silver cross with some...rocks..? in it. Javier was the religious type, Ruben had come to learn. He’d watched the man pray before meals a few times, or heard him mumbling other words of devotion at the far corners of camp. It was cute—well, no, not cute. More so...entertaining? No, no, that sounds weird too. It’s...well, it didn’t….well—

Mac smacked him, taking him out of his little mind travel. “ Caralho mano! “ (god-damn, dude!) Ruben yelped, smacking the others hand away, which earned him another smack from Mac. A little harder this time. “ Don’t fockin raise yer hands at me, lad, i’ll snap yer neck like a twig. “ He said, voice low and threatening...did he mean it, though? No idea. Mac could never turn off his ‘scary’ factor. Davey and Arthur were there now, too. Must’ve spaced out...time felt like it flew by.

Ruben pouted, puffing out his cheeks. Mac snorted, rolling his eyes. “ Quit that, doll. “ He said, flicking Ruben’s nose. “ C’mon, let’s go. “ “ Is it time? “ Ruben asked, following behind Mac. He looked up at the sky as the group made their way to the outskirts of town; it was becoming dark, but the clouds had completely left by now. No more rain, it seems. Eventually they all made it out, small talk here and there, but no conversations of real matter...things only got more serious when they sneaked behind the house… It was a quite large home with a stone fence around it, seemingly divided into 2 to 3 levels, standing on a foundation of pink bricks and a blueish roof. There was balcony on the back, and from where Ruben stood he could see a bench or two. The walls of the home consisted of light pink wood with white corner boards. Many windows were strewn around the walls of the house and on top of the building rested a slim chimney, but as there was no smoke it could be guessed no one was inside at the moment… "Alright, here’s the plan," Arthur drawled, taking charge since he was Dutch’s son. "Me, Ruben, and Javier'll hop the wall—'cause we’re the quiet ones. Y’all two go on down and wait for us to unlock it. Once we do, just grab whatever you can. Got it?" “ Can’t Javier go with the other two? “ Ruben asked. “ Wha—what did I do?? “ Javier asked, looking at him confused. “ I thought we were getting along. “ “ Well, no, I still dislike you. “ The other answered with a shrug. “ Pero—” (But—) Javier’s voice was cut off by Arthur’s. “ Just shut up. This is how we’ll be doing things. “ They nodded, and the plan started. The three went up to the fence, scaling it and cautiously walking on it toward the balcony….but once there, they realized it was locked. Since Mac and Davey were waiting on their spot, they had no way to say what was up, so they just had to figure out another way in... “ Who locks balconies?? “ Asked Javier quietly. Arthur sighed, looking around. Eventually, his eyes landed on a window that happened to be open. He poked Ruben’s shoulder. “ Think you could get that? “ He asked. Ruben nodded and took a few steps back, before sprinting forward and jumping for it—BARELY catching the ledge. This job wasn’t going well so far, but Ruben trusted it could be fixed, so he pulled himself up and made his way into the abode; it was even fancier inside, big central stairs, a chandelier...which made him instinctively grimace. He made his way to the balconies door, unlocking it from the inside and flashing Arthur a smile as the other two walked in. “ I’ll go unlock the door for the other two, go gather stuff already. “ He said, and the two Mexicans nodded. The three parted ways as they did their thing. Ruben went to the bathroom first, finding a good bunch of jewels; pretty necklaces, pins and some rings. He placed a silver one around his index finger, admiring it for a few seconds...deciding he’d keep that one for himself. Then, he went to the bed-room, going through the drawers and closets, finding a few stacks of money...everything seemed to be going well—Until Arthur came sprinting into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Although, it was clear he made the effort to make little to no noise.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 oc #mac callander #rdr2 headcanons #ruben connor rdr2 #javier escuella #ocxcanon #sean macguire #davey callander #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fanart #artists on tumblr

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howlett-n-morgan · 5 months ago

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Take Me Home

5. Blood Stains

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: HEY GUYS I AM BACK WITH A DOOSIE. okay so my fashion show was fantastic, let me know if y'all wanna see a video of my collection i think it turned out pretty damn good. anyways, wrote this while crocked off my ass on Benadryl bc allergy season is hitting very very hard right now so if it's not perfect we are all going to collectively blame the Benadryl, okay? okay.

Summary: An accident in the laundry causes chaos in the camp, and secrets are revealed sooner than expected. With everyone else acting like the world is caving in, Arthur steps up as usual.

Warnings: misogyny, major gender role tropes, a little bit of personal violation, but very minor. Susan is a bitch in this chapter (we love Susan). Blood plays a lot into this chapter, and so do menstrual cycles, so if you're uncomfortable with those mentions, this may be a skippable chapter for you. There's also like some sexual implications but nothing inherently sexual happens. I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 7.8k

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet. You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip. “Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?”

In the weeks since John’s disappearance, you’ve noticed three things:

One, Dutch hasn’t barely been seen in the camp, and when he makes his presence known, it’s either angry or forlorn. Two, the entire gang has been very quiet, not wanting to set off Dutch, or make anyone else upset with the matter. Three, Arthur has done as he said he would, becoming closer with Abigail, and helping nightly with Jack.

It shouldn’t break your heart, because you had no right for it to. You shouldn’t be distancing yourself from the both of them, they didn’t do anything to deserve it, but the way your chest tightened by watching them, watching Arthur gently place a hand on her shoulder as he watched Jack squirm in her arms was far too miserable. Abigail won’t speak of it, knowing that everyone has been on edge since her former lover left, but she missed the talks and conversations you held. You understood her, and though she didn’t exactly know the truth as to why, she was still partially in grief over that bond, too.

Arthur takes immediate notice, but doesn’t say anything. Hosea had mentioned your run in with John the evening he took off. He figured you needed time to cope with the situation, even if you didn’t know John all that well, or even like him for that matter. Everyone in camp was dealing with it differently, so why should he judge the way you handled yourself?

It was only when you stopped talking to him altogether that he became slightly concerned, and he wasn’t the only one.

When Dutch first brought you into the gang, he knew there was some subtle competition with you and Arthur. The two fastest guns in the west, hell, maybe even the world… but you butted heads often. He didn’t know why it had suddenly stopped, but his concern grew from being in both your presences at the same time, and the icy feeling he got just from standing between you, running over job details in a tent.

It was like Arthur didn’t exist to you anymore. Everything you said and did was conveyed to the people around him, but never to him. You would even give news to a big group of people to avoid telling Arthur directly.

Dutch knew there was something wrong, because he could have sworn you both were inches away from getting along, but now it was worse than square one. It was after a successful job that he said something about it. After you had deliberately handed Arthur’s cut to Javier and told him to give it to the next man over.

You’d ridden back, safe and sound, but Dutch held you back, nodding the others away from the horse troughs.

“Talk with me for a bit, will ya son?” He tried to approach the situation gently. This couldn’t have been a gradual thing.

“F’course,” you muttered, hands resting on your gun belt as you followed him into the center of camp.

“I’ve been noticing some… strange behavior from you towards Arthur. Only lately…” he scratched his head, looking at you expectantly. “You can tell me if he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’ll speak with him about it.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “He didn’t do nothin’ to piss me off… I’ve just always been better off on my own, don’t wanna rely on anyone.”

“I can understand that sentiment, but it doesn’t make any damn sense as to why you’re givin’ him the cold shoulder,” he furthered his point, and you didn’t have any choice but to make something else up. Something that could actually be worth what you were doing to Arthur. Your head told you that the truth of ‘I’m actually a young woman and I’m catching feelings for your gang enforcer’ wouldn’t help you.

“He’s been tryna hold me back,” you sighed out, as if revealing some huge secret. It was partially true, but you’d grown more relaxed about the protection Arthur had been trying to provide. Still, you kept on the charade, knowing it would get you out of this situation free and clear. “M’tired of him thinkin’ I can’t keep up, tired of feelin’ like a helpless kid next to ‘im.”

Dutch let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “I see… and so you figured it best to keep him out of arm’s reach, is that it?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, leaning against the pole of his big tent.

And then it seemed that Dutch saw this as a teaching moment, because he nodded for you to sit down on one of the cross latch boxes, across from where he stood. He had a whole spiel oncoming, and you were almost sure you knew what it would contain. Something about the camp being a family, everyone sticking together and more nonsense of the like.

“You don’t understand this now, because you’ve never had a time of need in this gang… but that day will come,” he paused, and you perhaps had it all wrong, listening intently now. He pointed in the direction of Arthur’s camp set up, and you glanced over, not for the first time that day. He was tired, hunched over his cot and leaning in exhaustion, running his hand over his face. “And when you are in that time of need, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan.”

You nodded in understanding, a small frown on your face. You wanted to protect yourself, but if what Dutch says is true, you’re only setting yourself up for failure.

“He’s been here a long time, and no matter your opinion of him, no matter the things you do or the things you say, he’s loyal. It ain’t up to me what you decide to do, but you should know, he’s the best ally you’re ever gonna have.”

And just like that, you regretted the past weeks. Everything you did to avoid him, getting up early to grab some of the coffee before he came by. Going out and hunting without letting anyone know, just so that he didn’t have a chance to come with you. Even going as far as to mend your own clothing and do your own laundry, knowing he might catch you at one of the girl’s stations while picking up your weekly wears. You felt awful. You remembered at least four times he tried to approach you before he just gave up. At the time you were grateful, because you thought it was making things easier for you, but in actuality, the things Dutch said were true. You needed him in your corner. There would be a time of need, and Arthur was the best ally to have when that time would come, whatever it may be.

“I think I oughta go set things right, then,” you let out, your ego deflating slightly when your eyes met Dutch again.

“If you think it’s best,” he nodded, switching places with you and watching you walk over to his favored outlaw, the man he called his son. He called you son, too. You wondered if that would hold up if he ever found out about you.

Arthur was on the verge of sleep, but you were doing this now. You could apologize later.

“You look like shit,” you tried to be nonchalant, and not bring any emotion into this.

When he looked up, he was slightly annoyed, but his face softened once he looked at you for a moment.

“Feel like shit,” he grumbled, trying to understand what you were doing here. You didn’t exactly give him reason to believe he was important to you anymore. “Did you need something?”

You kicked the dirt beneath your boot, trying to keep yourself composed, but you weren’t too good at these things, and the amount of shear stiffness in your body wasn’t helping you to relax about it.

“I think I owe you an apology,” you started, and he tilted his head in slight confusion. Sure, he knew what you were apologizing for, but he didn’t know why. “I’ve been avoidin’ you, n’ I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded in thanks, accepting your words. You stood awkwardly, unsure if you should say more or just leave, but when you turned your boot to walk, he stopped you.

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

Why was everyone asking that?

“No, ain’t nothing you did. Just my own stupid ass and things that don’t matter,” you told him. You felt even worse now, because you’d made both him and Dutch think that it was something he did wrong. He could rarely do any wrong in your eyes, which made this whole ordeal that much worse.

“Matters enough, you stopped talking to me. Couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

You didn’t want him to know anything else. With him and Abigail rapidly forming a blossoming relationship, it wasn’t for you to stand in their way. Jack needed a father figure, and Arthur was the perfect candidate.

“I’m sorry about it. I swear it won’t happen again,” you really wanted to leave this time, unsure of how far it may go in the event of a deep conversation… but he caught your wrist and gently tugged it back towards where he sat as soon as you started turning away again.

“You gotta give me somethin’, Red. I’ve waited weeks just to ask you,” he pleaded, his tired eyes looking through you and trying to enter your mind. You caved just as soon as you saw how badly this affected him. You hurt him. He might be big, burly, and dangerous… but he bleeds, and his heart can be wounded as easily as anyone else’s.

“I’ve been going through some things, and you’ve had a lot on your plate with Jack and Abigail. It’s not fair of me to make my burdens your burdens… I was tryna keep you out of it,” you admitted, which was only half true. The partial truths of the night were stacking up, but fortunately he couldn’t tell the difference right now, too tired and unfocused to really study your features and what you were hiding.

“Red,” he sighed, not yet prying for more information, but giving you one last glance. “You can tell me things. Remember that.”

You nodded, smiling at him for the first time since John left. “Alright.”

You stopped avoiding and ignoring Arthur, but things were still distant. You’d been getting close right after Jack was born, but going into his third month in the world, you two were miles apart. Still, it was better than the stone cold facade you’d been turning to him before.

“Got any laundry?” Susan asked, breaking you out of your trance as you watched the sun setting. You weren’t really paying much attention, but nodded, reaching behind you into your tent for a sheet full of worn out and dirty clothing. You should have looked it over, but you didn’t, too caught up in your own mind. “You can ask the girls about getting it back tomorrow, they’ve been going stir crazy for things to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded, tipping your hat and leaning back against your small tent’s middle pole. You had half a mind to slide your hat over your eyes for a nap, but that didn’t seem like it would fly, especially if one of the others needed you for something.

You could definitely use a nap, you were cramping like crazy. You swore if Bill came up to you and asked for any more favors with the damn horses this week you’d kill him, but only because you were feeling grumpy.

You wanted so badly to confide in Arthur about these things, the troubles of womanhood that you couldn’t share with anyone else but him. You wondered if he would ever tell anyone, since it’s been almost five months of your residence and you have yet to reveal your secrets to everyone else. Maybe you were being paranoid, but the closer he got to Abigail and the further you pushed him away, you thought he might care less about the agreement you both made. After all, spilling your secret to Dutch would gain him loyalty points, and Dutch seemed all too happy to be giving them out since John left.

It was about an hour later when there was a shriek at the other side of camp, and many ran over to see what the trouble was.

Tilly had been sitting by her wash bin, but had pulled her hands out on account of one thing.

“What’s the matter, Tilly?” you heard Sean over your shoulder, and when you finally saw the trouble your eyes widened and you muttered a single word under your breath.

“Shit.”

“What’s shit?” Arthur’s voice was also heard beside you now, and you turned to him ever so slightly with a whisper.

“Me, I’m in deep shit.”

Tilly showed everyone the water, with some clothing swirling around, but it was all tinted red.

“I think someone’s been hurt,” she said, waving over Mrs. Grimshaw to show her the problem. “There’s blood in the water.”

You tried to casually back up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t get traced back to you, after all, the clothing in the bin was yours, and Mrs. Grimshaw had just picked up the pile from you. You were just stupid enough to leave your monthly attire in with it, and during your monthly time, too. You were only two days into the cycle, meaning there had been a lot of blood.

Grimshaw, being the stern and impatient woman she was, rolled her sleeves up and dug around in the water, looking for clothing with holes to indicate a stab or bullet wound… but she only found:

“A sanitary apron?” She furrowed her brows. She was pretty in tune with the women of the camp, and hadn’t been aware that someone was menstruating right now.

“You better run, kid,” Arthur caught on, nudging your shoulder. You’d already started getting further away from the scene, but it seemed Grimshaw already came to a conclusion before you could make a break for it.

“I picked these up from…” she trailed, her brow now seemingly angry and strewn together in a stressful manner. She marched over to you, grabbing your lanky wrist harshly and tugging you away from the scene. “You better not be hidin’ what I think you’re hidin’!”

You held onto your hat as she practically ran you into the nearest tent. It wasn’t hers or yours but that didn’t matter, her urgency was all too apparent.

“Miss Grimshaw, what’s this all about?”

“I have had my suspicions about you since you arrived here,” she spoke intensely, pulling you forward by your belt buckle and doing her best to undo it.

