#rdr valentines change

[margowritesthings]

The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise. 

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home. 

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment. 

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out. 

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here. 

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash. 

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…” 

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home. 

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget. 

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure. 

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long. 

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute. 

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it. 

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you. 

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?” 

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again. 

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too. 

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…” 

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world. 

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either. 

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be. 

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click. 

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back. 

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night. 

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down. 

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare. 

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” 

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you. 

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked. 

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?” 

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering. 

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck. 

═══════☆═══════

The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves  twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is:  morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible. 

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown. 

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut. 

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.” 

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.” 

Oh wait, there it is. 

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves. 

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening). 

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me. 

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby. 

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared. 

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw. 

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!” 

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

[12timetraveler]

Hello,

I'm a foreign reader who deeply loves your articles. I've hit your "Something in Orange" more than 70 times; it's my favorite piece. This isn't because your other articles aren't excellent, but because the relationships you created in this one are so logical and endearing! (and it’s a hard thing in AU work)

As someone who also spent little time with my parents since childhood, your article has given me immense comfort and touched me deeply. Even though my English isn't very fluent, I sincerely want to say that your writing is incredibly excellent, even after translation. I truly love your work!

I also wanted to politely ask, how did you come up with the character of Hosea? Your portrayal of him is so wonderful that it feels like I've really met such a person! Additionally, I'd love to know if you incorporate real-life experiences into your stories because your stories are so rich, making people feel happy and warm!

Thank you once again! In our language circle, RDR is quite a niche work, so I feel very fortunate to have come across such an excellent piece!

Thank you so much for your high praise! It means a lot knowing my story impacts folks like this.

A lot of things went into building my modern Hosea. Some were super simple. The red glasses he has are the same as the ones Hosea's actor, Curzon Dobell, wears.

Then of course there were canon events in his life that I wanted to play with in modern times. His illness, his hippie tendencies, his wild youth, Bessie, being drunk for a year, etc. moving all these things into a modern AU helped build his character in different ways.

In planning the story I had a lot of fun world building. Looking at the story map and figuring out how things may have changed in the 120+ years since the story took place. Growing up and living in the Western US, I still see a lot of remnants of these original towns and how they've grown and changed. So I utilized that to sort of play with the map. In doing so, Hosea became my historian as a sort of expositional way to paint pictures of how I think things changed. When he discussed how things were historically, I'm able to paint a picture of how we went from what we see in game to what I imagine it looks like nowadays. I actually have a map of the game that I've edited, showing how I think the towns expanded, where a freeway might go, etc.

As far as pulling from real life, yes a lot of things I've pulled from real life experiences. Like in chapter 2 when they go boating, I've done that a few times with friends. I love going to my local reservoir, even just to swim. The pins on the stockings is also a personal tradition. My parents started it when they got married, and every year we all get a new pin on our stockings. I added it in because it's nostalgic for me, but it's also worked as a great way to sort of show reader becoming included in their little family.

I also grew up riding and training mustangs. Even though I haven't ridden a horse in... God nearly 15 years I think, I still love and miss it terribly. So getting to write about horse riding has always been a highlight of writing for RDR, for me and I love putting my love of horses into my works. (God I miss riding. I hope I can ride horses again someday soon.)

Then there was the Christmas chapter where they explored the historic district on Valentine, all dressed up for Christmas. This was kind of a combination of a few things. When I started this work is just gotten back from the Red Dead event in Tombstone, AZ, which was such a beautiful little place, everything nicely preserved but all the buildings being utilized in one way or another. So I wanted to imagine a similar place but further up north where it would snow the way I'm used to. And that's how I sort of came up with the Valentine historic district. I've always loved dressing up and looking at Christmas lights in the snow. Such a peaceful experience.

So yeah I guess in short, most of the character and world building come from taking the events that the characters experience and putting them into a modern lens. And this is what I've come up with.

Thank you again for reading and supporting my works. It really means the world to me. I hope to have the final three chapters out soon for you to read 💙💙

[honestsycrets]

Extra Hands [ Ivar x Reader, Ivar/Hvitserk Platonic ] VD7

❛ pairing | ivar/hvitserk, ivar x reader

❛ type | drabble for @youbloodymadgenius​ ‘s 1k event that I’m so, totally, late for. i’m so sorry that i’ve been slow, cat. i’ve been in a strange funk. other requests filled: you’ve never had a Valentine’s date and right, like you could do so much better. / You bet your ass I could.

❛ summary | hvitserk knows when his brother is nervous.

❛ tags | implied first date, modern ivar

“I dunno why you’re making all of these. Is that a homemade box?” 

Hvitserk picked the chocolate chunks out of Ivar’s drab vanilla cookie mix. It was the first time that he had tried this particular recipe. It was a painfully simple recipe of chocolate chip cookies, but that was the point. He made a note to use sea salt to give it some life. Who, after all, disliked chocolate chip cookies? Ivar gripped the wheels of his wheelchair, scooting himself around the kitchen. 

“Bro, this is a fuckin’ homemade box!” 

“Stop eating the dark chocolate,” Ivar lurched up, smacking his elder brother’s knuckles. Hvitserk sneaks his fingers back in to take three morsels back with him. “You’ll throw off the proportions.” 

“So what? It’s just for us, right?” 

“As if I would put this much effort into something for my brothers.” Ivar oils an ice cream scoop. He digs into the dough, scooping pieces that were-- of course, the perfect size. “It is for my woman.” 

Hvitserk about chokes on his chocolate morsels. 

“A girl?!”

“Yes, a woman, Hvitserk.” 

But you’ve never had a bitch for Valentine’s!”

“Don’t call her that,” Ivar bobs his head toward Hvitserk in a nod. He spent the better part of the afternoon in preparation for his date this evening. It was his first-- with a mother like his-- it had been previously impossible to date. But the ever-growing litany of questions that Hvitserk had for him began to pile up. 

“I gotta see this. Is she hot?” Hvitserk laughed, bouncing up and down in the question. “That why you’re making so many fuckin’ cookies? Chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, sugar cookies. Sweetheart, you can’t buy the necessities of life--err dick-- with cookies.” 

“Don’t Burton me. Why don’t you go fuck another one of your failed film students and leave me alone?” Ivar bit out. It was easier with his help, no doubt, but this was something he did with the express intention of seeing your smile. It had been years. Years that he spent changing your mind about dating your boss. He wasn’t about to ruin this now. 

Hvitserk swept the cookie sheet from the granite countertop and eased it into the oven. Ivar’s mind swims in the vast lake of his mind, wondering exactly how he could make sure that nothing went awry. It was, after all, his first date. 