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?!” You tried to protest, but her nimble hands were too persistent, and she finally got your pants loose enough to take a brief peek at what she needed to see. “What the hell, would you stop?!”

“I knew it!” she yelled, a finger pointed in the air.

And just like that, you knew you were screwed.

She quickly ran out of the tent, and you tried to follow her, making a quick attempt at putting your belt back together on the way out.

Arthur ran a hand over his face when first he saw you, and the state you were in. He knew the jig was up, too.

“Where is that man when you need him?” Susan was turning every which way, a mess of herself just trying to frantically look for the camp leader.

“Dutch? He’s in town with Hosea, what’s the problem?” Bill sauntered up, dusting his hands from the work he’d paused.

Pearson and Javier all of a sudden made an appearance, and when you thought nothing could make this worse, the rest of the camp zoned in on the chaos, having had nothing better to do this whole day. It was slow, and there were no jobs to be done, so the boredom consumed minds jumped on the first sign of entertainment they could find, and boy was it something.

“We have an imposter in our midst!” She yelled, her arms waving around wildly.

“Hold on, now…” You tried to interject, but Arthur shot you a look, shaking his head. Don’t do it, kid. Just shut up.

“What do you mean an imposter?” Pearson crossed his arms. He was never one to give bad news of any kind to, because he had a tendency to blow it out of proportion. “Who?”

“That,” she pointed at you, her voice raised to the highest decibel count you knew was humanly possible. “Is not an eighteen year old boy! She has been fooling us all. Who even knows where she comes from, what her real name is!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?”

“The kid?”

“Ain’t no way…”

The rapid responses coming forward almost eased your mind, except for the fact that Susan did in fact have up close and personal proof from what she saw.

Arthur stepped forward, and as the murmurs grew louder, and Miss Grimshaw was prepared to go on another rant, he did all he could to calm the situation.

“Let’s not make any rash judgements right now,” he gave you a look, trying to let you see he was attempting to help, but that you needed to leave. “We’ll just wait until Dutch and Hosea get back.”

You took that as a cue to leave, awkwardly making way for your tent.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Susan tried to chase after you, but Arthur held her back.

“Wait for Dutch,” he said, his arm blocking her path. Who knows what she’d do in this state? She’d been known to whip some of the boys into compliance before, who knows what she’d do to someone she viewed as an imposter.

Sitting with the flaps closed, you could still hear everything that was occurring outside, and it nerved you far more than being in the middle of it all.

“It doesn’t make any sense…” and “Do you think it’s true?” could be heard from separate conversations, and you wished more than anything that you’d just done your own damn laundry.

Your face fell in your hands, and you started going over all the things that could happen. Dutch could hate you for lying to him, and kick you out, banishing you as far as you could go. Or, since you were a newbie, and didn’t have the trust factor built yet, maybe they would just shoot you dead. That may have been an extreme idea, but with your rapidly beating heart and increasing worry, things like that were bound to spill in. Not like you’d been in a gang before, you didn’t exactly get an etiquette and rule book when you arrived. Who knew what would happen to you. Nothing good, that you knew.

When Arthur finally opened the flap and leaned down inside the small dwelling, you knew it was time to face the music.

“Dutch is back, Susan’s tellin’ him everything,” he sighed, looking over your face and feeling a sense of guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop all of this. When you first arrived he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but having experienced this much drama in just the past hour has most definitely led him to believe he was wrong.

When you stayed silent, and didn’t really give him a reaction of any kind, he could tell you were hit hard with the anxiety and shock of it all. He couldn’t ever get you to shut up, and he often didn’t want to, most of all now when you looked like a scared animal.

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shook your head, and against your hardest efforts, tears were backing your eyes, looking for ways to escape. He hadn’t ever seen you like this, and it wasn’t pleasant.

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted. You liked it here. You weren’t lonely here, and you had a family… or at least you did an hour ago. You didn’t know where you stood with half of these people.

He couldn’t speak for Dutch or Hosea, or anyone else really, but he could speak for himself.

“I don’t want you to, either…”

When Arthur heard his name called, he leaned back, looking in the direction of his father figure, looking angrier than a pack of hungry wolves.

“Yeah?”

“Tell Brooks to see me, now.”

You didn’t even need the message relayed. You stood up, and followed Arthur out of the tent, your head down as you made the distance to the center tent, the big one you’d been at only a bit ago with council from your leader. You only hoped he’d be so forgiving when he found out you lied to him.

Arthur got into the tent first, mumbling a few things you were a little distracted to hear. You did catch the small ‘don’t be too hard on her’ fall from his mouth, though.

You sat down on the box chest, close to the exit of the tent, just in case things went south and you had to run. Not that you were thinking about running, but again, a million scenarios crossed your mind.

“Arthur, wait outside.”

You grew more tense as soon as those words were uttered, and so did Arthur it would seem.

“Dutch, I think I should-”

“Wait. Outside.”

He reluctantly did as he was told, walking far enough away that he wouldn’t be reprimanded, but still in your eye-line so he could keep an eye on you. He trusted Dutch with the gang members, but if he was considering kicking you out, that made you fair game.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” he took a long drag of the cigar he held between his fingers, blowing the smoke out when he turned his head to the side. “You know why you’re here.”

“I reckon I do,” you answered quietly, trying to keep an ounce of confidence though your entire body felt like it would start shaking in fear.

“I could have you stripped for the whole camp to see, but for propriety’s sake I’m only going to ask you this once… is it true?” He asked, his tone less stern but still eager.

“Yes.”

He sighed, having heard the softness in your voice since you came in, he already knew. You’d never shown this side of yourself to the camp before. You were always confident, sure of yourself, cocky even. To think it was an act boiled his skin… but he wanted to take his time with this. You still had capabilities the likes he’s never seen, and if he wasn’t careful they could one day be used against him. You didn’t know about the O’Driscolls yet, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have you running off and joining them. It would be the death of the Van Der Linde gang, of that he was certain.

“I’m gonna decide what to do with you, but until then, you stay out of my sight.”

He pointed outside of the tent, and you were honestly surprised that this was the extent of his questioning. Nothing about the lies? About the history? About anything at all?

You gave him a double glance, but scurried away in fears he might change his mind and tear you to shreds on the spot. You walked hastily towards Arthur, your face gaining more color to it once you were out of the line of danger.

“You alright?” He asked, his furrowed brows reflecting his concern.

“No,” you let out with a dramatic scoff. Your flare for over exaggeration was sometimes quite amusing to him. He just dropped his head and chuckled.

“You’re fine,” he patted your shoulder before stepping past you and going to talk to Dutch. What he knows is that Susan Grimshaw spilled every nasty detail of this afternoon to the camp leader, but he also knows that he hasn’t had his say yet, and when it comes down to it, Dutch will side with his loyal enforcer over a disgruntled Miss Grimshaw.

Dutch was stretching out his arms, sore from the ride in and out of town. It was a scouting trip, really, but it was enough to make him ache when all the stress was added.

“First John leaving, now this. I can’t seem to catch a break, can I?” Dutch sighed out after his words, the toll they took on his mind caused him to shake his head of so many thoughts.

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur began, tilting his head from side to side.

“How could you possibly think that?”

Arthur shrugged, reasoning with himself a few options before saying them out loud.

“S’not like she did any harm. Only thing that’s come of it is a bit of surprise to everyone…” he trailed, sitting across from the man he called his father figure and his friend. The tension seemed to ease up the second he neared the man, but there was more to be done to diffuse the situation, and he was all too happy to insert himself as the cause of said diffusion.

“She lied about who she is, for all we know she could be working with local law, or worse, the pinkertons.”

Dutch’s raised concerns nearly made Arthur chuckle. When you first got here, facade or not, you were still just lost and looking for somewhere to call home. There were never any motives behind your gang participation other than needing a family.

“We haven’t had them on our trail in ages. Coming here, we finally put a stop to their sniffin’ around. Besides, she’s been the reason for our successful jobs lately… she’s been loyal enough to save my life despite our differences.”

“But she lied to us,” Dutch kept driving his point. A liar’s a liar, and they lie about other things.

“She’s a scared kid, Dutch. She just wants a place to be,” Arthur defended, his arguments becoming more close and personal, which led Dutch to connect some other dots.

He sighed, looking at Arthur and coming to an understanding of what he knew were past events.

“You knew, didn’t you?”

Arthur dropped his head into a subtle nod, not yet meeting Dutch’s eyes for his fear of a bad reaction.

“Since the week she got here.”

Dutch had to laugh, because of course he did. Arthur was more in tune with the members of camp than he could ever be, and more than they could be with each other. He was like Hosea that way, his ability to connect and grow relationships with others was just a natural gift. He often thought it stemmed from Arthur’s great love of the unknown, and his endless curiosity.

“How’d you figure it out?”

“I didn’t, until I found some uh… rather feminine items in her saddle bag. She fessed up pretty quickly to me,” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling when he knew he wouldn’t be in any trouble.

“Well,” Dutch started, coming to the edge of his open tent, looking for the troubled recruit among the busy movement of the camp. “We’ve taken in much worse, and it’s always been in our favor. And you’re right… She's just a scared kid. A scared kid with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen.”

There was a moment, and then Arthur smiled.

“So… She’s free n’ clear?” He asked, his tone hopeful, which Dutch noticed. Perhaps Red had made amends after all, and just as Dutch promised, Arthur was in her corner. This wasn’t her time of need, per se, but he knew she would have him when it arrived.

“I suppose so, although… I’m not going to be responsible for the court of public opinion,” he gestured to everyone in the camp, frantically working around just to keep themselves busy. With all the chaos going on, it’s the only thing they can do not to sit and gossip, which they do anyway.

“I reckon I better keep her away from Susan?”

“With a ten foot pole, preferably,” Dutch rolled his eyes. That woman was full of determination, and it could be both a great strength, as well as her worst weakness.

Arthur smiled, ready to go make good on a promise he’d been waiting on for some time. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

You didn’t know if Arthur’s conversation with Dutch would benefit you or condemn you, but you didn’t stick around to find out. He’d found you saddling your horse, just in case a hasty escape needed to be made. Yes, perhaps your delusions were getting a bit out of hand.

“Where you goin’?”

“Depends,” you started, “How mad is he?”

Arthur huffed and grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “He ain’t mad.”

“No?” You could hardly believe it. “He seemed riled up to me.”

“I talked to him,” he explained, but gave no further intel.

“You got magic words or somethin’?” You chuckled, slightly more relaxed since the news came better than you hoped, and Arthur wasn’t dragging you back to be punished or anything. “What’d you tell him?”

“That you were gonna be loyal… and that you’d been scared.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to play off his last words like they weren’t true. “I ain’t scared.”

“Really? You were about to run, weren’t you?” He pointed to your full saddle bag and stocked up horse, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice.

You caved.

“He gave me a little fright is all,” you toed your boot into the dirt as you spoke, looking back up to find him nodding at your horse.

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet.

You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip.

“Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?”

It was just a joke, but he was getting tired of the overly dramatic interactions. He wasn’t sure what all transpired in your past, albeit knowing more than everyone else… even still, he figured there had to be something that gave you your theatrical touch.

“Knock it off, would ya?”

“Sorry.”

The ride wasn’t long, but the sun was down when you both tied your horses to the poll in front of the general store. You’d been in here a few times, and the man behind the counter always cowered in fear of Texas Red the unkillable. No matter your manners or gentility, that’s just how it was.

“What’re we doin’ here?” You adjusted your hat, wiping some sweat off your forehead and following him up the front steps.

“I remember sayin’ I’d get you a dress a while back, we’re here to make good on it.”

You stopped in your tracks, a wide smile blossoming on your face when you heard him say it. He’d remembered, and been waiting for it since the night he uttered the words.

He noticed you weren’t close behind him, and turned, catching the sweet expression you wore, but brushing it off with a sideways smile.

“C’mon now, gotta pick it out.”

You followed after him, and once inside, the man behind the counter seemed to be nervous, as usual. He didn’t seem to be weary of having you both in, just a bit anxious. Arthur knew his presence held power, but he figured with your reputation in this town, and others around… your presence was bound to hold more.

“What can I do for you? Need more socks?” The man asked you kindly, and you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you.

“No, we’re uh… we’re here to get a dress for my wife,” Arthur spoke evenly, his confidence showing through when he had to put on a show.

Your head snapped to him, and though you knew he was intending to buy the dress for you, a thought sprang into your mind. Abigail. She was going to be his wife.

This sweet little moment, with Arthur keeping his promise, and making a big to-do over your acceptance into camp, was all part of your own little fantasy. It wouldn’t last, and when you returned to camp, he’d be with her again, helping with Jack. You tried to shake the thought from your mind, wanting to enjoy this sliver of time with him.

“Of course! I’ve got a new selection,” he pulled out the catalog, and opened the pages to a section with different types of skirts, petticoats, chemises, and corsets. All were beautiful, but your eye was drawn to a more simple style. It was a work dress, which would be far more practical for you than any of the other ones.

“I’m not too good with all this. What do you think, Red? Which one would she like best?” He tossed you a smirk, leaning his elbow on the counter while he let you browse over the pages a bit longer, turning them over with a furrowed brow of focus.

“What color does this one come in?” You asked the man over the counter, keeping your act up, but letting your hints of excitement show through.

“That one is a nice pale blue, perfect for spring and summer time,” he spoke firmly, becoming more relaxed the longer you both were in the store. Yes, he’d heard the whispers, and for you, he’d actually seen your acts of a quick trigger. But here, you didn’t seem like a threat, so he stopped acting like you were.

“Blue, huh… Might bring out her eyes a bit, hey Arthur?” Now it was your turn to smirk, and he chuckled, nodding back to you and tapping the page twice with a heavy finger.

“You’re right it would, make em’ look like crystal,” he played along, making you blush under the brim of your hat, unbeknownst to the man behind the counter.

“It’s gotta be that one, then.”

Arthur chuckled, counting out the cash that the dress price was listed under, tossing it down on the counter and nodding to the man.

“You heard the kid, we’ll take that one,” he spoke in a playful tone, ignoring the movements of the man as he scurried to the back rooms, getting your dress pieces together.

Arthur lifted the brim of your hat, and smiled genuinely at the look on your face. It was excited, sweet, and grateful. He wanted to buy you the entire stock of the store just to ensure that look stayed on your face, no matter the irrationality of it. He’d become quite accustomed to giving you his time and his efforts, and this was no different. The only difference is that now he wanted to, wholeheartedly. The deal you’d struck with him, the one where you were going to teach him your methods of shooting faster, were now null and void. He didn’t want to take anything from you, he just wanted to give.

When the store worker returned with a large box in hand, Arthur thanked him for his time, carrying the thing over his shoulder and heading for the door, which you opened for him.

Getting outside, you went for the horses, but he stopped you with a swat of your hand away from the reins.

“Can’t go back yet, gotta see how this looks on ya,” he insisted, nodding for you to follow him yet again. He walked for a bit before coming up on the shed with a small lantern inside. It looked like it only housed tools and ropes and things of the like, but there was space enough to change in. “Came across this when I was out one day. Took a whole nap before someone realized I was in here.”

“How convenient,” you teased, taking the box from his hands and eagerly walking into the confined space.

“I’ll be out here,” he mumbled as you shut the door, putting a shovel against it since it didn’t really even close all the way.

You knew he wasn’t the peeping type, so you began tearing away at your clothes, the ones that had been worn completely through by now and needed replacing anyway. You had more back at camp, but you had always missed dresses. This would be the first of many you would probably buy for yourself, but it was going to remain your favorite, because of who it came from.

It was just like clock work, muscle memory helping you to remember all the little ties and snaps that needed to be in place, the corset laces that needed to be pulled enough to fit the outer fabrics. You knew you probably needed a good hair brushing and face washing to actually look like a young woman again, but for now, the dress was doing wonders on your self esteem… or at least it did until you realized you couldn’t finish putting it on by yourself. The buttons on the back went up higher than your shoulder blades, and sat in a near impossible spot to reach. If there was a mirror, you could probably just contort yourself enough to get it together, but in a dark, barely lit tool shed, your options were limited.

You sighed, pulling the shovel away from the door and peaking your head outside. Arthur had nearly gone through an entire cigarette in the time you took to change.

“Arthur?” You asked timidly.

“M’here, you alright?”

“I can’t reach the back,” you admitted, just slightly embarrassed. “Can you give me a hand?”

He was all too happy to comply, stomping out the cigarette on the ground and taking quick steps to reach you. “Turn around.”

You did as he told you, turning so he had access to the open back of the dress. He couldn’t see you all too well in this light, but even from what he could see, a few words entered his mind from a past conversation you had with him.

I used to be quite the stunner… and he surely believed it.

His fingers caressed the exposed skin of your back before buttoning the fabric closed, smoothing it down over your shoulders and watching the way it fit you perfectly.

“Don’t mention this to Abigail,” you joked, turning back around and trying to keep the mood light. It was beginning to feel too intimate, and you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that way with Arthur anymore.

“Why?”

“Well, I might be a bit old fashioned, but isn’t it frowned upon for a taken man to be helping another woman with her dress?”

It was just another joke, but he seemed to be completely thrown off by the implications.

“I ain’t a taken man,” he confessed, looking at you with a stare that was all too deep, and all too consuming. He needed to stop that, but you didn’t have the heart to make him.

“Not yet,” you corrected, but again it was you in the wrong.

“No,” he shook his head, trying to bring a serious tone to the conversation. “I’m not gonna marry Abigail.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, thinking about all the times when he collapsed in her tent with Jack, just to get up and help him in the night. He was Jack’s new father, wasn’t he? That was the deal he made.

“Why not? I thought that you were- well since you were helping with Jack and… what about your deal?”

“I said I was gonna do right by this boy, and I am… But Abigail won’t have me,” he shrugged, admitting to the rejection she gave of his offer. “She’s still in love with John, n’ I can understand it.”

It should have made you feel a bit of sadness, to know that even with all that Arthur was, someone would turn him away like that. ‘Abigial won’t have me’ sounded like perhaps he thought himself not good enough, just as he always does. Despite all of this, you didn’t feel sorrow, you felt an abundance of joy. A wide smile spread across your cheeks, and he furrowed his brow.

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you dropped the smile and shook it off, running a hand up his arm and giving it a sincere squeeze. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you’ve meant well.”

“S’alright. Hosea’s been tellin’ me since Jack was born that I shouldn’t have offered. He doesn’t think we’re right for one another, somethin’ like that.”

“I agree, you’re not right for each other,” you spoke out loud, though that thought was meant only for your head.

Arthur seemed to be catching on slightly to your behavior, stepping a bit closer and staring downwards at you.

“Yeah? And who am I right for?” He teased, watching the redness of your cheeks spread down your neck and shoulders with every breath you took.

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” you did your best to counter his taunts, stepping away from him and going to collect your old clothes from the shed. Once they were in hand you turned back to the opening of the alley, making way for the horses. “You coming?”

And of course, he followed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath.

The next day fared better than you thought it would, if you’re being honest.

You didn’t really know why, if Dutch had said anything, or if Hosea did, but after you returned to camp the previous night, everyone seemed to be acting just fine. They treated you differently for sure, but not badly. In fact, you noticed the men had a certain kind of reverence to you that they never held before. The same they did with the other women.

Maybe it was just the beautiful dress that Arthur bought for you, the light and pure color of it giving you a sense of being ethereal, having finally exposed the raw feminine beauty that was hiding for so long. You reckon you’d even start growing out your hair again, as the short style coming to your chin was not how you preferred to have it in the first place.

You still went to work doing the same tasks you normally did, but were careful not to rip your dress or over-exert yourself, given you were still in the same physical condition as the day before.

“Charl- I mean, Miss Brooks?”

You heard a voice chirp softly from beside you, and you dropped the wagon supplies for now to walk over to the owner of said voice, Tilly.

“Yes, Miss Tilly?” You extended a smile, and she smiled back, albeit a tight and awkward one from where she was sitting. You took a step or two closer, and she had to shake her head after getting a better look at you.

“I just-” she cut herself short on account of the words already jumbling in her head. “I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”

You furrowed your brow to her, unsure of what she could have possibly meant.

“Why would there be?”

“Well, if you can recall,” she started, a nervous chuckle in her speech. “I tried to make some… advances towards you. Back when I thought you were uh… a young man.”

You smiled again and ducked your head, a scoff of laughter and a nod of your head brought about less tension. It was no big deal.

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tilly. I was the one who tricked ya, I oughta be apologizing. Probably should to Abigail, too.”

“Abigail?”

You tilted your head, recalling the scene. About two weeks before Jack was born. You’d done the same thing Arthur did, with not a care of revealing yourself in the future.

“Before John even left, I offered her to be Jack’s ‘father’ when he was born. I guess I was pretty certain at the time no one was gonna find out,” you explained, leaning against the wagon she sat by, mending a shirt that looked like Arthur’s. You could tell by the wear and tear around the shoulders, where his broadness likely just caused the fabric to break down faster.

“Could you really have gone on like that?”

“I don’t know,” you pondered, another small laugh escaping you. “Maybe not, since I had to tell everyone I was eighteen just for them to believe it.”

“You aren’t eighteen?” She seemed surprised. Maybe you just had a young face.

“No, ma’am. Twenty two nearing twenty three as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll say,” she tutted, throwing down the shirt she was finished with, and picking up a new one. “You had us all convinced. Makes me wonder where you really came from.”

You thought about telling her, but the story was long and today was a busier day than before. There was actual work to be done in preparing for the next job, a few days ahead.

“Some place I didn’t wanna be,” you chided, stepping away from the wagon, nodding to her in thanks for the small chat. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you around,” she spoke sweetly, a kind look of relaxation on her face, now that she knew where she stood.

You went back to work, making sure that neither Dutch nor Hosea saw you with idle hands today. You wanted to make sure that no matter what happened now, you wouldn’t be cast aside. You still had the abilities they needed, but with a skirt on your hips, they saw you differently, and it was up to you to show them you were not going to be ignored when it came to jobs in the future.

You hated that the rest of the women in camp were just seen as stationary helpers, only capable of mending clothes or cleaning up the camp, or even just laying the groundwork in town for the men to actually pull jobs. You’ve seen Abigail in action, she was smart and cunning and had a great way with words, she could be the difference in things staying civil or having a shoot out during a quiet robbery, but the men overlook her gifts. You know the women in this camp have great potential, and perhaps if they let you continue as you have been, they will open the opportunities for the others as well.

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#arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x original female character #arthur morgan x you

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08melancholie · 5 months ago

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Heyy i know u don't usually write about Kieran but i literally cannot stop thinking abt him rip..... if u want to i'd be absolutely overjoyed to see ur take on some sweet stuff with him, like how he'd react to the reader taking him out for a date night and essentially spoiling the shit out of him. I'm talking fancy restaurant, nice bath, warm bed, a massage and lots of praise (maybe even a .. "special reward" if u wanna write that 🤭) . Might even be fun to see how you'd write other characters in this scenario! Especially Arthur and maybe even Micah :3

thank you so much!

-🥐

omgomg yes. i literally love kieran like a little brother ive never had. he is all too precious to me and i miss him dearly </3

I absolutely can do Kieran and Micah.... got a long night ahead of me so I have the time🫦 (doing gn!reader btw)

wasn't gonna include "special reward" related hcs at first butttt.... i couldn't help myself. ill put a little marking for when the nsfw part comes up. was gonna do arthur but id totally write him ooc, sorry :(

Kieran

SFW

Definitely assumes you're trying to tease him at first, telling him the entire plan of pampering the life out of him just to laugh in his face. Wouldn't be the first time someone's teased him this way, so he'd be quite wary about who he trusts and whatnot in camp.

Realises you're being serious after you get agitated with him and tell him you're serious for the millionth time, then gets mildly nervous about going out alone with you. He's very appreciative of the thought, and will thank you more times than generally necessary.

"What? You.. you serious? Oh, naw.. I couldn't possibly—well, it's rude to turn it down..."

First stop; General store. You get him much better quality boots and he thanks you profusely. He feels bad about asking, but simply can't leave without buying Branwen a little treat; an apple or rice cake, nothing too much. Splits it in half when you exit the store and let's you feed your half to his horse, who is definitely a fan of the chin scratches you offer afterwards.

Followed up by a few quick drinks, some hope that a little alcohol in your bodies will help you both loosen up a bit, more-so Kieran who is still skittish.

Beers to start with a shot whiskey both.

Kieran scrunches his face slightly and you call him a wimp. This has him pouting at you; Which is adorable.

He's somewhere between a lightweight and a 'normal' drinker, but four beers seems to already make him a bit giddy and much more relaxed, much to your liking

Next, you're dragging him across the street to get yourselves both a room in the hotel and a bath. Instant flashback to John calling him a stinky O'Driscoll. </3

Minimal protest from Kieran, but he lets you do your thing.

You buy the bath for yourselves first and the room for later. You pay and lead Kieran to the reserved room. Locking the door after him and yourself, you lean on the door and wait for him to get in.

"What—in.. in front of you? You... can't exit for a minute.?"

You can't tell if he's getting red in the face from the alcohol consumption or current situation he's in. Either way, you think it's cute.

NSFW

He doesn't know if it's smarter to quickly strip and jump into the water, or to go slowly; you're staring at him either way.

He opts for a medium pace, very carefully handling his new boots and peeling his shirt off first. He's a bit scrawny and more pinkish than tan, light strawberry skin. He has minimal scarring on his body, nothing too serious.

His pants follow and he starts to nervously fumble with the restrains by now, feeling you still looking at him and eyeing every action he takes. He lets his trousers drop and follows with his drawls. You've probably never seen someone drop their underwear so quickly. He instantly jumps into the bath to keep himself at least partially decent—even after you've seen everything already.

He really enjoys higher temperature water since you can't much afford warm baths like these, so he's being very thankful as he basks in the soapy, hot water in front of you.

You lean off the door and walk to the bath. You fold and put his clothes away before rolling your sleeves up and sitting on the edge of the the tub behind him; like the bath girls do it. You've seen it enough times to know what to do.

You purposefully dip your hands very close to his thighs, sides and arms, throughly enjoying each and every time he squirms or grumbles a little whiny noise from inside his chest.

You rub his entire body, no crevice left untouched by your hands. It might be the hot water he's been soaking inside of, but you can feel just how much warmer his skin is with every touch of your hands caressing his whole frame.

You work your way from his shoulders down his torso, ask him to lift his legs and do those—all up to his stomach where you instead stand up, walk a few steps and lean over the tub.

You make sure to brush just barely out of reach when going over his stomach. He can't help throatily whining again, his head leaning back in frustration. This goes on for a few more minutes until you've physically touched every part of him—all but one very active part.

You got him a mess in the bathtub; sweating, whining, giving you pleading eyes. It's a goddamn sight that has you wanting to sling him over your shoulder and carry to your reserved room instantly.

"You can't just do all'a that... Don't be mean.."

You let him soak in his uncomfortableness for a good few minutes, watching him switch between pleased from the nice bath water to squirmy from lack of caring for his little problem.

"Please, don't leave me like this..."

God, those eyes could get you to do anything. You've never stumbled into a hotel room so quickly, having instantly gotten him decent and practically dragged him out of the baths.

Focused on him the rest of the night, doing anything he (silently) asked for and just putting your own, aching need aside for the time being

Micah bonus <3

SFW

Instantly declined at first, grumbling something about not needing your charity. Instantly agreed when you mentioned drinks at the saloon.

"Guess it wouldn't hurt, would it?"

You get him into town and start off in the gun store, obviously. You let him pick out three upgrades to his revolvers since you know he won't buy any new ones, he only ever really uses his own guns.

He's very satisfied, turning his guns in his hands and inspecting them with the new additions you got him.

You lead him towards the saloon next, for the promised drinks.

He drinks your wallet out with ease, shot after shot and he isn't even near drunk yet, comfortably tipsy at most.

You settle for two beers for yourself, and he teased you about the situation again.

"I'm on my fifth whiskey and you're still only drinking beers? Hah!"

You slap his shoulder and continue to drink, wanting to get to the best part rather quickly.

He downs his last whiskey and his empty glass settles next to your empty bottles, both of you leaving.

"What, a bath? That what you think I'll like?"

He's skeptical but agrees, might be nice to enjoy himself a bit more. And he probably stinks.

You get him inside and watch the smirk on his face when you buy a bath—and a room for later.

"Getting bold on me, are 'ya?"

You lock the two of you inside the bathroom and gesture for him to strip. You're still looking, and it just makes him laugh while slipping his coat off and placing his hat on a nearby table.

He doesn't mind you watching, it just grows the sly smile on his face furthermore.

He gets his naked body into the water and lets out a little "oooh" noise, his white eyelashes fluttering with his eyes as he takes in the bordering perfect temperature, relaxing into the tub behind him.

You watch him get in, blissful look on his usually grumpy face. He watches you with a smirk, asking if you'll be joining—joking about it, obviously.

NSFW

You leave him to enjoy the water for.. maybe three minutes, before you can't help yourself anymore.

His eyes go from lidded and content to wide and surprised, lips parted as he watched your undershirt get unbuttoned, revealing skin little by little.

He's very quick to compose himself, comfortably watching you strip yourself fully bare.

You manage to surprise him a second time by dipping yourself down on his abdomen, and the grin on his face just widens, his chuckle echoing through the bathroom.

"You're reeeally going all out on me tonight, huh?"

His hands quickly find your sides and, assuming consent, he starts touching up your entire form; waist, hips, thighs. He rubs his fingers up to the underside of your chest, your lower and upper back.

"'Ya know, you've taken real good care of me tonight, and I'm feelin' generous; let's return the favour, yeah?"

And that he without a doubt did; officially having no use for the room you bought anymore.

The tables get turned on you and he's quick to initiate some good ole bathtub intimacy.

That's the story of how you got banned from the hotel in Valentine because of a noise complaint. Multiple noise complaints. And a high water bill.

i love cowboys <3

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painfully-painful-pain · 22 days ago

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I NEED to see the figures of Arthur Pop, Scary Mary, Mazuiko and Roxanna out of all the other urbz listed that were posted on Reddit. Mary Mazuiko and Roxanna solely because of personal preference but I wanna know if Arthur has his intended hair color or still the default blonde/greyish hair tone he has in-game.

Edit: Oops. I forgot Roxanna was already shown... Still.

These guys MUST have been released because atomic toys listed them as bestsellers on their website. And it was also available to purchase for incredibly cheap (compared to their aftermarket prices of their GBA figures that are up on eBay for 200 fucking bucks for only 2/4 packs). What happened to all those buyers/ console figures???? Like they can't just disappear into thin air. They have to be SOMEWHERE besides those Reddit images.