“I just wanna see what she’s like. I mean, when have you brought a girl home? Suddenly you open up this publishing company, and bam, pussy.” 

Ivar looks at the other steaming cookies. They would have to cool first. His kitchen was perfumed with the scent of vanilla, almond, and delicious brown butter from the oven. Ivar eyes Hvitserk sharply, reaching for the glittery homemade box. “She’s not just pussy. She’s--” 

“Look at you being all romantic and shit.” 

“You are annoying me.” 

Sometimes, he wished he was an only child—most days. Today was one of them. His hands trembled around the box of delicate cookies. His brother’s expression was hooded for a moment before Hvitserk took the handles of his wheelchair, dragging him out of the room with nothing more but Ivar’s booming complaint. Hvitserk knew how much he hated it when he did this. It was like a mother dragging a child by the braids! 

“I’ll come check them fuckin’ cookies, don’ worry. What’re you gonna wear?” 

They come to a stop in Ivar’s room. He looks toward his crutches, settled on the wall, and decides to reach for them so that he could stand. Hvitserk rustles in his closet. He had a wealth of handsome suits-- it happened when you needed to impress a good author or attend an important meeting-- but they all seemed wrong. His practiced expression melts off his face. He thought it all through: the date, the dinner simmering on the stove, but when it came to himself. He dropped his eyes to the floor before returning Hvitserk’s look. 

“That suit, I suppose.” 

“That shit is ugly,” Hvitserk returns.

“Right, like you could do so much better,” Ivar hisses. 

 “Bet your ass I could. You gotta wear something hot. You want her to fuck you, right?”

“I told you--”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Not jus’ some pussy. But you wanna fuck, don’t you?” 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t. Something hot ends up being some black slacks that contrast against a burgundy button-up and a tight, black vest. He feels more exposed than he has in a while when Hvitserk comes back from taking out his last batch of cookies. He likes it-- and he hates it.

“That’s hot,” Hvitserk clapped. Ivar runs his finger under the rolled-up sleeves, noting how they formed to his muscles. “No way she doesn’t fuck you.” 

“This isn’t about that.” 

“It’s Valentine’s day,” he told him. “It has to be about that.” 

His phone trills. What he hates, but truly hates, is Hvitserk’s nosiness. He lurches toward it before Ivar could even move. He produces Ivar a decent nod. “She’s beautiful,” he flicks the phone at Ivar on his way out of the room. “Has a pretty smile, too.” 

His heart pounded in leaps in his chest. You must be here; already. He’s not yet put the cookies in the box. He makes his way toward the front door with the bundle of flowers against his chest, cognizant of the sound of a scratching spatula dragging across his cookie sheet. 

Well, Hvitserk is good for something.

Ivar isn’t sure of what the etiquette for Valentine’s Day is, but he could hardly care, knocking the door open to let you in. You slip in beside him, drawing your fingers over the v of his waistcoat. 

“Is this new?” you asked. “It looks… amazing.” 

Hvitserk, of course, is skittering somewhere inside. Ivar can hear the stifled giggle marked by the painfully unapologetic, I told you I could do better. You draw your head toward the inside, peeling the edge of your mask off. You roll your ruby red lipstick in, then out, and smile at him once again. 

“Is someone inside?” 

“Sadly,” he sighs as he hands you the flowers under his arm. “That is my brother Hvitserk. I don’t expect him to stay in the kitchen long.” 

Ivar lingers on the word stay. You laugh, drawing the flowers up to inspect them more carefully. It’s a full bouquet of romantic red roses: painfully cliche, but painfully Ivar. They are his favourite shade. 

“He’s kicking me out of my own kitchen,” Hvitserk calls back. You make your way into the house, drawing the bottom of your skirt lower: if you could manage such a thing. It wasn’t necessarily short: but the slit on the side of your leg was something Ivar knew Hvitserk would point out later. 

Evidence, he’d shout. Evidence of nothing, Ivar would say back. 

Your fingers graze Ivar’s free hand, clipping around the corner where Hvitserk stood with cookie crumbling in between his fingers. Ivar’s forehead creases, the anger bubbling up in his stomach into a roiling boil. At that moment you snatch Ivar’s hand, lacing your fingers together, and throwing cool water to the boil. 

“You must be her,” Hvitserk mumbles. “Ivar’s first date.” 

“First date? Really?” He’d kill him. He’d kill him, he’d drag him out to sea, throw his body over to the bottom of the pond and-- you lean up, planting a kiss at his jawline. “I like being the first.” 

“Yes. This is my older brother Hvitserk. He likes to eat anything he can get his grubby little fingers on. Including things that I did not make for him,” Ivar returns. He leans against the cabinet and slams his crutch on the countertop. At times his brother can be overbearing. Today, like most days, Hvitserk needed his company. Unlike most days, Hvitserk doesn’t have the patience.

“Why don’t you,” he rubs his twirls his hand in a spin. “...fuck off, Hvitserk?” 

“Ivar.” 

“Don’ worry about it. He’s just all wound up because he’s brought me home a girl to meet.” He wiped his chocolates fingers over his basketball shorts and extended his hand out— “Name's Hvitserk.”

“I heard,” you smiled, bringing the hand not cupping Ivar’s hand to squeeze his bicep. “You’re Ivar’s lit agent?”

“One of them.” 

“Ain’t that like— sexual harassment?” Hvitserk folds his hand back in, quickly catching on that you’re not a touchy type. At least, not with him. Fair enough. 

“Why don’t you take a bottle of wine to your room, Hvitserk?” Ivar grumbles. 

“Ain’t that for your date?” 

“We don’t need it,” you shout.

“Huh. Well if you insist.” At last, he folds, taking the bottle and a stolen plate of food with a bounce. Although he doesn’t say anything— he has that dopey smile. He waits until the door slams behind Hvitserk to exhale an apology. Ivar began to think that he would never leave. 

“I made those cookies for you.”

Your lips curl into a smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Hvitserk hollers something from the back room about having helped— and you pat his chest. His cheeks pinken as he looks over the dinner he’s made and the cookies he baked. His nosy Hvitserk— always killing his mood. 

“Take me to your room.”

“Hm?” he asks. “You’re not hungry?”

“Not for pasta.”

Oh. For once, Hvitserk was right.