#the urbz #urbz #sims urbz #the urbz sims in the city

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multifandomworldsposts · 1 year ago

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Day 14 of Kinkmas: In A Boat With Arthur Curry

Pairing: Arthur Curry x fem!reader

Warning: unprotected sex, hickeys

Y/N’s POV

Arthur has been wanting me to go on his new boat that he recently purchased and he’s just over the moon by it so I’m excited to get on it and see what’s going on with it!

“You like it?” He whispers in my ear while I look at the boat.

“I love it! It looks so cool!” I answer.

When we got on the boat Arthur gave me a tour. There’s seats in the front, the steering wheel on the boat looks interesting, there’s a bed in the boat, there’s a bar, and a really cool refrigerator at the bar. I’m excited what’s going to happen in the future with this boat.

“You wanna do a test drive?” He asks getting comfortable sitting on a chair that’s for the captain.

“Sure! Lead the way captain.” I say.

I can tell he likes that answer by him grinning.

He drives us around the ocean and I look out to see the ocean and it looks beautiful, some of the islands I saw that I’ve never seen before looked beautiful. I walk around to see other angles of the ocean and I went to see what Arthur is doing. When he realizes me, he reaches out to me so I can hug him while looking out to see the water.

“How do you feel about the view?” He says focusing on the water.

“It’s amazing, I’ve never been in this section of the ocean before, I love it Art.” I say looking at the view and then Arthur.

“I’m glad you like it, I wanna show you something.” He says driving into a small cove.

When we get into the cove and Arthur stops the boat and drops the anchor. I get confused, I didn’t see any food for a picnic. I don’t know what’s going on?

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“Let’s go somewhere private.” He whispers in my ear.

He walks down to a door that leads to the bed, I already know what’s going to happen. I follow him but he goes to bar and gets some champagne for me and some beer for him and pours them in glasses and gives me the champagne.

“Thank you.” I say taking the glass away from Arthur.

“I hope you’re liking what you’ve seeing out of the water.” He says drinking his beer.

“I love it and I was actually looking at you half of the time.” I say getting closer to him.

“Oh really? I never noticed.” He says looking down at me.

“You were paying attention to the water I believe.” I say.

He does this smirk. He begins to kiss me, I kiss him back, we both go to the bed together but we’re still kissing. We lay down on the bed which is so comfortable. Arthur takes his clothes off and helps me taking mine off.

We kiss again, he gives me pecks on my body, I kinda giggle but I gasp. I can feel him laughing on my skin but it makes me giggle again.

Eventually, we begin to have sex. I scratch his back by him going in and out of me. I scream by him fucking me hard and I can feel the bed shaking and banging on the wall. He eventually gives me hickeys. I give him some as well but I can tell someone is going to make fun of him by the scratches on him and the hickeys.

10 MINUTES LATER

We’re laying on the bed heavy breathing. That felt so nice to be honest. I want to do this again sometime, that was different than what we normally do.

#fanfic #fanfiction #kinkmas 2023 #kinkmas #arthur curry smut #arthur curry #jason momoa x reader #jason momoa imagines #jason momoa smut #jason momoa #dc #dc imagine #dc vs marvel

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emeritusemeritus · 2 years ago

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Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight. Pt 11.

[Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley]

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Title: Just wanna bewitch you in the moonlight.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Timeline: Predominately set between GOF and OOTP (some canon has been altered to fit the story)

Summary: Both twins like Gryffindor!reader. Reader likes both twins. How will she decide who to chose in the end? Amortentia might be able to help, or not.

Warnings: Smut, oral sex, p in v sex, established relationships, threesomes, friends to lovers, all the good stuff. NO Twincest. Mentions of illness, Brief mentions of vomiting. Tiny bit of angst, possessiveness, talk of kids. Mentions of dominant behaviour. Snape has a soft spot for reader. Love potions? But none are actually used. Threesomes, MMF Threesome, again No Twincest. Not beta-read nor spell checked, we die like Sirius ❤️

This chapter took on a life of it’s own and I’m not remotely sorry. I need a very cold shower now. 🌹

You walked out of the coffee shop feeling revitalised and refreshed from seeing your muggle best friend and her dad. You felt like you'd been recharged back in the muggle world and were excited to go back to the wizarding world once again. The small ounce of guilt at still not being able to chose between the twins was still present inside of you, the angst sitting at the base of your stomach never quite extinguishing itself, but for now it was manageable.

You'd been gone quite a while and you knew the twins would be waiting for you somewhere so you scurried out of the cafe and threw your arms around your friend as you both babbled about missing each other and seeing each other soon.

Adam pulled you into a hug as you said goodbye and as you pulled away, you noticed two figures off in the distance, a familiar shade of red flashing in your mind.

You grabbed Val by the hand as you pulled away from Adam and subtly nodded towards where the twins were stood trying to be subtle about watching and waiting for you. She lets out a small gasp and pulls you in for a hug again, whispering in your ear, "that's them?! They're so tall! No wonder you can't chose!"

You laugh and say goodbye again, telling her that you'd write, reminding her once again that your 'boarding school' is Scotland doesn't allow telephones.

You make your way over to the twins who have wide smiles on their faces as you approach.

"Enjoy seeing your friend princess?" Fred asks, as George suspiciously bumps your hand against his, as if he intended to hold it.

"It was great thank you, I'm sorry if I'm late," you apologise, walking instep with them as you head back towards Diagon alley. You reach to take your bag from George's shoulder but he doesn't let you carry it, responding to your protests with an overly innocent smile. You notice they've bought a couple of bits from the joke shop, namely the no heat fireworks.

Upon returning to Diagon alley, you nipped into sugarplum's sweet shop to get a box of chocolates for Molly and Arthur as a little thank you gift for taking you in this week, managing to get a selection box full of Molly's favourites. You only hoped they didn't melt in the heat on the way home.

You found Harry, Ginny and Ron a little while later outside of Wiseacre's and had all set out to meet Molly and Arthur, ready to return home. As you were walking down the street, Fred mumbled something to George and they walked off ahead looking at a boarded up shop at the top of the street, one that you'd never really noticed before, next to the quidditch supply shop and a few shops up from Ollivanders.

Just as you walked around the corner towards the leaky cauldron a few fat drops of rain hit you unexpectedly. Within mere seconds, a loud crack above you rang out and all the heavens opened up, instantly soaking you all. Everyone fled like their life depended on it, desperate to get out of the rain that was bucketing it down.

Ginny squealed as you all ran straight towards the leaky cauldron where you'd planned to meet their parents, narrowly avoiding the dangerous, slippy cobblestones. George grabbed your hand as you ran, ensuring you stayed close by him and not getting caught up or pulled away in the rush of others fleeing.

You finally made it to the leaky cauldron and heaved a breath of relief as you ran under the shelter, each of you soaked to the skin. You began laughing at the sudden turn of events as you looked at your friends, seeing that they all looked like drowned rats.

Ron's hair was stuck flat to his face, Ginny looked horrified as she tried to ring out her hair whilst Harry attempted to de-fog his glasses, shaking his shoulders to try and get off excess water.

Fred and George were vigorously shaking their heads in the corner, like dogs to try and dry their long hair a little, unbothered by who might be on the receiving end of their splattering.

"Are you sure you're not animagi?" You joked as they stopped whipping their hair about.

You pulled the hair bobbles out of your hair and untangled your wet braids, hoping to release a little of the water and checked your clothes, ringing out the bottom of your skirt in a sad attempt to dry off.

Arthur barked out a laugh as you all rounded the corner and saw them sat at one of the large family style tables whilst Molly at least attempted to stifle her laugh. With a flick of her wand, you were all dried immediately, now just looking entirely unkempt as you made your way to the car.

When you arrived back at the Burrow, the rain was still going strong, the blistering sun and heat of the day just a memory now as it tipped it down with no sign of stopping.

Molly had been to the little street vendor just outside Diagon Alley and had collected a selection of vegetables for dinner and immediately set to washing and chopping them up when you returned. You offered to help her but she declined, telling you to go with your friends and have fun. You had flicked the kettle on to make a cup of tea, wanting something warming and soothing after getting wet in the rain and made sure to secretly make her one too, just as a small token of appreciation. You left it next to the chopping board as she nipped into the pantry, just so she'd know it was for her.

When you turned back to the lounge, the twins weren't there and so you made your way up to their bedroom, pausing briefly to knock on the door before you entered.

"What are you two plotting?" You asked, seeing them huddled around on the bed, their purchases from the day laid out in front of them. You closed the door and walked straight to their chest of drawers and pulled out one of their big sweaters that you wanted to wear, the softest one you could find. You peeled off your little summer top and then your bra, wanting to feel comfortable and cozy as the rain carried on and then slipped the soft, green jumper over your body. You couldn't help but lift the sleeve of the jumper up to your nose and try to subtly smell the comforting blend of them both, feeling cosier already.

When you turned slightly, you felt their eyes upon you; they were watching you with rapt attention, clearly not missing you getting undressed or your little weird smell test. You switched out your socks for a pair of big, fluffy ones, wiggling your toes at the overwhelming comfort you felt. You blushed under their gaze and bent down to reach for a big claw clip you kept in your case, clipping back your hair until you showered later. You kept your skirt on from earlier, still wanting to feel a little cute and turned to climb onto the bed with them, sensing that they were watching your every move.

"What?" You asked as you climbed onto the bed, noticing their eyes still trained on you.

"Has she ever looked more beautiful to you?" Fred says to George who shakes his head in reply.

"Didn't think it was possible," he answers, looking utterly smitten. You have to fight the blush that threatens to break out over your face as you tell them to stop.

"Have you two accidentally drank some love potions?" You joke, reaching out to grab the firework they'd procured from the joke shop, looking it over.

"Don't need it princess," Fred says smugly, reaching out for you as he pulls you closer, sliding you across the bed until you nearly end up in his lap. As he drags you, your skirt flips up and exposed your lilac, lace panties which George openly stares at. You rush to cover yourself again as Fred begins kissing your neck, enjoying the sight and feel of you squirming in his lap. You laugh as his kisses turn to blowing raspberries on your neck and manage to break free, sitting down beside him as you lounge on the bed.

"Think your mum would mind if I had a bath later? The rain makes me feel so cozy." You ask, stretching out your legs as he lean back against Fred's pillows.

"Sure she wouldn't mind angel," George says, as Fred simply shrugs, focusing back on the fireworks in front of them. You pull out your book from off the bedside table and begin reading, knowing that they didn't need your help right now.

"George focus," Fred says sharply after a minute or two as they tinker about. You look over to the squabbling siblings and see George rapidly blinking, as if he's trying to focus himself. His hips move subtly in a way you know exactly what it means as you notice the way he's slightly hunched over, making a little grin appear on your face as you think of the ways you could mess with him.

"Georgie, everything alright?" You put on your most innocent look at you s glance at him with doe eyes, biting your lip for effect as your voice drips smoothly like caramel. You don't miss the slight widening of his eyes at your voice and of your words as he fumbles for a reply. His hips shift again and you move your sock covered foot and smooth leg to rub against his clothed thigh, opening your legs with the movement and 'accidentally' flashing the crotch of your panties to him.

"Merlin," he mutters as he catches sight of your light purple panties underneath your skirt and you knew right then that you'd got him. He adjusts himself in his trousers, wiggling his hips once again, still trying to hide the fact that he's hard.

"Oi, what's up with you?" Fred says, completely oblivious, briefly looking up towards his brothers face before going back to his project.

George's gaze suddenly slips to your face and catches your smug little smirk, realising then that you'd been playing him all along. Without a moments hesitation, he lunges for you and reaches out to grab your ankles, pulling you closer to him and exposing your panties once again as your skirt rides up with the movement.

"Little minx trying to rile me up, think you could get away with it that easily?" He asks darkly as his long, deft fingers begin to stroke your exposed thighs, the sensation alone making your nipples harden under their sweater. Dominant George was not something you often encountered but by god it was arousing when it came out. "It is just a game for you, trying to get me hard and aching in my trousers?"

"No, no Georgie," you say weakly, though he can see straight through it.

"Tell me right now why I shouldn't bend you over my knee and spank you, right here in front of Fred," he says, gripping onto your thighs. You gasp, mind going blank at the very thought as your arousal pools, starting to seep into your panties.

Suddenly he smirks and looks down at you with a dark grin. "Seems to me that's exactly what you want, so why should I make it easy for you?"

He suddenly throws your legs off of him, pulling away and leaving you aroused and exposed on the bed. You have to fight back a whine at the sudden loss of contact but you just about manage to stay silent as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes.

"Be good for us and you'll get what you need later."

Just like that, the moment is over and you're reeling, wondering how exactly you teasing George had turned into you dripping wet and without any satisfaction, the lingering feeling of his hands on your thighs only worsening your problem. You turn your head to see George has left the room and you're alone with Fred on the bed.

"Don't look at me for help princess, you started it teasing Georgie," he says, sensing your gaze at him. You huff and roll over onto your front, not even bothering to flip your skirt back down. George comes back in a few minutes later and you hardly acknowledge each other, a strange tension passing between you both as neither of you know how to communicate after your little interaction.

A little while later, Fred curses as one of the fireworks slips out of his hands and immediately ignites on the floor, sparking it and omitting a loud whine as it crackles. George immediately pulls you closer to him, straight onto his lap, trying to shield you from the incoming explosion as Fred dives out of the way.

The room is immediately filled with noise and pyrotechnics, prisms of colour and shapes sparking and exploding midair as it flies around the room at high velocity, bouncing off the walls and nearly knocking down the books on the top bookshelf in the corner. Eventually it begins to slow, the noise fading to a quiet whine as it begins to crackle and splinter until it erupts into a loud bang, the last remaining gunpowder detonating into a resounding bang as coloured powder explodes from within it. The powder magically fades and settles into the air, leaving a smog in the small room that lingers for minutes after.

You immediately hear Molly yelling as she climbs the stairs, her voice getting louder and louder with her approach as she begins calling the twins names with vengeance.

She slams open the door, already fired up and yelling at the boys, pausing only briefly when she sees you in George's lap, clearly him protecting you from the firework, shock evident on both of your faces. You fight to climb off of him, having to act neutral and you immediately apologise to her, telling her it was an accident.

She softens a little, seeing your remorse the slight fear in your eyes from the surprise of the firework before turning to the boys who now stand together, pointing and wagging her finger at them, berating them for setting off the firework inside.

"Sorry mum," they mumble in unison, looking down at the floor in remorse which you doubted was real, until Molly walked out of the door, telling you that tea was almost ready.

"Well at least we know not to drop them," Fred chuckles, moving the other fireworks to the desk, handling them a little more carefully now.

George moves to stand behind you, slipping his hand down to your bum underneath your skirt, giving you a little fright at the unexpected contact.

"Don't think I've forgotten earlier Angel," he whispers in your ear, patting your bum gently, making you immediately want to squeeze your thighs together for a hint of relief.

Molly calls you all for tea and you sit beside the twins as you eat the delicious chicken and vegetable stew she'd made from the fresh veg she'd bought earlier. The main chatter is about the torrential rain that had still not stopped nor slowed all evening, a stark contrast to the hot summer day you'd expected. As the meal comes to an end, you ask Molly if she'd mind you having a bath rather than a shower and she of course agrees, even going as far as to tell you where her best bath salts and oils were if you wanted to use them.

After dinner you walked into the twin's room to gather some bits for your bath, fresh pyjamas, panties and your hairbrush when George walked in without Fred, giving you a smug little look.

"I want you to do something for me, Angel," he says, grabbing something off the desk before walking up to you and linking your free hand with his.

"Anything Georgie."

He leans down and whispers in your ear, dangerously close and low in tone, "don't touch yourself in the bath... I'll know."

He then parts your hands and walks back out of the door, shooting you a little wink as he exits, "enjoy your bath."

You take a deep breath once George had left, steadying yourself from the overwhelming arousal coursing through your body. You'd been a little on edge since your altercation earlier and you felt like you were on a hair trigger now.

You huffed out a breath and set off towards the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you as you began to run the bath, adding a few bath oils that Molly had told you to use earlier. You kept the claw clip in your hair and stripped down, placing your fresh clothes on the little, wooden chair whilst your old ones were strewn carelessly on the floor, everything except the twins' jumper, that was hung against the back of the chair. When the bath was the perfect temperature, you stepped in and felt yourself relax almost instantly.

The hot water, soothing oils and the sound of the heavy rain falling against the roof was enough to make you feel cozy and relaxed, your naked body shifting down in the water until only the tops of your breasts were visible. You laid there and thought back to the day you'd had, smiling as you thought of Val and finally seeing her again. But then you remembered the little tally and the questions of trying to chose and your face fell again, reminding you of the inevitable expiry date on one, if not both, of your relationships.

You tried to think of something else to push down these negative thoughts and immediately thought of George earlier and the promise you'd made. Truthfully, you'd had no intention of touching yourself whilst you were in the bath but it seemed that his words, the low whisper into your ear and the dominant actions earlier had all fuelled a fire within you so that now it was the only thing you could think about.

Your nipples began to harden in the water, just poking out from the layer of bubbles on the surface as you thought of George and by extension, Fred. You were suddenly overwhelmingly aware that you were completely naked, aroused and completely bare and there truly was nothing to stop you from slipping your hand down between your legs if you wanted to, but you couldn't.

You wanted your boyfriends desperately, needing a resolve to your erotic torment and the slight risk that you wouldn't get what you needed was enough to stop your hand from wandering, instead choosing to push those aroused thoughts from your mind and focus on the pitter patter of the rain. It didn't work and suddenly your nice and relaxing bath turned to be a mere obstacle to the pleasure you craved.

You quickly pulled the plug out of the bath allowing the water to drain as you stepped out and into a big fluffy towel. You shot a look at your clothes on the chair and thought twice, gathering them in your arms rather than putting them on, seeing them as only one more barrier.

You crept down to the twins room, opening and closing the door behind you as they looked at you in surprise at your lack of clothes, though the towel covered everything.

"Did you enjoy your bath princess?" Fred asks innocently, though his tone conveying the same thing. He looks like he can barely contain a knowing smirk, much like his very smug looking brother.

"It was lovely thank you," you said, not biting. You walked over to the hamper and threw your dirty clothes in, including their jumper from today and instead of dressing, you bent down to reach for something in your case, absently searching as your mind considered all the possibilities on how you were going to seduce them.

You'd first go for the easy, straight shot. You knew they were watching you, you could feel the heat of their gazes upon your skin and so you bit back a smirk, reached up to pull the clip out of your hair, loosened your towel just slightly at the top and moved to stand up. Of course, your loosely wrapped towel couldn't withstand the movement and as you stood up straight, the towel fell completely off, landing in a heap at your feet. You let out a well timed gasp as if you were reacting and pretended to scramble for the towel one again.

"Merlin," both boys cursed as they watched your towel fall, seeing you deliciously nude before them.

"Angel, come here," George said in a clipped tone, not leaving any metaphorical room for you to protest. As you tired to pick up the towel, he added, "you don't need that."

You made your way over to George and felt a strange nervousness in the act, never having been so fully bare in front of both twins before, your body on display and your relationship with both completely bare for either to see. You'd teased each other and kissed, cuddled and so on with the other twin there but you'd never taken the next step in front of the other so this was all new.

"Look at you," George muses as you move to stand behind the bed where he's sitting on the edge, his hands immediately running over your hips as his eyes struggle to focus on just one part of your nude body, eventually focusing on your breasts that are perked up in front of his face. "So beautiful," he adds, one hand coming up to entwine with yours before he drags you onto the bed, keeping your hands together at all times.

You lie beneath the brothers who both look like they could eat you for supper, their greeny brown eyes darkening and dangerously arousing looks washing over their faces.

"We've been talking, princess," Fred says, leaning closer to you in the bed, his hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face. "You left Georgie all riled up and it was a little unfair wasn't it." His hand slowly creeps down onto your shoulder and across your chest, stroking little patterns into your skin. "And me, well I felt a little left out princess. So we decided that if you want us, both, with you right now," he teases, soft fingers slipping down to the curve of your breast, "you can have all of us together."

"So no one is left out," George adds softly, his other hand that isn't entwined with yours begins to tease your other breast, fingers circling but never directly touching your pebbled nipple.

Their words cause a wave of fresh arousal to wash over you and you can't help but squirm just a little at the overwhelming sensation, your dripping pussy desperate for relief.

"What do you think Georgie, do your think she wants it?" Fred teases, seeing your hips squirming at their words.

"I'd say so Freddie," George adds, the same teasing tone to his voice, "look at her little nipples, already so hard for us." George drags his middle finger over your nipple and you can't hide the gasp that slips out at the delicious contact.

"Need you to say it princess," Fred says, his own fingers reaching down to playfully pluck at your other nipple, "do you want us both?"

"Yes, godric, yes," you moan, no longer denying yourself, writhing in anticipation. George squeezes your hand lightly in acknowledgement before both brothers look at each other and let out a perfectly synchronised chuckle.

They immediately both latch onto your breasts and begin their attack, Fred sucking hard on your left nipple whilst George kisses around your right, his tongue lapping over the nipple every couple of seconds. Your hips surge again and you try to rub your thighs together for relief.

"Ah ah ah," Fred teases, slipping his right hand down to your thighs, pulling them apart and exposing your wet pussy to the room as he holds your thigh in place, "be patient sweetheart, we've got you." You can't help the little whine that escapes you, his words and their joint actions eliciting a desperate noise to fall from your mouth.

"Think she's good and wet for us Fred?" George asks, his hand squeezing your breast as he begins to suck at your sensitive nipple.

You feel Fred's hand creep up your thigh until he touches your unobstructed slit, instantly feeling the wetness there, so much that it's clinging to the inside of your thighs and pooling on the bedsheets below.

"Merlin princess," Fred curses, feeling just how aroused you are. "I think she likes this Georgie."

"She's not the only one," he mumbles into your breast, reaching down to openly adjust himself in his trousers.

"What do you need baby? Want Fred to put his fingers in you?" George whispers, eliciting another whimper from you as you nod, your hand free reaching out to touch Fred's chest, as if trying to summon him closer. Fred chuckles at your reaction as his fingers begin to run through your soaked pussy folds, dragging the wetness around until he slowly sinks one of his long, perfect fingers into your heat. George captures your lips just in time to stop you from moaning too loudly as Fred's fingers begin slowly pumping inside of you, first one and then a second one just a few moments later. George kisses you with such passion that your knees fall completely open, resting against the legs of each boy as Fred's fingers bring you higher and higher. His thumb makes contact with your sensitive nub and you keen into George's mouth.

You break your hand away from George's and begin running each hand over their chests and down their torsos, desperate to feel them. Your hips surge again as you reach out and feel both of their cocks bulging in their trousers, just as Fred's fingers hook up inside you and touch the magical spot that makes your eyes roll back. You begin to paw at their trouser fixings, well past being able to undo their buttons and the boys instantly take notice and fumble to pull off their clothes. George was already shirtless so that was one obstacle out of the way and Fred slings his T-shirt away with the rest of his clothes as you all lie naked on the bed, completely bare for each other.

Fred's fingers immediately find their way back to your waiting pussy and your hands reach down to grab hold of their cocks, feeling the delicious weight of them in your palms. They moan in unison as you slowly begin pumping them, your pleasure only increasing with their own. George kisses you again as his hands wander on your body, never moving far from your breasts as Fred begins to suck at your neck, breathing heavily and mumbling broken curses into your skin as you continue to pump them, gaining a little speed just how you knew they liked.

"I need to taste you," George moans into your mouth as you run your thumb over their sensitive tips as you stroke, smirking as you feel the beads of precum leaking from both of them.

Fred hears his brother's words and slips his fingers out of you, beginning to manoeuvre you so that you were on your hands and knees. He lies beneath you, his beautifully hard cock straining against his belly as George slips behind you, lying between Fred's shins so that you could put your wet heat directly over his face. He grabs you by the hips once he's in position and immediately latches onto your pussy, moaning at the taste of your evident arousal. His tongue laps at all your little folds, sucking each labia into his mouth as he teases you before kissing your little hole. He then runs his tongue up your slit and latches onto your clit, giving it little teasing sucks as his tongue swirls around it, making you want to scream. Fred pulls forward, anticipating it and captures your lips just in time, swallowing your moan as your eyes close in sheer bliss.

George is like a man addicted, leaving no part of your pussy unattended as he licks, kisses and sucks with perfect precision. He begins lazily tasting you, teasing you as he feels you beginning to climax, wanting to hold off on your orgasm for a little while longer.

You push Fred back down onto the bed by his chest and eagerly look at his abandoned cock, seeing the deep pink tone, the rigid hardness and the bulging vein underneath and you can't help but reach out at grab him at the base. You slowly shift your body down so that George could still feast on you whilst you aligned yourself with Fred's cock.

You tentatively stretched out your tongue and licked away the little dribble of precum from his tip as he groaned loudly. Swirling your tongue around his tip, you looked up at him and saw that his eyes were squeezed shut, head thrown back as he enjoyed your movements. You gently squeezed his cock, forcing him to look up at you as you held eye contact with him and slowly sunk down on his length, taking him as far as you could as you sucked. He let out another moan and squeezed his eyes shut as you began sucking up and down his length on a rhythm you know he loved. You couldn't take you're eyes off of him, fixated on his pleasure filled face and heaving chest as your left hand moved to grab his hand, entwining your fingers. Resting on your elbow, you were able to pump the base of him with your hand, working in sync with your mouth to leave no single spot of his cock untouched. You flattened your tongue and ran a stripe down his length and towards his balls, sucking each one delicately into your mouth as your hand reached up to pump him again, focusing on his tip and just under his ridge. His chest was heaving, face flushed red as he bit down on his lip hard to stop from shouting, his gaze alternating between looking at you with wide, adoring eyes and squeezing tightly shut to avoid cumming too soon.

George's slow licking and sucking fixed on your clit again and you couldn't help but slowly begin to roll your hips in time with your sucking, rocking your hips over George's face as he moaned. His hands were gripping your bum hard, spreading your cheeks and massaging the skin. His hand lifted off of you for a brief second before coming down hard and sparking your right cheek, eliciting a gasp and a moan from you, all of which vibrated into Fred's cock, causing him to moan.

You pulled off of Fred just briefly to cry out, "please, want you inside, need it." You had no idea who you were asking, not caring enough to decide right now as you fought off your climax. George immediately pulled away from you and switched places with his twin, sliding in in front of you whilst Fred knelt on the bed behind you.

George kissed you passionately and you could taste your own arousal on his tongue, making you involuntarily clench. You reached your hand down and began stroking him, leaning over to spit onto his cock to lubricate it, his head falling back onto his shoulders at the sexy action. You couldn't help but pump his perfect cock, paying close attention to the delicious little upward curve he had, swiping his precum with your thumb before bringing it to your lips for a taste, watching as his mouth opened and his eyes looked at you in adoration, glassy with arousal.

"You ready for me princess?" You heard Fred say from behind you as he lined himself up, stroking his cock through your wet folds as you moaned out. It dragged across your clit perfectly and you couldn't help but roll your hips trying to make more and more contact. He suddenly slipped into you and pulled your hips back all the way so that he was buried deep within you, your head tossing back in pleasure at the sensation of finally feeling full.

Fred's hips rolled at he plunged himself into you with an eye rolling intensity, both of you already so worked up from your foreplay. You could help but moan as his cock hit all the right spots inside you, stretching you out and making your knees shake. George saw how close you were to crying out and immediately pressed his thumb to your lips for you to suck on. You continued pumping him again as you looked straight into his eyes, both of you wordlessly conversing as you looked at eachother, silently showing the other everything you felt, even as you were getting railed by his twin.

You felt Fred shift behind you, kneeling forward as his hand snaked around your hip to bring his long fingers to pluck at your sensitive, swollen nub. You sucked hard on George's thumb to stop your moans from spilling out as you stoked him quickly, paying perfect attention to his sensitive tip. His other hand groped and massaged your swaying tits, pinching and toying with your hard nipples as you keened, hips rolling against Fred as you fucked your self on his cock.

You could feel your climax building as Fred railed into you, hips stuttering as he reached his own end, curses and moans growled into the air as his fingers expertly circled your clit. Your walls clenched hard on him as your orgasm overtook you, clamping down around his twitching cock as he slammed your hips into his one last time. He held you tightly to him as his length twitched inside of you, spouting ropes of hot cum deep within you, your clenching walls milking every drop as he groaned your name.

Instantly needing more, you shifted your hips so that you were lying almost flat on the bed, Fred's cock still buried inside you as you took George's waiting length into your mouth, moaning around him at the taste. He cursed and instantly reached up to grab your hair, keeping it out of your face as he watched his cock disappearing between your lips.

Fred had begun slowly rocking into you again, your over sensitive pussy and his cock twitching at the overstimulated that drove you both crazy before he slowly pulled out, falling limply onto the bed. You could feel his cum begin to drip out, knowing what that did to him and it only fuelled your passion for the brothers even more.

George suddenly pulled you off his cock and threw you onto the bed so that you were lying down as he towered above you, cock hard and leaking as he shifted your legs onto his shoulders.

He plunged into you without warning and you cried out before clamping down on your bottom lip to stifle the cries. In this position the slight curve of his cock hit just the right spot, dragging along the spongy part inside you that had you seeing stars as he thrust deeper and deeper inside of you until you were sure he was in your tummy. His hands reached up to cup your bouncing breasts at your hands grabbed and scratched at his shoulders, overwhelmed by the insane pleasure. His hair fell in front of his face as he thrusted and you tried to keep it out of his face as he leaned down to kiss you, all sloppy tongues and teeth, desperately taking what he could from you.

You couldn't help but feel the pleasure building again, only fuelled more as he pulled back and Fred's hand ghosted across your tummy and down to your clit as he rubbed in short, sharp circles. Your walls began clenching again and George cried out a mixture of curses and 'angel's' as his own climax crested. You came suddenly, the white hot heat taking over your body as his hips dove into you with an astounding force, your body folded up like a pretzel as he came with a silent roar, never once stopping his brutal thrusting.

Fred's hand pulled away from your overstimulated clit as soon as he knew you'd ridden out your pleasure and when George pulled out and slipped your legs down, you fell limply back onto the bed in a pile of mush.

You could feel George's cum mix with Fred's as it leaked out of you, onto your ass and then onto the already slick bedsheets as you fought to catch your breath. George fell onto the bed on your other side, leaving you sandwiched once again between the twins, each of you naked, flushed and more satisfied than you'd ever felt.

George's softening cock was pressed to your thigh, smearing the last remnants of his cum and tour arousal onto your skin as Fred reached up to turn your head towards him. He gave you a sensual kiss, hand grabbed around the curve of your jaw as he kissed you passionately, linking your right hand with his. George also linked your other hand with his own and turned you to him to capture your lips once you'd broken away from Fred.