@tephi101 @alicedopey @supernaturalvikingwhore @tootie-fruity @titty-teetee @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla @ethereallysimple @deathbyarabbit @deathbyarabbit @readsalot73 @natalie-rdr @lol-haha-joke @lisinfleur @hissouthernprincess @marvelousse @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol @vikingsmania @wish-i-was-a-mermaid @lif3snotouttogetyou @gruffle1 @cris101071 @gold-dragon-slayer​ @babypink224221 @wonderwoman292 @naaladareia​ @beyond-the-ashes​ @generic-fangirl @chinduda @laketaj24, @peaceisadirtyword, @ly–canthrope @cris101071​ @daughterofthenight117​ @unassumingviking @ladyofsoa, @inforapound​ @winchesterwife27​ @feyrearcheron44@readsalot73 @squirrelacorngliterfarts @gold-dragon-slayer​ @medievalfangirl @sallydelys​  @bluearchersstuff​ @affectionrabbitt​ @whatamood13 @notyouraveragegirl17 @igetcarriedawaywithyou​ @unacceptabletatertots @ivarandersen @stra-vage​ @tgrrose​ @cookies186​ @learninglemni-blog @theleeshanotlouise @soiproclaim​ @msmorganforever​ @destynelseclipsa​ @soleil-dor​ @strangunddurm​ @superwolfchild-fan

[alwaysbeliev]

I Can’t Lose You

Happy Valentine’s Day! This is for the @rdr-secret-cupid adventure this year. Thank you for the prompt, @bloodylove3 and I hope you enjoy!

summary: When Dutch asks you and Arthur to pretend you're married for a job, you're nervous that you won't be able to hide your feelings for the outlaw. You manage to keep it in line, but things go wrong fast.

relationship: Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

word count: 3497

link on AO3

“Alright, here’s where we’ll start.”

It was mid-afternoon. The heat from the sun above was overwhelming, burning whatever it touched. Not even the shade was a relief with its cover. Animals all around were burrowed underground, hiding inside of trees, splashing around in the cool river nearby, and doing their best to stay out of direct light. You idly watched a small mouse scurry through the grass, digging at the dirt every now and then before disappearing into a hole. Quietly, you wished you were that mouse. 

For the hundredth time, Dutch was reviewing his next grand plan. There was a tipoff about a decent score, something that would help the gang move to a new camp, and it would be almost easy to pull off. Almost. But he was careful to plan, detailed to a fault, and now you had to sit through another lecture about making sure you were in the right place at the right time. He stood just inside the flap of his tent as he talked. The others were in a loose circle around him and Hosea.

You felt a drop of sweat slide down the back of your neck. What you wouldn’t give to go jump in the rushing water just a hundred feet away, even fully clothed. Imagining the relief alone made you sweat more. You could feel your skin throb, your cheeks turning red, your shirt sticking to your lower back…

“Hey!”

The sharp sound of Dutch’s voice cut through your daydream, snapping you back to reality. Others were snickering as you jerked your head over and tried to pretend you had been listening.

“As I was saying,” the man continued, “there has been a small change of plan.” 

Whoa, Dutch was changing his plan? But the score was just a week away now.

He carried on, “Arthur will be playing the part of your protective, but quiet, husband. You will need to cause a big enough distraction that we can enter without tipping anyone off. Can you handle that?”

“I thought Hosea was providing the distraction?” Your mind was turning, scrambling to remember if that was the original plan or if you were suffering from heat stroke.

“As I had said before, Hosea will be needed outside. It would seem awfully suspicious to outsiders if 5 men all seemed to suddenly rush inside together, don’t you think?”

You supposed he had a point. Outwardly, you agreed with him, but inwardly, your heart was pounding. Arthur? Husband? You barely made it through the rest of the session, managing to excuse yourself as soon as Dutch was done talking. Never before had you felt the palpitations on your chest that you did now at the thought of being with Arthur Morgan. Not just being with him, but pretending to be married. 

To say that you had a crush on Arthur was putting it lightly. From the moment you had met the outlaw, the sight of him caused your heart to race faster than his beautiful horse. You could barely speak around him, let alone carry on any conversation, and you were certain everyone in camp knew about it. Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly had approached you just last week to tease you about the way you fumbled over your words when Arthur asked a question. Now you had to pretend to be married?

The group dispersed as Dutch finished his grand lecture, chattering excitedly about the huge score. You felt light-headed and were rooted to the spot. Dutch was right, it should be easy, you had played the actor’s role many times before, but this… This wouldn’t be acting. And surely someone was going to notice that.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

A week passed quicker than any week you’d been through before. You and Arthur had prepared a scene, practicing to get it right, and you were feeling slightly more confident. The cowboy still gave you flutters in your heart, but rehearsed lines were much easier than improvised ones, and you were positive he hadn’t seen the longing in your eyes. It was easy.

But what wasn’t easy was how inseparable the two of you were becoming. Every morning, Arthur approached you near the campfire, offering a small treat, typically a piece of chocolate or a small fruit. The first time, your cheeks had flushed hotter than the summer sun. It hadn’t improved much. You would review your plan for the score, pause for a lunch time meal, and continue in the afternoon. Arthur often seemed to have other ideas, wanting a change of scenery, and you would find yourselves a few miles from camp on some rocky outlook or on a river’s shore, just shooting the breeze while the sun seared high above. Arthur even managed to convince you to leave your horse once, riding behind him with arms wrapped around his chest, content just to be near him. 

Finally, the day arrived. The gang all arose early, gathering their tools uneasily. Nerves always ran high the day of, regardless of how much planning had gone into the score, and your stomach churned. Karen had lent a hat, Mary-Beth a beautiful dress in your most favorite color, and you felt so fluffy and over the top. When Arthur saw you, his face seemed to go slack, a rare smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“My, my, Mrs. Morgan,” he drawled, taking a few lazy steps to close the gap to you. “Aren’t you lookin’ mighty fine this mornin’.”

Pouting and embarrassed, you waved him off, brushing a tight curl over your shoulder in a weak attempt to mask the color rising to your cheeks.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, now, I’m only tryin’ to lighten the mood.” He laughed before looking somewhat sheepish himself. “Besides, you really do.”

You paused, taking in his sincere compliment.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t have time to respond as Dutch stepped out of his tent, looking the picture of graceful leadership, commanding everyone’s attention. As you turned your body towards him, you saw Arthur’s gaze lingering on your figure, the dress complementing you perfectly. You focused on tugging on your white lace gloves, trying to turn your ears where it mattered.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

“Alright, Mr. Callahan, now, here we are!”

Your voice pitched up, you pointed out the grandest building in town: the bank. Arthur guided his horse to the hitching post before hopping down, turning to help you down, your big skirt catching slightly and flouncing as your feet landed. Grinning at him, you tugged at his arm excitedly.

“Come on, darling, we gotta go get us a loan! That house ain’t gonna buy itself, you know!”

It was clear you were amusing the man at your side. Your anxiety was causing a jump in your performance, pushing you a slightly uncomfortable bit above believable, but you were pretty and young and the men were watching you. That was all that mattered.