You had no sense of time or space anymore, the only sign that it was late were the dark, rainy skies outside the window. The rain had never stopped and had only served as background white noise to your activities, the constant falling drops the only noise you could hear right now as you all recovered from your activities.

"Can we do that everyday?" You said dreamily, breaking the comfortable silence. You felt George chuckle against you, his body pressed more tightly to your side than Fred who was lounging on his back, one hand still entwined with yourself whilst his other arm covered his eyes.

"Happily," Fred mumbles, turning and pressing himself closer to you. "I don't think I've ever cum that hard and that's saying something with you princess." If you were more aware of things you'd probably blush at his praise but you were still off in dreamland after being fucked silly.

"Agreed," George adds, "bloody hell." He rubs his hands over his face, the ghost of his blissful smile still etched upon his features.

The back of your mind tells you to get up, clean yourself and get dressed but you're frozen in the moment, mind vacant and calm as you snuggle into your boyfriends sides.

Time passes and you all eventually moved to het cleaned off and dressed into your nightwear as you lounge around the room, chatting and reading well into the night until you all climb into bed to sleep. The twins had changed the sheets whilst you went and cleaned up and Fred had thought to spill a little pumpkin juice on the sheets so that it wouldn't seem suspicious that the sheets were needing to be washed again.

Later that night after goodnight kisses, you were cuddled into Fred's chest with George's body pressed tightly against your back, his arm slung around you as you laid awake, listening to their steady breathing and little soft snores, mostly from George behind you. You felt completely at peace, with both of them surrounding you and the rain pouring down outside the window. The three of you completely in sync with no battle in your heart between the both, loved equal in every sense.

You wished it could be like this all the time, just three souls linked together in harmony. It was always best when the three of you were together; Fred and George were the other half of each other, complimenting and completing each other, always in sync and you fit in with them perfectly. The threesome you'd just had was a perfect example of that. Would you be happier if you didn't have to chose?

You didn't know how it would even work but it was a much better thought then having to choose between the two boys you loved.

#emeritusemeritus #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #emeritusemerituswrites #fred weasley imagine #george weasley x you #george weasley #fred weasley masterlist #weasley twins x reader #george weasley x reader x fred weasley #george weasley smut

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crowleywowley · 1 year ago

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BACK ON IT WIT DA HEADCANONS 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

Y’all already know what tf is going on. Modern AU, silly headcanons, everyone is alive and well, blah blah blah.

Previous sillies: 1 2 3 4 5

Aight see u unda da cut 😼

-John definitely cried at the dinner table trying to do his math homework with Dutch

Dutch is absolutely like ‘WHY WOULD THEY CHANGE THE WAY THEY DO MATH!!!!!’ While John is like “I😭don’t😭know😭😭”

-John joined the middle school track team but ate shit on the hurdles so he quit

-John was absolutely the kid who always leaned back in his chair

He fell once and hit his head and to this day that teacher uses him as an example

-John was a pain in Arthur’s ass but when Arthur was a senior and John was a freshman Arthur beat up some kids for being mean to his baby brother :((((

-Jack is a Roblox kid for SUREEEE

John used to play it with him but the obbys pissed him off so much he had to take a walk

-Jack was also a Percy Jackson kid. Argue with the wall!!!!

-during Jack’s wannabe emo phase he got a fake earring and it gave him an allergic reaction

He cried :(

John and Abi, being reformed emo kids, held in their laughter until that night after Jack went to sleep

-speaking of emo. John definitely had shaggy long hair that he parted so it was across his forehead, and Abigail had cool bangs with like blue tips or something

She definitely put eyeliner on him at some point

They both had MySpace usernames like Xx._Fallen.Angel._xX

-Abigail has more than one stupid stick and poke tattoo that John gave her when they were like 19

They are CORNY and POORLY DONE but she secretly loves them :’)

-Despite being the younger of the two Dutch is much less tech-literate than Hosea

He understands Facebook. It’s one of like… 3 apps on his phone

His camera roll is filled with accidental photos

-these two have SO MANY DECORATIVE PILLOWS

-Hosea is such a Frank Sinatra lover!!!!!!!

They danced to Strangers in the Night at their wedding :’)

-Hosea was absolutely the parent that’s sitting in the dark when their kid tries to sneak out and they’re like “going somewhere?”

-shoutout to this person because YEAH

-a crazy night in the Morgan-Smith household means staying up until 10:00 PM watching a documentary about whales

-both of these men are the biggest babies when they’re sick. Common cold = death

-if Jack was a Percy Jackson kid then Isaac was probably into Ancient Egypt or dinosaurs

Charles and Arthur are good dads so they listen to him spew facts and they’re like “wow! Cool, buddy!!!!!”

Even now that he’s a teenager they still remember random facts :)

-Arthur LIVES for unbuckling his belt and settling into a recliner after a big meal

-These fools are so in love and constantly bring each other trinkets :’)

“Saw this and thought of you” and it’s like a mystery Lego pack

I think we’ll stop there for tonight but hehehehe I love these soooo much. Does anyone want me to start bringing OTHER characters into this universe😲??? or do we wanna just keep it to the VanDerMatthews/Marston family/Charthur cinematic universe. Y’all know I can get silly and funky with anyone.

ALSO!!!!!! If anyone has an idea for a name of this universe plzzzzz let me know bc I think that would be fun :D okay bye!!!!!!

#as always please ignore my tags it’s humiliating #rdr2 modern au #charthur #vandermatthews #john x abigail #arthur morgan #charles smith #john marston #jack marston #abigail marston #abigail roberts #charthur headcanon #arthur morgan headcanons #john marston headcanons

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the-face-in-the-mirror · 11 months ago

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After a few days, our boy is finally here! Because Arthur needs some more love than what he actually gets in this series.

Arthur gets a simpler redesign this time, fixing those funny-looking bangs to look more natural and changing his eye color; something about the purple eyes didn't appeal to me. The simplicity of Arthur's design mostly comes from the fact that, when we meet him, he hasn't pulled the sword from the stone yet and, therefore, is not the king of Camelot. The outfit makes him relatively unassuming to others and represents his more peasant-like upbringing while still having an air of sophistication curated by Merlin's influence.

While I was absolutely thrilled when Arthur showed up in canon, it felt extremely sudden and almost out of nowhere. Plus, Arthur just kind of seems to exist in a borderline vacuum and just sort of... does things every now and again? Basically, I wanna add more substance to him.

Therefore, Arthur is getting an actual plotline and arc this time! He gets insecurities about being king, which he probably discusses with King, who has a similar character arc in this rewrite, and we actually get to see his relationship with Merlin. I imagine he and Elizabeth could have a nice friendship, too, where she helps coach him on how to better suit the role of royalty once he gets crowned king of Camelot. As for the neck scars, I've decided that Arthur gets to have some traumatic backstory this time that isn't just his adoptive older brother being mean to him. You know, as a treat.

I also plan for him to be a bit older in this rewrite, probably about 18/19 or somewhere around there. He's not totally a kid, but he's still very young to be a ruler of anything; plus, it makes more sense if I decide to go the Zelthur/Gelthurdris route since, I will admit, those ships had me in a chokehold for a while back in the day and could be really sweet and tragic if played right. We'll see how things go.

I think that's all for Arthur right now. I hope you enjoy it, and let me know if you got any questions! I'll see you all later!

#seven deadly sins #nanatsu no taizai #Arthur I'm so sorry baby it's your turn with the suffering #nnt #sds #nnt arthur #sds arthur #arthur pendragon #nnt rewrite #nnt canon rewrite #nnt rewrite comic #sds rewrite #sds canon rewrite #sds rewrite comic #IT'S DINNER TIME YA'LL #OUR BABY HAS A STORY THIS TIME

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immajustvibehere · 2 years ago

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Hi there! You’re stuff is always sooo good! I saw your post asking for some inspo.

What if Arthur has a special night planned with the reader, but he has a bunch of tasks to do before he is free to meet her? The whole day goes from one bad job to then next, and all he wants to do is meet her later for this perfect night. And when he finally gets to the hotel where he’s supposed to meet her, he’s filthy, banged up, and exhausted. He has lost almost all his money that he needed to treat her to a perfect night by the time he gets there.

How would it go from there?

Simple Nights Spent Together

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

Summary: Reader wants Arthur to understand that every time they get to spend with him is precious :)

fluffy little good night story, thanks for the request!

1100 words, less than 10 minutes reading time

Arthur slowly opened the door to the hotel room he knew you’d to be in. This was the same room the two of you always occupied whenever you managed to snatch a few precious moments away from camp, often for some undisturbed intimacy. But today turned out slightly different than normally. The day didn't really go according to plan and now Arthur felt like he had failed you. Before he gave the door a final push, he looked at himself. Dirty, knuckles stained with dried blood and a bad conscience that the guy who shot and hit his satchel got away with it. It had been a grim realisation that hit him a tad too late, when he discovered the gaping hole in his satchel. His money and a collection of other possessions that had accumulated were now lost somewhere on the sprawling prairie.

The door wasn’t fully open yet, but Arthur hesitated.

"Y/N?", he whispered. The tone of his voice was enough to suggest that something wasn’t right. You had grown restless over the past hour, because the time you had agreed upon was long past and you had feared the worst. So as soon as you saw the door open and heard his voice, you discarded the book you had been reading and sat up.

"Finally! You okay?", you walked to the door, doing Arthur the service of opening it fully and letting him in. His shame would've probably prevented him to do so.

"'m really sorry...", he mumbled, not even looking you in the eyes. You didn't answer, still busy with scanning him for serious injuries, though glad you found none. Arthur took off his head to fiddle it awkwardly between his fingers, revealing his unkempt hair.

"Nothing to be sorry for, I can see that you've been held up", you offered a little smile before standing on your tiptoes and planting a peck on the cheek.

"I wanted to go clean myself up first, but I didn't wanna be any later than I already was...", for some moments, Arthur had even considered not turning up at all, but he knew the consequences of this would have been you worried sick for the entire night.

You helped Arthur out of his coat: "That's okay. Go get a bath now, I'll stay awake and wait."

"Yes, Ma'am", Arthur said unironically. He was about to walk out when he stopped. Holding up his butchered satchel. He would have to ask you for money. He turned around, his cheeks blushing in shame.

"Oh no! What happened!", you immediately took the satchel and looked at the damage. It felt light, the hole was big enough to drain it of most its contents.

"Bullet hit it..."

"Is your journal-"

"Had it in my saddle bag", Arthur explained briefly, "I-uhm...do ya have some change on ya?"

You gave him a couple of dollars without hesitation: "I'll get it fixed first thing tomorrow, I promise. Oh and-", Arthur had started to walk off, "Have you eaten?"

"I’m not hungry", Arthur replied, accompanied by a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Not hungry' was a subtle code for 'I haven't eaten all day, but please don't bother for me'. But of course, you did. The lamb chops you got from the saloon were done and you had carried them to the room only a minute before Arthur returned, his damp hair slicked back.

"Yer really shouldn't have...", Arthur commented when he saw the loaded plate and two bottles of beer.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I planned on eating that alone...", you grinned as Arthur approached you and gave you a quick kiss. He smelt pleasantly like soup, though the clothes he wore still gave the familiar odour of soil and pines. Arthur had tasted the meat that on your lips – apparently you had tried some – and sat down willingly. Eagerly, he finished the plate.

His shoulders were slouched, and you could tell by how slowly he blinked that he was exhausted and ready for some sleep.

"'m real sorry, darlin'...", Arthur sighed, "I really had something different planned for tonight than just sleeping..."

Arthur was hinting at some fun and intimacy, but you weren't even a little bit disappointed that none of this would be happening.

"Arthur", you leaned forward as your lips curled into a soft smile, "This is the perfect night."

The man looked at you like you were telling a stupid joke.

"Firstly...", you started and handed him a wet rag to clean his hands which glistened in fat, "you're alive. Can't take that for granted in this line of work, so this alone makes it a good night."

Then you helped him out of his clothes which he wouldn't need for sleeping: "Secondly, you're here. You came. You had a horrible day, I can tell. But you still showed up and I really appreciate that. Makes it an even better night, because we get to share a bed."

Arthur would often get this warm tingly feeling when you cared for him in this way. Not that he frequently found himself in situations where he messed up or ruined a date night, but sometimes things were out of control, and you never made him feel like you didn't understand that. Without resistance, he allowed you to guide him onto the pillow, his whole body sinking into the bed in the process. With pleasure, he watched as you crawled on top of him. He just barely managed to lift his hands to place them on your hip.

"And lastly", you pressed a light kiss onto his cheek, "Do you have one healthy arm to spare?"

Arthur didn't understand this question, shooting you a quizzical look before checking out his arms: "Both of them lookin' fine to me."

"And now if you, Mr. Morgan, have at least one of those arms to spare for me tonight, so I might rest my head on them instead of the pillow, since I much prefer your arm, I'd call this a perfect night", you called out in a theatrical matter, before falling onto the mattress next to him and resting your head on his arm.

Arthur chuckled warmly, pulling you into an embrace. "You sure are something...", he mumbled.

"Most of all I'm just happy to have you", you replied, snuggling up to him.

A contented sigh escaped Arthur’s lips. If he weren’t so tired, he might have found the words to express what he felt. It was the sentiment that it was his turn to express how privileged he’s to have you.

"You know", Arthur whispered, his words slurred by the tiredness that washed over him, "I'm gonna make up for all of it tomorrow." He placed a suggestive kiss on your neck.

"Looking forward to it", you answered softly, well aware that sleep will claim you both in a few moments.

#arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan #red dead redemption community #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfiction #rdr #rdr fanfiction #arthur morgan x gn!reader #arthur morgan x gender neutral reader

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red-doll-face · 2 months ago

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Snow Angel 10

Chapter 10: adamant Series Masterlist

low - medium honor Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Warnings: depictions of a panic attack. PLEASE AVOID if that would end up harming you i beg !!! dubious consent, arthur’s mental health is kind of not so good…VERY low honor Arthur, darkish fic, a bit of naive reader. Reader has dated and period typical ideals, not very good ideas about men and marriage… if you want reader to be strong and a fighter… this is not for you sorry. suggestive themes. I am being serious when I say that arthur is bad at handling this situation. he does not think he has done anything wrong. if youve been reading so far you know that that is BAD. please do not read if you can't handle it, im putting a giant RED FLAG on this WC: 4753 SNOW ANGEL DROP TN??? everybody say thank you to @emerald-ranch CHAPTER 10 !!! we did it !! it took me a while to churn this out and get it to a place that i liked. im still not even sure i like it LMAO thank you for all of the lovely little niche questions i get about my strange snow angel arthur, he is everything to me and i love to speak him into existence. first time writing angst soooo Tags: lots of angst todayyy, no TB, weird but not that toxic relationship, Arthur being a menace.Arthur being rude as always just… low honor arthur as a warning lol You and Arthur clear the air.

“Caught me a little bunny, pretty one too,” you can feel his excitement behind the fabric of his pants, his belt digging into you uncomfortably. Arthur’s features, although covered in shadows from the dusk drawing in, still reflect his anticipation. He takes his hat off, his hand drags his hair back, damp with sweat, darker than the usual lighter brown. Some of it still flops over into his face anyway.

Your hands push at his shoulders weakly, whining as he dips down to kiss you, the warmth of his breath fanning over the roundness of your cheek, you can feel the scrape of his stubbly hair on your face, the dimple at the tip of his nose brush over you.