With a grand gesture, you shoved the door to the bank open, stepping into the marbled interior with your boots clicking. The teller glanced up from whatever paperwork he was looking at. For a brief second, he studied the two of you, his eyes lingering on you in particular, before a fixed smile appeared on his face. 

“How can I help you?” he drawled. As practiced, Arthur opened his mouth to speak but you butted in before he could.

“Why, hello, Mr…?” You swept forward, extending a hand for him to shake. He glanced at Arthur in disbelief before gingerly shaking your hand.

“Mr. Monaghan.”

“Oh, Mr. Monaghan, how lovely!” You grinned widely, shaking vigorously. “Yes, me and my new husband here are looking to buy a house! Isn’t that just grand? We just got married, you know, just last week! Oh, we had the most beautiful honeymoon, didn’t we, darling? Traveled to see the ocean, oh it was gorgeous! Simply gorgeous! Have you ever been, Mr. Monaghan?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t. Not the way you planned it.

“The birds were so lovely, there were so many of them! Oh, and the food! Simply divine! Have you had seafood before? Crab, lobster, shrimp, oh it was perfect!”

As you rambled, the doors swung in again, allowing entrance to John and Javier. You didn’t spare a look for them, your energy pointed at the teller, and as planned, he didn’t seem to notice them. Your shrill voice and wild theatrics had his whole attention. You carried on as the men got into position.

“They paired the shrimp with-- What was it, my love? This wine, it was a red, wasn’t it? Or was it a white? Mr. Callahan is just hopeless about these things, you know, I’m glad I’m here to help him. Oh we had the most wonderful time together! I thought it might rain one day, there were these horrible gray clouds, but he told me not to worry, even though I wanted to, and sure enough, the sun was out by dinner time!”

The doors creaked again, allowing the last two men in, Dutch and Bill. All 5 men exchanged a look and, in one swift motion, they pulled their bandanas over their faces and drew their weapons. It was satisfying to hear the clicks of a few hammers. Your grin turned wicked and the teller suddenly realized what had happened. 

“We’ll take that loan to go, if you don’t mind.” You couldn’t help yourself. Arthur quickly stepped forward, shielding you with his body so your face was hidden, and you hurriedly moved towards the back of the men, allowing them to do what they needed. It was relatively painless and quiet, the teller moving hastily and without hesitation, filling bags with money and even allowing them access to the room with the safes. You served as lookout, casually standing at the window to keep an eye peeled for the law. Only when you heard Dutch’s signature goodbye did you turn away from it. Arthur made eye contact with you and playfully raised his eyebrows as he strode towards the door and you, ready to make for the horizon.

Without warning, the doors flew open, banging against the wall from the force behind it. Several lawmen were standing, guns drawn, ready to take out the outlaws. Instantly, shots were being fired. You didn’t know who fired first, but you dove out of the way, gripping your hat tightly so it wouldn’t be left behind. For some reason, your only coherent thought was Karen would have my hide.

Men were shouting, the smell of gunpowder filled the air. Flat on the floor, you couldn’t see anything, only heard Dutch shouting orders, police filling the streets outside, the solid sound of bullets connecting with flesh. There was nowhere to take cover. Somebody stepped on your leg and you gasped from the pain. A hand gripped your ankle and dragged you towards a wall. Panicked, you tried to scramble away until you registered Arthur’s voice trying to reassure you. 

“You boys play nice!” a deep voice bellowed from the porch. “We don’t want no hangings, now, y’here?”

“We will play nice when you play nice, Sheriff!” Dutch barked back. 

“This is a fucking massacre!” John spoke to the room at large. The men that had entered before were all on the floor, blood pooling around them, their guns laying forgotten on the wood. More were shouted outside. They were organizing to block all exits from town. There was no way you were gonna make it out now, you started to fear, and you could see the shared looks of the men with you echoing the same sentiment.

A surprised cry arose from outside as another gunshot cracked through the air. 

“There’s Mac!”

With renewed energy, everyone jumped up and sprang for the door. Feeling marginally brave, you snatched a gun from the floor, hoping you wouldn’t have to use it. Bill led the way out. Javier, John, and Dutch quickly followed, and Arthur made up the rear with you in tow, sticking to him like glue. 

The sun outside was blinding. You barely caught a glimpse of the street before you were rushed down the steps and around the side of the building. Back pressed against the wall, the pounding in your head started blocking out your hearing, and you only felt the vibrations in the air and under your feet. Even with all of Dutch’s careful planning, you were still trapped in this mess…

Arthur shouted your name. He stood, almost pressed to you, eyes burning. You snapped to attention, gun at the ready.

“We gotta make a break for it! Be ready on my count!”

It was all you could do to nod. You saw his horse in your peripheral, antsy and pawing, but waiting. You tried desperately to calm your breathing and gathered your skirts up out of your way. At the mark, you all ran, each in slightly different directions to mount their horses, spurring before fully mounted. Arthur was first and you scrambled after him, latching onto his arm and using the momentum of his horse to swing your leg over, skirts be damned. With a sharp cry, he urged his horse forward and away from town.

For a brief moment, you were free. Pounding hooves sounded behind you but were fading fast. The shouts of men continued to rip through the air, but you realized that they, too, were slowly growing faint.  And then a stabbing pain exploded in your thigh. A scream escaped before you could stop yourself. Trained well, Arthur didn’t stop his horse, but he tried to see what had happened, calling back to you with increasing desperation. You had been shot. The panic, the shortness of breath, and now the pain was too much. In a surprisingly short matter of seconds, black filled your vision and you were gone.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

The rustle of the trees. The soft sound of running water. Crackling of a campfire. Low voices outside your tent. Your hair brushing your face. Dull and throbbing pain in your leg. Heaviness in your chest. And, finally, the realization you were laying on a cot and not your usual bedroll. 

Slowly, your eyes blinked open. This definitely wasn’t your tent. These weren’t your blankets. Only the soft glow from the fire and a few lanterns shone on the one canvas wall. It was enough light to see that this was Arthur’s tent, the small table with his journal and flower, his photographs on the wagon side. His smell on the blankets. You breathed in deeply.

A snort by your feet caused you to startle. Sitting up slowly, you saw Arthur slumped in a chair, his hat drawn over his face, arms crossed as he breathed evenly, the occasional snore breaking the silence. An strong and sharp pain made you hiss and, in turn, woke the outlaw from his slumber. 

“You’re awake,” he mumbled, barely awake himself as he sat up. 

“Regrettably…”

“How’re you feelin’?”

“Honestly? Not great,” you said, chuckling a little. “But I’ve had worse. Why am I here?”

“Thought you might like a real bed. Well, realer than your bedroll. We can put you out for the wolves, if ya like.” His teasing tone was back, but it was more strained than normal. He looked absolutely exhausted. 

“No, this is fine. It’s… nice.”

Silence fell again. You stared at a thread on the sheet while Arthur stared at you. Usually there was a party the night after a big score, everyone drinking and being merry. There was a strange lack of boisterous laughter, though, and you had the weird feeling it was your doing. 

“How did we make out?”

“Oh, we escaped,” he said, leaning back in the chair again. “But we’re trapped here awhile, there’ll be law crawlin’ everywhere for a few weeks.”

“How much?”

Not even your fixation on the money got him to crack a smile.

“Dunno.” Shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve been in here, makin’ sure you don’t die.”

Arthur’s behavior was bizarre. You hadn’t seen him behave this way when another gang member was injured, not even when John had nearly been lost last year, and it was starting to worry you. Was there something else you didn’t know about? Was your injury more serious than he was letting on? For a moment, you studied his face, the ache and shadows clear in the weak light, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw the barest sign of a light track down his cheek.

“Arthur…” 

It was such a soft whisper, you weren’t sure he had heard you at first. He lifted his eyes to meet yours. You tried desperately to read him for a second before finally caving.

“Arthur, what happened? Did someone not make it?”

At long last, he managed a short huff of air that might be mistaken for laughter. Shaking his head, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees as he ran his hands across his face, removing his hat and setting it on his wardrobe. When he looked at you again, he actually had a small smile, and relief had replaced what you had mistaken for grief.

“No, no, nothin’ like that.”

“So what’s the matter?”

He tilted his chin up, exhaling long and low towards the sky, seemingly contemplating something. It was quiet for an achingly long time. Another deep sigh and he brought his chin back down, meeting your gaze steadily.

“I thought I was gonna lose you,” he murmured. “I heard the shot, your scream… I thought you were gone for sure.”

Okay… you thought, still bewildered. We’ve almost lost people before. What makes me special?

“And I didn’t get the chance to tell you…” You had seen him struggle with words in the past, but this was different. It was almost as if his voice was physically fighting him on saying anything. “I couldn’t stand to lose you, truth be told. You mean-- That is, you’re very important-- That’s, well…”

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes as you realized what he was trying to say. You didn’t dare utter a word, hoping, begging him to just spit it out. You weren’t positive this was happening, as now you were almost certain you had actually died and this was the beginning of your personal heaven.

“I can’t lose you, darlin’.”

The tears spilled over and dripped down your cheeks. You couldn’t even feel the pain in your thigh as it felt like a major weight had been lifted off of you. Arthur was startled, concern growing once more on his face at your tears, but when you started to grin and laughter bubbled up, he relaxed and looked as embarrassed as a school boy, dropping his eyes and smiling himself.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me to hear,” you finally said, shaking your head at the silliness of it all. “I can’t lose you, either, Arthur. You mean the world to me.”

Slowly, the cowboy rose from his seat and approached the edge of the cot. You gingerly shifted yourself over to allow him to sit beside you, and he took the opportunity. You soaked in the other’s presence for just a moment. With the softest gaze you had seen from him, Arthur returned his attention to you. He lifted a hand to cup your face, his rough thumb stroking your cheek as he drank in your features, looking truly content for the first time. Gracefully and ever the gentleman, he tilted your face up to meet his as he carefully kissed you. It was light at first. He was testing the waters, not pushing too fast. But when you met him eagerly, he leaned in, hard. 

You didn’t dare breathe for the duration of the kiss, your heart a frightening combination of pounding and not beating at all. The taste of whiskey lingered fresh on his lips and left your mouth tingling. When Arthur pulled away, you shifted forward slightly, not wanting it to end. But, courteous as always, he pressed a lingering kiss on your forehead and then sat back again. Your eyes flickered all over his face. You were still unsure if you could catch your breath.

“Wanted to do that for a long time,” he muttered. All you could do was nod. Wow…

“Can you stay with me?” you blurted out. “Tonight?”

“O’ course,” he agreed. He tugged his boots off as you scooted as far over as you could, lifting the sheet for him to crawl into. Warmth radiated from his skin and it was like stepping into a comfortable bath as he wrapped his arms around you. You sighed into his chest, drinking in his smell with your face buried in him, hands gripping his shirt. The dull sting in your leg was in the background of your mind. It didn’t matter to you, though; you were safe here. And this wasn’t going to end any time soon.

[notepadsandtealeaves]

Susan Grimshaw x GN!Reader in: Always Yours

From the van der Linde Ladies, With Love 💌 || VDE 2021

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | event m.list | rdr tag | main blog ||

|| rdr vde (gents) | batboys vde | bnha vde ||

I never expected you to take on such a fundamental roll in my life, and I certainly wasn’t ready for all that you entail. You’ve awakened parts of me that I’d thought long since atrophied, and the feeling is… indescribable, you are indescribable.

Your love is one she never expected to have…

↠ Requested By: My burning desire to receive a love letter lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW fluff ((but my blog’s 18+ if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs: None ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ((tho we should, honestly)) ↠ Total WC: ~600

|| Always Yours

To my dear one,

Though I know it may not seem like it, I’m actually a woman of few words. Unfortunately the questionable company we keep so enjoys pretending to be hard of hearing, so I find myself in the frustrating position of having to repeat things more often than not; if not for that I would say what needs saying and be done with it. It’s not like there’s much in this life of mine that’s worth waxing poetic over anyway—well aside from you, that is.

I won’t lie to you, honey, love is one of those things I’d given up on. My reasons for this weren’t cynical, however, but rather sentimental. I’d experienced it in several forms throughout the years, with the culmination of it all being with the one I lost before his time. By then I had loved and been loved in fullness and in truth, and though I could have stood to have held on to it for many years yet I learned to be content with what I had. It’s not as if I were alone, after all. I had—have—well over a dozen children, grown though they appear to be, to look after and they keep both my heart and hands full. I found my fulfillment in helping them along and watching them work at building lives and relationships of their own. It was a fine trade-off, all things considered, as they got up to more than enough to make living vicariously through them an interesting experience.

I had my love, my family and my friends, but the universe had one last surprise in store for me it seems.

I never expected you to take on such a fundamental roll in my life, and I certainly wasn’t ready for all that you entail. You’re so much in some ways (but never too much, don’t you worry yourself about that), and in others you can be a shrinking violet. It’s an odd, but beautiful dichotomy that you hold within yourself, my dear, and I can’t help but to love you all the more for it. You’ve awakened parts of me that I’d thought long since atrophied, and the feeling is… indescribable, you are indescribable.