“Arthur, please, I just- I wanna go home, you won, you got me,” he hums, running his tongue over your neck, his arms prop his body up over yours, keeping you warm in the cold chill. He covers you well enough, shields you from the winter with his frame, wide and heavyset. You can feel the rumble in him when he says ‘you’re damn right, I did,’.

The sky is a pretty shade of purple, a little like lavender. You look up, feeling his body tilt to one side, held up on his elbow, his other takes the opportunity to roam over your body. “We can go to our home, Arthur,” you try to pull at his desires, but he won’t have any of it.

“Wanna see my prize first,” he says between puffs of air, his tongue pacing over the delicate skin of your neck. His hands tug your skirt upwards while you try and keep your legs closed. His hands grip the fat of your thigh, dipping under the dainty fabric of your stocking. Between his legs is the rather stiff press of him and his arousal. You don’t like how easy it is for your body to respond to just the notion of him taking you like this, like an animal.

His rough fingertips skim over the mark he left on you, the one your mother saw.

“All you had to do was say you liked it. I know you did. You like everything I do,”

“I-No, I…I couldn’t-” You couldn't make it stop. Couldn't make your body stop reacting to him is what you want to say. But to say so would admit that some part of you liked what he did. You snap your mouth shut like a coin purse. You can’t bring yourself to say such a thing. Not that his ideas deserve to be validated. He gives you a knowing look which sends a tremor down your spine, your legs shifting nervously.

“Quit your lying’, girl, you ain’t fooled me yet. Shouldn’t be ashamed, sugar; I might be a bastard but I ain’t the worst thing coulda happened to ya,”

“I’m not trying to…I told her not to say anything,” you whine and push again at his shoulders but he doesn’t budge.

“Mhm, how come I don’t believe that for a second,”

Either way, he drops his mouth to your neck, sucks another painful mark just under your ear, the sensitive skin tingles with sensation, pulling pain from your nerves. You tilt your face away, you can’t get him to stop. You can hear the wetness of his tongue moistening your skin before he's sucking a deep red mark, which will be another bruise on your skin. You pull at his hair, but you’re held down just as easily while he nips away.

Your back arches, your skin tingles. A lewd whimper is all you have to offer, keening for him. The quiver inside you isn’t mindful at all. Pure reaction, pleasure rising to the surface.

He gives you more than one this time, leaving them at his leisure. He's ripping your blouse open next, so he can leave more on your breasts. The soft flesh is alight with nerves, rippling desire through you.

“Think you’re starting to like it, angel,” you still your body, disconnected from its actions, which until then was moaning, clutching his shoulder for dear life. The tide of your emotions rises higher though, ice cold water crashing down on the pleasant warmth gathering on your lower belly.

Like you’ve stepped in front of a wagon train, the panic sets in, more than any other time before now. A shameful part of you; an awful desire that burns for Arthur somewhere inside of you, wants him to keep going. To make good on all of his promises. But it’s too difficult to indulge that part of you. The shock of what happened in your family’s home is too much. It drops on your head like an anvil or a blacksmith's hammer. You’re entirely too aware of how your father’s blood dripped over his own fingers. Your mother crumpled to the ground as she watched Arthur take you away.

“I don’t-don’t want to do this right now, please,” It’s maybe the first time you cry at his insistence. And the first time you’ve been utterly clear about what you do and don’t want. In the most explicit terms possible. You feel the tears well up in your eyes. You cried like this when he first told you what he wanted. They drip down the sides of your face. You hadn’t been able to stop him on the first night. And after he made you all too aware of how things work between a man and a woman, you hadn’t tried to, overwhelmed with how good he was at dragging pleasure out of you. But now, it’s like the world has come closing in and there’s nothing that can stop it from swallowing you whole. Not after what he did, simply because your father thought to stop him from taking his only daughter away.

Your breathing comes far too quick. Your head feels like it's full of air and it begins to hurt. The cold stings your finger tips. You have no regard as to what your face looks like, letting it bunch up in what is probably an unsightly expression of your reactive sobbing.

“Hey, hey, I-” He’s no longer using that husky tone with which he usually addresses you when he gets like this. It’s trying to be soothing but a certain panic underlines his words. You can see him take his hands off of you, as if he’s burning you with every touch. But he still keeps you underneath some of his weight, his mouth opens as if to say something else, furrowed brows

“Get off…Get off me,” you push at his shoulders and at first he doesn't move an inch. When you don’t immediately feel his weight move from pinning you down, your sobbing becomes volatile. Struggling to breath through your tears and your desperate wails, you inhale faster but it still feels like it's not enough. Thrashing mindlessly at him, uncaring of his anger or his punishments, is what makes him ease off of you a little.

“Woah, easy,” he tugs your skirt down, shielding you from the cold as much as he can without touching you but you can’t stop yourself from being consumed by the physical reaction your shock evokes from you, wrenched from you. Like a child and their toys infected with scarlet fever.

His soothing does work a little, now that you know he’s stopping, that he’s covered your legs. You sniff and writhe, your fingers grip at his upper arms. You can finally blink through your tears to see his expression, worry clouded with something you’ve never quite seen. The pull of his mouth tugs towards a guilt he’s never shown you before.

You’re starting to breathe way too much, all of the air makes you dizzy and the cold still burns your lungs but you don’t care, letting the pain ground you. Your arms wrap around yourself to cover your breasts, trying to fix your ruined shirt to no avail. The frustrated fumbling of your fingers has Arthur softening more, but his voice still intonates with his natural authority.

“Sweetheart, you need to slow down. Jus’ breathe, you’ll be alright,” his commanding voice controls you more than you thought it would. He sits back on his haunches, hoping the distance might do you some good, crowding you isn’t in his best interest. You gasp for air, sitting up a little with the space he’s afforded you.

Arthur comes closer to calm you when he notices you can’t seem to do it all on your own. He’s slow, shushing you, his hand pets your hair, down behind your ear, to the side of your neck. He keeps his eyes low, the warmth of his hand helps you a little, so does his own rhythmic breathing, slow and steady.

He doesn’t say much for a minute or two, a ‘that’s my girl,’ tingles your ear, warms you up. You sigh, trying to regulate your breathing, appreciating his help but still feeling frightened and confused. Especially when you consider that he is the source of all your troubles. Arthur is close enough so you feel body heat, his fingers brush your tears away. Sweet in this gentle moment. How could you stand to take comfort from a man who shot your father? Who could have missed, who could have killed him? As always, you doubt that you’re right in the head. Something must be broken within you.

It’s hardwired though. Arthur is all you have left now. The only one here with you.

He doesn’t seem excited in the same way he was before. The adrenaline from his chase dies in your blood, leaving behind the residue of stress, a headache forming. The pace of your heart does slow down now, the puff of the air in your lungs. He watches you with an odd expression. Glad that you’ve calmed down but still disappointed. Perhaps with you, having ruined his plan of taking you, of spreading your legs in the snow, burying himself inside of you. If things hadn’t gone so wrong today, you might have let him.

The thought makes more shameful tears drip down your face. Despite any calm summoned from you, you still feel the curl of disgrace, laying in your tattered shirt underneath this man, shrinking away from his stare.

“What's wrong? Did I hurt you?” You can at least appreciate that he is worried about you, even if he has no clue why. You can see a fear in his eyes that he tries to hide from you, a fear that he’s caused you real pain. At least you know now that if you had done more screaming and crying, he might have stopped that day. You didn't think him to be so thick as to not understand why you are as emotional in this moment as you are.

“Arthur, no, no, I just- I don’t want- I want to go home…now,” You had wanted to come away from this moment, maybe just a bit touched at how he had helped you through your foolish hysterics. But as always, some part of Arthur balances it out.

“Just tell me why you was cryin’. I know that ain’t all of it,” He narrows his eyes. Your jaw drops, unable to hide your outrage. Your anger, which you keep in check most of the time, pushes at the lid of the pot you stuff it in. Every single grain of it threatens to spill out. Your fingers scrunch, your face does too.

“Shooting my father and then hunting me like an animal; pushing me in the dirt for- for your desires- that’s not enough?” You realize now that dusk is here and it’s colder in this dark valley than it was before. You move to stand, he’s upright before you and he does try to help but you refuse him. Unfortunately, your anger hasn’t been honed into a point sharp enough to cut. It’s only wet and girlish, it makes you cry and tremble, your throat thickens unpleasantly.

“You did what you wanted with me, like you always do. But my family… I never wanted-” You wobble onto your feet, closing his coat in front of your chest. You should never have indulged him. You should have bitten and chewed and snarled and spat until he left you alone.

You aren't sure why you didn't. You suppose it felt nice to have a man notice you, to call you pretty. To want you in some way other than to just ignore or to leer at disgustingly like the lonely trappers at the trading post, even when they were friends of your father. How pathetic of you.

Yet, nothing about what he did felt disgusting. It was the expectation on you as a woman to reserve these affections for marriage that lashed against the inside of your ribcage. That whispered that it was wrong; it was anything but the pure and gentle lessons you received as a girl. Opening your legs so willingly for a man because he called you pretty, called you all sorts of saccharine praises, was tearing away at you. You hadn't fought him harder and at first you thought it was because there was no point, that he was too strong anyway so why waste the energy? But now, you aren't so sure of that resolve.

He was handsome in his own way and he didn’t seem like all the boys your mother told you to keep an eye on in case you should marry one day. Lanky and thin, sparse hairs on their chins which they stroked like great beards. He wasn’t a drunken fool or witless boy.

Arthur was a man. He acted like one, he smelled like one, looked like one. He wasn’t afraid to muck stalls, to cook. And he acted like you were married already, like you loved him and he loved you. Perhaps you liked the idea of having a man such as him, a man who didn’t need you to replace his mother’s duties, a man who wanted you to simply be with him. And those glittering moments where you played house with him, sat on his lap and let him kiss you. You could have stayed with him there forever, buried in the snow. You would have been happy if spring’s thaw never came. But now, he stands, with an almost resentful look at your accusatory tone.

Everything has dissolved into a coagulated mess, like spoiled milk.

“I do what I want with you? The hell does that mean?” He’s more upset now, at the insinuating circumstances.

“Arthur,” you recoil at the anger in his voice. You don’t even know what you meant particularly but Arthur fishes a meaning out from your words, even if you hadn’t put too much stock into your own words.

“You’re sayin’ that I violated you, is that it?” his hands rest on his hips as he moves to keep staring you in the eye, you’ve never seen him like this before. Really angry.

“I didn’t ask to do that with you, I told you to…” It’s like he can sense how noncommittal you are with your own sentiments. Your own certainty doesn't linger with you. As much as you would like it too. He sniffs it out like a bloodhound, throwing the truth in your face.

“You know what I think? I think- fact, I know. You’re one of those gently reared girls, think they’re better than this, above any of this low down ruttin’ us sinners do. You can’t even say it, can you? All that we got up to. That’s called fuckin’ , sweetheart,” The word curls into his vicious smile. You’re scandalized, can feel how your hands pull his coat even tighter. You don’t think you’ve heard anyone talk like that to you. It’s a dirty word but you suppose that is what it felt like to be with him. Dirty. But that rush, you can’t deny that. The one that shoots up your spine when you remember how it made you feel.

“Can’t say you ain’t like it, can’t say you did; and I get it. Ain’t the first time I met a girl like you. But you can’t lie to me,”

You ignore the hind-brain jealousy that pokes your mind. His words are truer than you want them to be. You said stop once or twice, although you can’t recall too well about things you said. Instead, you told him you belonged to him. You had meant to endear yourself to him. It worked far more than you wanted it to.

Pretending like you didn’t want him to do what he did protected your own self important image as your father and mother preferred you, not how things really were. And now that you don’t have them anymore, what use was that image? You try to cling to the truth of your old life, crumbling to pieces around you.

“It’s not just about that. I…I didn’t say yes…I thought you would hurt me, you told me you didn’t want me to fuss. When you told me I had to stay…” you stun him, he seems like he hardly remembers doing that. In that low voice, his startling command. It scared you to the bone then, but it did shake something awake. You had never felt so wanted in your life as that day. Both of you are some type of wrong, you think. Maybe he recognized the same kind of wrong in you.

Carefully, he mulls over what you said. It affects him, you can see how that same guilt settles in the creases of his face. It roots around his eyes, the harsh lines soften. How his boots scuff against the ground. One of his hands scratches at his beard. But all too soon, it’s gone and a resolve hardens on his face, like he’s dashed the guilt away. Made room for something else.

“Am I just supposed to believe you was lyin’ when you said you liked it? I don’t make you talk, darlin’. You might be pretty as a doll,” He looks over your features, over your hair and your pouting lip. “But you ain’t no string puppet. Wouldn’t hurt you, honey, not like that, not how you’re meanin’. It’d do you some good to remember that ain’t true ‘bout most anybody else,” He lets his body naturally intimidate yours, looking down his nose at you.

You don’t know how he can have such a prideful stare. Like he knows he’s right. He pushes the memory of your father, kneeling and gripping his wound to the front of your mind.

“You didn’t have to shoot him. Heaven forbid my father from trying to protect me from you. Wouldn’t be the first time a father tried to keep his daughter from marrying you. Arthur, why exactly is it your first instinct to go waving a gun around when something goes wrong? I don’t understand what drives someone to do the things you do,” He chuckles darkly, as if you told a morose joke at a funeral. He does let a quiet frustration come over him, a glare gets leveled at you. But he holds himself tightly in his own restraint. Your retaliation against him; he treats it as a minor slight. You cross your arms while he brushes it off. All too good at letting insults slide off his back.

“That makes the two of us. I ain’t been a good man most my life and I ain’t sure I’ll ever be any good at it. I try to be good to you, I do, but maybe it ain’t enough. That’s just fine with me,” He steps closer to you, sensing your shock at his words. He’s back to that prowling wolf from before. His demeanor changes on a dime. He bends at the waist to grab his gloves and hat, dusting the bottom of the brim casually against his coat before placing it back on his head. His gloves are shoved haphazardly in his pocket. “I don’t know if I need that from you, some fairytale love story, where your Pa hands you over to me and I bring you up to the altar dressed like a government boy,” You’re almost afraid of him, how he carries himself. There's a dread hanging in the air around him, a foreboding poke in the back of your head.

“Used to be an outlaw, around New Austin, Heartlands, all over…” you look at the cold look in his eyes. Colder than the snow that dusts the ground. Frozen stiff like a corpse, but you tremble anyway. He shifts his legs, widening his stance and placing one hand on his belt, next to the shiny revolver. “I’ve killed people, robbed them, or both…done things I wasn’t always proud of. I ain’t too proud of what I done with you neither. Tellin’ you that is…just about as good as bein’ married. Can’t let ya go wanderin’ off knowin’ the truth, now,” Arthur raises his arms in something like a shrug. The nonchalant air about him has that wet anger rising in your throat again.

“You ain’t goin’ back home. Least the home you had. Me puttin’ a bullet in your Pa don’t change that. I’d advise you to make your peace with the fact. I keep havin’ to tell you. I hate repeatin’ myself,” You continue to stare, eyes wide with the realization of his truth. An outlaw. You must be the most unfortunate girl in the state. To walk into the home of a killer. Your thoughts trail back to how he disposed of the body of the man who had tried to rob you. The cold and careless manner of dealing with death was telling then. It screams at you now.

“I-I’m not some belonging for you to collect, for you to hang on your wall. To put up on top of your fireplace, Arthur,”

“No, you’re much more than that,” You aren’t completely sure of his meaning. But it’s something that entails you being with him how he wills it. No better than being chained to his bed, really. He nears you and you do take a wary step backward, a little afraid of the neutrality on his features. He schools his reactions, tells you of his past with no remorse.

“If you care for me, care for me at all, wouldn’t you- wouldn't you let me go?” you ask but you know his answer, when he finally closes in on you, drags one finger down the curve, the roundness of your cheek. His thumb rests on your lips, his other fingers curl around to almost the nape of your neck. His hand makes you feel entirely too small in his hold. Guides you to look up at him, as your fingers clutch the fur of his coat tightly around you.

“See, that’s the problem right there,” he has a strange twist to his voice, a light lilt while he smirks down at you, the darkness dipping the shadows across his face into an even darker tone. “I care about you too much. Maybe it ain’t right, can’t say I give a damn either way,” the fragility of this moment isn’t broken until he puts a kiss on your lips that’s a thousand times lighter than the precarious air of this conversation. But you should have known being so restrained isn’t permanent with Arthur.

A strong hand closes on your hip, drags you into the front of him. His breath quickens, it flatters you how much he likes you so near to him. Your hip aches pleasantly as he squeezes it. Your heart swells, you wish you could will yourself into rejecting him.

“Tell me you don’t want me, honey. Tell me to leave you alone…” You’re stiff as an iron rod when he pulls you to him. You brace yourself on him, hands compelled naturally to lay flat on his chest. Something about the full form of his body is so pleasing to you, the breadth of him against you. The warmth you feel and the strength lying in wait. The smell of him, leather and hide, tobacco and mint. It closes you in. You open your mouth to say something. Anything.

“Arthur, that’s not fair,” you whine. Your anger might have caused you to lash out at him for once. But you’re back to the docile thing he liked to chase around, too occupied with his body so close to yours to realize that you’ve dropped all pretense of that strong front, that you haven’t answered his question. You wish you could continue being the kind of person who could tell someone like Arthur what he's asking. Strong willed, not so swayed. But you’re moved in the opposite direction by whatever is inside of you, some deep buried want of yours. And the constant tone of knowing that he’s bigger and stronger than you. It’s always there, rain pattering on the roof in autumn. He had no trouble chasing after you like this, in the encroaching dusk. It was more a game than any real challenge.

“Just say it, you keep tryin’ to, don’t ya?” you look away. Why can’t you say it? When he’s inviting you to rebuff him. You look up at him. A knot gets tangled in your insides. Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. What is wrong with you?

“You can’t cause you don’t mean it, not when this little pussy gets wet when I touch you, when you kiss me back. You don’t remember when you was touchin’ all over me? Those kisses you put on me?” he teases you, a more smug exhale is what you get. The night weighs on your shoulders like a heavy blanket and so does his reality check. He has a sigh and a faint groan, as if thinking of all that you’ve done with him in the privacy of his home.

You think to defy him, to spite his words but you can’t when he gives you another kiss. The dryness he licks away. This one is a wet sloppy mess, it doesn’t last long but he’s as right as he knew he was, you melt into it, grab onto him, tilt so he can kiss you deeper. His teeth nip at your soft lips, his tongue rubs over yours. A warm shame fills your belly and crawls up your face. You can’t bring yourself to hate his stupid smug lovesick look, the way he rubs the scar on his chin as he pulls away.

“You like me, don’t you, sweetheart?” He’s mocking you now, he knows the answer just as well as you do but he likes to feel like he’s wrenching it out of you. He’s caught you and he’s holding you up by the ears while you dangle uselessly; a rabbit caught in the hunt. You stare up at him, caught in his pretty blue eyes, the little nicked scar on his nose bridge. You have a very reluctant almost imperceptible nod. Despite the raging heat in you at such an admittance. You like the man who locked you in his home, who wants you to marry him while hardly knowing him, who used to be an outlaw.

“Even after I shot your daddy? You’re somethin’ else, girl,” he revels in your reaction but with his own version of pity, an endeared expression at your warbling chin and heavy sniff.

A bad feeling curdles in your belly, you bite your lip. You shouldn’t do this. How could you ever do this to your family? Turn your back on them like this? But you didn’t see another choice. Tears bead on your lash line. He has to rub his inevitable victory in your face. You don’t know how you’re going to continue. How you can even stand the sight of Arthur: of yourself. Now that he’s twisted everything out of shape to suit his needs. You should spit on him. Curse him until he gets struck down by the powers that be.

But you don’t. You aren't sure there’s any end to that. You hope to never repeat this cycle again. Where you try to pull against his control and he overpowers, strong-arming you into doing as he pleases. He gathers your tears, brushes them away. Rough calluses over the little sensory hairs on your skin.

“C’mon, sweet thing, it’s time you get what ya want, huh? Time to go home.”

UGH this arthur gets on my fucking nerves but i am so weak for him i hate his corny ass. god dark arthur is just too much for me lmaooo feedback is more than appreciated, please let me know your thoughts im begging wahhhhh

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tiredcowpoke · 2 years ago

Text

ON THE TIP

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader Request: Not a request. Blurb: Away from camp, you finally manage to tell Arthur something that you have been meaning to for a long while. Warnings: Mentions of a previously abusive relationship (not graphic), angst, but ultimately a lot of fluff and emotional stuff. Note: This is really self-indulgent. I had a spark of an idea and it really took off...somewhere. lol I hope you enjoy this sweet, little thing.

Evening was starting to set, casting the area in a warm glow as the sun gradually dipped down behind the treeline.

You sat near the fire you had made, the bedroll not quite giving you much comfort but the tree truck at your back at least allowed you that extra support. The day’s heat still lingered, even with you choosing to sit a little further back from the fire to avoid overheating yourself. It was going to be one of those nights.

Still, you took these moments when you could.

It was getting harder and harder to pull Arthur away from gang business, as much as you respected the role he played and his duties. Yet, you had long observed that he was overworked, almost the first person up on the list to clean up other people’s messes that reasonably could have been handled before his involvement. It was one of the more common things he complained about when he’d finally settle in for the night, if he wasn’t coming in late at night and gently rolling you onto your side so he could slip in behind you on the cot.

So, when the camp seemed quiet and Arthur approached you with a quip about getting out for a while, it was hard to tell him ‘no.’

Leaving was good for you, too. A break from the camp–the chores, worries, and dramatics, depending on the day usually. It also gave you some comfort to know that you didn’t have to worry about Arthur, either. He seemed more relaxed during these moments, and it allowed you to relax too. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were more intune with his emotions when he was in camp. It was something that started to happen as you got closer, and only continued beyond that point. You could see the stress in his brow, feel the tension in his shoulders when he’d pull you into him near a campfire or when he wrapped his arms around you at night.

It felt a little easier to breathe when you finally got away from camp, sometimes. Even if it was for an hour.

Though, the sound of hoofbeats and some rustling in the bushes ahead of you pulled you from your thoughts. Sure enough, you saw the familiar horse and equally as familiar rider, Arthur taking his time to settle his horse beside yours. A rabbit hung, skinned, on the side of his saddle. You figured that was dinner for the night, which was fine with you.

“Think we ain’t the only people out here today,” Arthur commented, turning toward you as you glanced up from where you were carving a slice from an apple, “Animals are kind of scarce and I don’t wanna go stompin’ off into the bush.”

“There’s enough here to get us through the night,” you said, finally cutting off the piece of apple and held it out toward him as he approached.

Arthur muttered a quiet ‘thanks’ as he took a bite from it after slipping down to sit beside you against the tree trunk. Naturally, you found yourself leaning against his side as you continued to cut away at another piece of apple for yourself, allowing the silence to settle as Arthur’s voice was replaced by the light wind in the trees and the crackling of the wood on the fire. You felt him slip his arm around your back, hand coming back to rest on your arm.

It wasn’t that Arthur didn’t show affection toward you around camp, but in private he allowed you in closer like this. The kisses were slower, lingered a little more, and neither of you were rushed to be anywhere or doing anything. You could still remember how long it took for both of you to feel awkward like this. Weary and haunted by bad experiences, you didn’t particularly let people close. Arthur seemed the same way, only mentioning his past relationships once or twice early on but it was clear that he had backed away from the concept.

Yet, things were just…different.

Of course, you knew who Arthur was. You knew who you were, too. You had seen his uglier sides, the violence that the life he led pulled out of him. It had pulled things out of you, too, that you weren’t proud of. Yet, you saw the quieter side of him, too. When he had his nose buried in his journal or was listening to other stories the camp members would tell around the fire at night. How he talked to Jack, the other women around camp. The way he acted around you, too, the awkward friendship that shifted to a genuine kindness and fondness, the shared glances and inside jokes, the way he cupped your face when he kissed you for the first time.

You noticed a few complexities about him, probably more than Arthur saw in himself.

Given the violence that you had experienced in your past relationships, the yelling, fighting, sneered insults that still sat under your skin in some places, Arthur kind of took you off guard. If he was as rough as he came across sometimes, perhaps you could have expected the path your relationship would go. It would’ve been simple: you would’ve thought about him a certain way, he would’ve burst that bubble, and that’d be it. You knew Arthur had tried from time to time in the beginning, when things were new and uncertain. Quickly thrown up guards and pointless fights and arguments that’d never stay too long, in the end.

You shifted, stretching out a leg as you tried to will yourself back to the current moment.

“If your eyes weren’t open, I’d think you fell asleep,” Arthur commented, making you let out a small hum as you grinned softly.

“Something about places like this push me right into my head,” you replied.

“Me too.”

“Your thoughts are probably more interesting than mine,” you said as you shifted somewhat to tuck your knife away as you finished off the apple.

“Wouldn’t say that,” he muttered.

“You wouldn’t feel the need to write them down if you didn’t think they weren’t interesting in some way,” you said, leaning back into his side with a sigh. “I know you don’t think much of yourself, but you’re more interesting than you let on.”

“Interestin’ in like a third limb or a weird animal, maybe,” he returned around a small huff–you knew better than to take it as genuine humor. Not wholly, at least. Another wall he insisted on putting up, as much as you saw through it at this point.

“More like a puzzle or a riddle.”

“Hope the answer is worth it.”

You frowned, brow furrowing. You knew this aspect of Arthur was an uphill battle, one that he may never win, but a part of you always felt obligated to argue otherwise. Which was probably why you found yourself shifting back so you could swing your leg over his legs, straddling his lap so you could look directly at him. You couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at your lips at the surprised look that settled in his expression, though his hands coming up to wrap around your lower back had you getting a little more comfortable. You cupped the sides of his jaw, a good-natured smile settling on your lips.

“I didn’t follow you out here so you could talk like that about yourself all night,” you stated, looking semi-sternly into his eyes before your expression softened, “But…I don’t really care about solving the riddle, so to say. I’m not here to…I don’t know, solve anything.”

“Well, I’m wishin’ I understood you a little better right now,” Arthur muttered, but the light playfulness was hard to miss. You let him pull you into a quick kiss, his free arm pulling you in closer so your bodies brushed a little more.

The shift in tone was a bit of a reassurance, but you knew you weren’t done. Really, there was something sitting heavy on the tip of your tongue. It kept appearing more and more whenever you were truly alone with him like this. The words were there, you knew what they were, yet there was a fear in you. You had said those words once before, to the wrong person, and there was that guarded part of you that feared you would do so again. Yet, everything about your relationship with Arthur seemed to rebuttal most doubts you had.

…You just needed to know if you were alone in the feeling.

Pulling back somewhat from the kiss, you leaned back somewhat to look over his face. His eyes seemed to search your own, a slight pinch between his eyebrows as you looked at him without speaking as you could feel a rush of thoughts battering against your skull. Yet, a part of you knew how you wanted to go about this.

“The last time I was in a situation like this…well, you know what that was like,” you said, dropping your gaze for a few moments. “I got told I was…many things. None of them too nice. I was told I wouldn’t ever find someone who’d…actually want me. I believed those things for a while, for a long while. I didn’t…intend for that to shift, it just happened…”

You let out a small sigh against the way your heart was racing, the momentary confidence you had only a minute ago starting to ebb out. Still, you couldn’t pull things back in now. You lifted your gaze back up to meet his own, smiling softly.

“You remember…a couple months ago, back before everything got thrown on its head? I got that…terrible little bullet wound?”

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, the look of confusion still not leaving his expression but he nodded lightly, “Never heard you holler like that before when Grimshaw pulled that out.”

“Not…not exactly talking about that, but it was a couple days after,” you continued, tilting your head somewhat thoughtfully. “I was feeling…really sorry for myself. I don’t know if I told you, but I kicked myself for such a long time that you found me like that. Over an injury, no less. Yet…you seemed to know exactly what to say. What’d help, what’d make me feel better. I realized after that…that most people I’ve had in my life, they only seemed to know how to do the opposite. A few of them purposefully doing so. I realized something, then, and…it kind of scared me, but I know it’s true…”

“Darlin’...” Arthur started, a hand coming up to rest against your cheek, his voice soft, but you knew you just had to say it.

“I realized back then that I’m in love with you, Arthur,” you stated, fighting the urge to shut your eyes or look away. “I love you. I just never really found the right words, but I need you to know that.”

Arthur didn’t say anything for an uncomfortable amount of time, seeming to almost process that. You couldn’t help the way your stomach tightened, the sting of rejection starting to prick at your eyes. He didn’t try to move you, however, hands still grasping onto you. Finally, he looked you in the eyes again.

“That’s really true?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice even as you spoke. “I tried to convince myself that it was something else for a good while, but that feeling’s just grown harder to ignore as time went on.”

“...I ain’t…” he started, shaking his head, “I didn’t ever think someone’d feel that way ‘bout me again.”

“Well, I do,” you confirmed, swallowing thickly as you gripped his shoulders somewhat as if he’d support you crashing down if he said what you feared he was going to. “If…if you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. Just…say it. I made my mind up a long while ago, so trying to convince me out of it will just hurt more.”

“Sweetheart…” he started, reaching out to cup the side of your face again as he forced you to look at him. “I…know I don’t deserve a lot of things, I don’t deserve you. You could leave, fall for a better man. Yet, when I’m with you…”

“Arthur…” you started, ready to remind him that going this route would just hurt you more, yet you knew what was coming and it was choking out the words that wanted to get out.

“You make me happy,” he continued, “I know I might not be able to give you the same feelin’ all the time, but…I love you, too. Don’t think I’d ever get to say it, but I do.”

The relief had you almost crumpling, your mind taking a moment to catch up. You almost didn’t realize you had started crying until you felt Arthur pull you into him, wrapping his arms around you tightly as you shook from the strength it took to not completely break down and just really send the wrong message. Yet, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him, pressing your face into his jacket. All those years you told yourself you were unlovable, that you were better off for it, and yet the opposite was staring you in the face.

It was a lot to process. Yet, despite the tears that were on your cheeks and stung at your eyes, you shifted so you could pull Arthur into a kiss. He responded instantly, holding you close as you let the gesture chase out the doubt that had settled heavily over you in the last couple moments.

“Scared the hell out of me, Morgan,” you muttered once the kiss was broken, Arthur pressing his forehead against your own.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he muttered in the space between you two, “Won’t be the last time I’ll scare you, I know, but I’m not goin’ anywhere for as long as you’ll have me.”

“As long as you’ll have me, too,” you replied in return, letting out a soft chuckle. “Say it again?”

“I love you, darlin’,” he said after a moment, “Have for a while now.”

“I love you, too.”

#my writing.#arthur morgan x reader

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