____, you are one of the loveliest, most kind-hearted people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I’m so glad that you’ve allowed me to share this love with you.

Now that you’ve taken your place in my life I’m not entirely sure that I could ever go back to the way things were before. I suppose it’s a good thing then that I’ll never have to.

Always yours, Susan

P.S.: I got so caught up in things that I nearly forgot what this letter what supposed to be about. Happy Valentine’s Day, my dear! I know you said you wanted to spoil me for a change—and the sentiment is very much appreciated, truly—but that didn’t stop me from getting you a gift. I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you open it, it’s sure to be amusing if nothing else. Bet that’s left you curious, but you’ll just have to wait until we get to the gift-giving portion of whatever it is you have planned.

(Though if you’re sweet enough I could possibly be convinced to give it to you sooner…) 

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

[daintykeith]

DESERVING

Title: Deserving

Summary: A one-shot love story featuring Arthur Morgan and John Marston in which John struggles to understand Arthur's new behavior around camp.

Word count: 1.6k+

Notes: mild cursing | feedback is appreciated!!!

Tags: @southernlynxx @rdr-secret-cupid

I’m your secret cupid, @southernlynxx !!! I'm so sorry this took forever dear; the past few weeks have been totally insane and out of my hands to control. I chose your first wish and decided to mix it up with some good reassurance (happy) angst which i found fitting for the theme; 

John trying to understand & accept Arthur’s affection around camp! I hope you enjoy it, happy late Saint Valentine’s day!!!

P.D → I was inspired by this photo I took in my game! Totally worth it.

John never thought it would be like this.

At first, it was awkward—maybe bizarre. But that was just the beginning.

As the sun rose from the West, John walked out of his tent like a dead man; dark bags under his eyes and scratching his side, yawning without shame. Thirty minutes of sleep—or less—felt great. Just what he needed, right? Taking guarding rounds at night for the past few weeks to avoid him. Yes, that man. The one who had become his greatest relief and headache at the same time, Arthur Fucking Morgan.

While John agonized, Arthur was at his best. Refreshed, clean, and glowing like a damn pearl who had found its way to the surface, gleaming under the Sun—too shiny for John’s liking. Thankfully, his tormenting and seductive eyes were nowhere to be found yet. But, why was John avoiding him as if he was a pest? It’s complicated, you’ll understand later on.

John walked to the empty soup cauldron and grabbed the coffee pot next to it and a metallic cup nearby. He sighed as he sipped from the coffee he had just poured himself; feeling the smoke coming off his mouth like locomotor steam. He needed it to be functional, it had become his coal and main source of energy.

He stood next to the fire in the common area, waiting for Dutch to give a speech he had asked everyone the night before to hear. Why the hell would he give a speech so early in the morning when even the rooster hadn’t yet given his call to the sky? He wondered, staring his distorted reflection in the coffee in his hand.

It was a quiet morning, everyone who woke up, quickly waved at John and left to grab a coffee, or so it remained until the feared one appeared. He walked graciously without effort, his shirt had some buttons undone that showed his chest and collarbone, looking like a damn angel. He rinsed his face and John saw with detail from afar how every drop of water dripped down his face and neck. It made him thirsty. That man was no other than Arthur Morgan.

Arthur ran his hand through his hair and over his nape. To John, that man could’ve been the Devil himself walking on Earth, an angel who had fallen from Heaven for his ego. He was too full of himself, afly in making everyone blush in a moment’s notice. Before John could realize, Arthur was staring at the red in his cheeks and grinned, satisfied from his reaction.

“Damn you!” John whispered, looking anywhere but at him as he burned his tongue and narrowed his eyes.

Arthur, with his smug grin, quickly grabbed his coffee and sat next to the fire a few feet away from John, who didn’t know Arthur was just mesmerized with his foolishness, head over heels for a stubborn and reckless but loveable little piece of shit—a nickname truthful to his nature. A true rascal! Against his better judgement and all prognostics, an all-standing jinx befell upon him like rain in a desert.

He admired John from the ground, his strong jawline, the scars on his cheek that ran to his nose and the corner of his lips. However, his foul mouth didn’t catch up with his beauty—quick witted and far too fast for his train of thought that always got him in trouble. Arthur drank from his coffee and looked at John in the eye who, this time, didn’t turn their gaze away but held it dearly.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” John asked with his raspy voice, trying to sound uninterested but contradicted by the widened pupils in his curious eyes.

A walking contradiction, Arthur thought with a grin. “Wanna’ know?” He took a long swig of his cup and let it sit in his lap.

John hesitated for a moment.  "No." Nevermind.

The blue-greened eye man cleaned the corner of his mouth with his thumb and licked it and slightly blushed. "What a shame."

John couldn't stop staring Arthur, something had lit in the corner of his mind.

"Anyway, what does Dutch want this early in the morning?"

"Don't know, don't care."  Arthur rolled his eyes and looked at his feet.

John gulped, bothered by Arthur's sudden behavior to which he decided to blind the eye on.

"He's been acting... strange," John mutters, making a long pause.

He was right. Dutch had changed; it was the gleam in the eye he had always told them to not have—those of an ambition far too great, burned by being too close to the Sun. Everybody had noticed but kept quiet, making a silent agreement in not talking about the matter. John had a hunch of what it meant, but also kept quiet.

"No more than you; what's going on with ya'? Did the wolves eat the brain whole? You've been avoiding me!"

Did he notice? He knew he wasn't hiding the fact so well, but admitting it hurt his pride.

"The hell you sayin'?! No, I haven't!"

Arthur smiled in response, as if it was the answer he was expecting.

"Why?"

John narrowed his eyes.

"Why what?"

"You know."

He stood up, spilt the coffee left in his cup into the fire and slowly walked to John. His body swung with temptation, a fierce cat-walk with a daring look in his eyes.  John felt like his feet were stuck to the ground, unable to take just one step aside to avoid the storm walking straight to him. His metallic eyes were bewitched by  Arthur's; he sure knew how to charm him every damn time.

He didn't stop until he towered over John, trapping him with his voluptuous figure.

"Why are you so shy?" He whispered to John in the ear with a burning breath that heated and tinted his cheeks in deep red.

John forgot how to breath. He was so close that he felt their bodies touch and their minds collide.

"I, uh..."

"you what, dear?"

How shameless could the bastard be? Didn't he have any limit?

"I don't wanna talk here; let's go somewhere else." John imposed in a soft mutter.

"Alright."

They went to John's tent taking hands. They were cramped in such a small place, where their breathing burned eachother's skin and only a dim light shined through the entrance. A long pause arrived when the world had seemed to stop rotating and time had gone somewhere else, making everything but them oblivious and unimportant.

"I don't understand why are you doing this," John said with long sigh, finally giving in.

John rested his head in Arthur's shoulder, feeling his body finally relax after the tense moment.

"I thought we were a secret, ya' know?" he muttered, "a thing only you and I knew. Our thing."

Arthur combed his fingers through John's black hair, softly caressing the back of his head and humming in agreement.

"I don't seem to understand why you smile at me every time you see me or why you, like, want to touch me every time you can—or when you look at me like that."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No! I, ugh... I don't know."

Arthur chuckled. “I get it.”

John sighed in relief. Did it mean he would stop acting weird? I mean, Arthur would always be a bastard no matter how you look at it, but he called it an improvement.

“I'm sorry” he continued ”, but there's no stopping me in loving you.”

What. In. The. World. That's not what he meant!

“Arthur, you're not listening—”

“Every damn word, of course I do...”

“Then why are you doing this?!” John buried his head deeper, frustrated. “I'm an asshole, okay, I get it. But that's not a reason for you to do this to me.” Enchanting me, making me drunk with every word you whisper. Damn you.

“John, I—”

“I don't deserve it.”

A long silence between them came to be except for the more recurrent footsteps outdoors, stumping into the grass and dirt. John held tighter to Arthur, who stepped back only to take a closer look to his face, eye to eye.

“Listen closely, you little piece of shit.”

John flinched to the sudden grab by his collar, wanting to look away but Arthur only held his gaze closer.

"There's no denying that you are an idiot— but my idiot. I'm a fool myself, an old dirty bastard that's only getting older with every day that goes by, thinking that I'm the happiest man alive every damn time I look at you and even though I know I don't deserve it either. I ain't a good man, John. And you fucking know it." He grabbed his collar stronger as if it was a threat, with that dead look in his eyes that had seen the deeds their owner had done.

After Arthur realized what he did, he let John go.

“If it was about deserving, John, you would've never been mine."

He gently took John's hand laid it in his face, placing a gentle kiss in the back of his hand.

John couldn't speak a word. His mind had gone blank except for the beautiful image of Arthur lovingly playing with his fingers, laying kisses in the tip of his fingers, and the words that uttered in the corners of his mind, echoing Arthur's whispers.

"I'm sorry, John. But I beg you, let this damn fool love you and show it to you."

John placed his hand in Arthur's earlobe. As if both had read their minds, they looked into each other's eyes before leaning into a soft, gentle kiss.

Their kisses never tasted sweet. It was rough, with sweat and blood that was so common in there lives. Neither of them deserved the sweet taste of paradise, but they were making one of their own.

“You make me feel like a fool, Arthur.”

“You too.”

John wished this moment lasted forever. He wanted to enjoy the moment when their souls had gotten closer, but a voice outside called.

“Arthur, John, Where are you?!” Dutch called, irritated of waiting.

They separated and held each other's gaze for a moment.

“We should go,” John whispered tenderly as he rolled he eyes.

“Let's go,” Arthur chuckled.

Arthur gently held John's hand before heading out of the tent, ready for the world.

[aurelacs]

Ten of Wands

An Ezra/F!OC Red Dead Redemption AU

WORD COUNT: 5.8k

CONTENT: smut smut smut finally there is smut i promise it’s in there, unprotected sex, once again i stand firmly in the camp that ezra is god’s #1 pussy eater, consent is sexy, this is the final chapter

A/N: Yeah this one went way longer than I intended. We have reached the conclusion of this little ditty, but don’t forget I still plan on an epilogue after this! Thank you everyone so much for reading. 

This is set in the Red Dead Redemption universe, however there’s no spoilers for either game, and you don’t need to have prior knowledge of the games to understand the fic. I’m just using RDR for the setting and the time period (1899). Hope you enjoy!

chapter list | masterlist | read on AO3

V. The Lovers

Dawn rose as Ezra and Annie sped away from Strawberry, Ezra pushing the limits on how fast his old war horse could go. Annie kept her arms wrapped tight around him. Her cheek pressed so hard into his back she thought she might sink into his spine. They didn’t stop riding until they were surrounded by trees high enough to block out most of the rising sun, close to where Annie killed her first deer. It was there that Ezra had set up camp amongst the craggy, moss covered rocks. Lucille was hitched to a tree that stood next to what Annie could only assume was her tent. When she looked inside, she saw her bedroll and her clothes already laid out, like she had never left. Ezra took notice.

“I wasn’t sure why you were gone for a spell; whether it was because you wanted to leave or someone took you, so I kept your tent up just in case you decided to make your way back. If you had left. Usually bounty hunters aren’t so clandestine in their pursuits, so you can see why I thought you might have just gone.” His words caught in his throat like he wanted to say more, but his body wouldn’t let him.

“Thank you, Ezra. Really.”

He smiled, a shy, contained one where he ducked his head to try and hide the blush that was making its way along his cheeks. As he started the fire, he assured her that it was safe. That he tested the spot they were in three times over to make sure that the smoke of the fire couldn’t be seen over the treetops, and that the light from it couldn’t be seen from the roads. He wanted to make sure she was safe, and she felt it. Annie slept, in peace, undisturbed, until the next morning as Ezra dutifully kept watch.

When Annie left her tent, Ezra was still awake, propped up on a tree with a rifle in his lap. He smiled up at her and greeted her with a good morning that dripped with honey. A tin can sat by his side, half full of what looked like brown sludge.

“Coffee’s shit. But it works,” he laughed.  He got up from his post and sat himself back down next to Annie as she tried to make a meal with what little provisions Ezra had left. The sleeves of their shirts brushed as Annie worked. She could feel Ezra’s eyes on her, following the curves of her face and settling on her jaw. 

“How long before you realized the hunters took me?” 

“Well, I went to Armadillo to make sure at the very least you were okay, and when I went into the general store, I did not see a woman who barely knows the backend of a shotgun from the front trying to rob anyone.” 

Annie shoved him on his shoulder, hard enough that the momentum sent him tumbling on his side in a fit of laughter. “When are you gonna let me live that down,” she chuckled. 

“I dunno. Maybe when you’ve earned it.” Ezra settled back up and focused his gaze on the small fire. “Maybe when you’ve grown past the skittish thing I first met back in Valentine. Wasn’t even sure if I was looking for the right woman at one point, on account of the fact that you let them take you without a fuss. That’s not the bird I’ve grown to know.”

“I figured they caught me fair and square.”

Ezra raised an eyebrow. “Very much not the bird I know.” 

Annie quietly mulled over her breakfast, not wanting to dignify him with a response despite its resounding truth. She didn’t know why she struggled to tell him why she let them take him, either. The words that came up her throat fell silently from her tongue. She decided to let the matter rest, and watched as Ezra voraciously ate his way through their meal. A pang of guilt rang through her as she assumed the possibility that he hadn’t properly eaten since she was taken. 

“The MacFarlane Ranch lies before Armadillo,” Ezra said, mouth full of beans, “but we will have to stop in town first before  getting you hired there.”

“And why’s that?”

“I have a friend that can procure you some papers to keep the hunters off your trail. It’ll also probably take us the rest of the day to get there so it’ll give us the chance to rest up some more.”

He urged Annie to finish eating so they could travel the roads without the burden of the growing desert sun, or possibly running into more bounty hunters or lawmen. They walked their horses through the dense forest until reaching a main road, the sun still trying to rise. The scenery still entranced Annie; how the biome seemed to change with each mile. She watched as the forest turned into rolling fields of wheat along the Great Plains. As they crossed a river, Ezra leaned back towards her.

“Welcome to New Austin, little bird.”

Riding further, the green that was supplied by the nearby river faded into the sandy desert Annie saw in her dreams. Armadillo was still a way off, but seeing it, hearing the sound of her horse’s steps change, filled her with a sense of peace. The sun had barely risen and already the heat bore down on them. Annie felt the temptation of just removing the work shirt she had on and letting the sun and everyone else see her nearly naked except for a sheer undershirt. She strained to see if Ezra felt any effect of the desert heat. When she looked up, she saw that he had removed his light overcoat, and was wearing just a cotton shirt, a couple buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to display his tanned skin. Annie felt her mouth water for the first time in hours. She felt sweat ripple down her spine and they pressed on. 

Ezra wasn’t kidding when he had said that the MacFarlane Ranch was like a small town. The two only rode through the main road, but the ranch seemed to stretch on for miles. Immediately on their right was a large, faded house with a red roof that Annie assumed belonged to the family. A little past it was a grouping of small houses that belonged to the workers, and behind those was an area for the horses. Some of the workers nodded at them as they rode past. Ezra assured her they were almost to Armadillo. 

As they rode through the ranch, Ezra slowed to let Annie match his stride, and he began to tell her about the area, detailing the two towns and the areas surrounding it. They made their way down a road carved from a large cliff in an area he said was called “Hennigan’s Stead.” Along the trail were people who chose to make camp, and they all waved or nodded at the couple. The area being so populated worried Annie. He assured her that New Austin was more respectful of “outlaw ways” than West Elizabeth or New Hanover. 

“Most of the patrons of New Austin have bounties of their own, birdie. Our whereabouts are of an unknown variety here.” 

Annie tried to fight back tears as she and Ezra rode under the understated sign that simply read ‘ARMADILLO.’ It felt like a burden off her back, a weight so heavy that as it lifted she thought she might float away. Ezra directed her to the saloon at the very end of the town’s main and only road. She kept close to Ezra as he walked in. The population was less dense and diverse than Blackwater. It seemed to consist of mostly working people, cowboys and ranchers probably from the Ranch. Jaunty, upbeat music played from the piano in the corner and there were a few people dancing in the empty space between the bar and the tables scattered around the room. Ezra ushered them to the bar where he put down five dollars, enough for a stay at the hotel upstairs and drinks. 

“Promise me it won’t end up like last time,” Annie said as he told her the man he was meeting was in the saloon.

Ezra winked at her. “If the gentleman gives me what I require, there’ll be no need for quarrel.” He walked into a back room to the right of the swinging doors 

Annie sat at the bar and downed a shot of whiskey. Even the poor shelter from the faded, wooden building helped cool her down. She took a glance outside to check on her and Ezra’s horses, hitched at the side of the saloon next to a water trough. The events of Ezra’s prior shady dealings had her on edge, and she took another shot to calm her bouncing leg. No one seemed to pay her any mind. As she looked down the bar, she saw the faces of a couple other patrons just like her: tired, overheated, trying to pass the time. It was hard to keep her head down with the bartender routinely coming over to offer her more to drink, or other patrons bumping in to her to get closer to the piano. Every muscle in her body unclenched as Ezra took the seat at the bar next to her. He ordered a shot for himself and slid the presumed papers across the counter over to her.

“You probably won’t need them to get a job down at the ranch, but if hunters ever try and steal you up again, you can whip these out and say ‘I’m not Annie Cobb.’” He took a shot and slammed it down. “And they will have nothing to prove you otherwise. Congratulations, little bird.” 

They let themselves wind down, too exhausted from the heat to consider making their way back to MacFarlane’s. Ezra himself sounded unsure as he suggested it. With the finish line in sight, they chose to relax and use up the money Ezra had put on their tab. Day fell into night and the saloon soon filled up further than Annie thought possible. The music continued to play. Annie couldn’t remember if it had ever stopped.

“Let’s dance,” she said, her gaze fixated on the group of people square dancing in the middle of the floor. 

“I didn’t see you as the dancing type.” 

Annie stood and held out her hand for Ezra to take. She guided him to the makeshift dance floor, finding a rhythm that didn’t match what was being played. He stood by her, laughing at how out of time she was, and at how she ignored that everyone else was following an old square dance. After three shots, she felt it unnecessary to care how she looked, but after enough coaxing from Ezra, she took the time to learn the dance everyone else was doing. It involved swinging each other around the room. The idea excited Annie. When she thought she had enough of a grasp on it, she joined back in, letting the arms of strangers guide her around. It was thrilling. It felt freeing to be swept up in the joy of others. Her smile grew wider as Ezra eventually joined in. 

The music slowed tempo, and this time Ezra offered his hand to Annie. She folded into him, letting his hand settle right above her waist. He pushed their bodies closer together so their chests were touching and began to sway them to the beat. It gave her a chance to let her heart settle from racing, or so she thought. Goosebumps ran down her spine as she felt Ezra begin to rub his thumb up and down her back. They swayed there in silence, let the softness of the moment speak for itself. 

“They were going to hurt you.” Annie said it after a couple minutes. 

“Who?”

“The bounty hunters,” she whispered it low, so those around them couldn’t hear. “They told me to come quietly or they’d have killed you.” 

“I very well could have handled them, birdie.” She couldn’t stop thinking about how good his calloused hand felt in hers, or how the one on her waist seemed to engulf it. 

“With you fast asleep and a gun pointed to your head? I don’t think so.”

Ezra spun her in time with the music before returning her to his arms. “Why would that matter to you? My living or dying? I have spent my life as an outlaw, I might as well have gone out protecting someone. Doing something law-abiding with my time for once.”

“Don’t you get it, Ezra?” The alcohol and heat played tricks on her mind, made her more brave than she thought she needed to be to say anything. “I care about you. Greatly. More than I care to admit.” 

The two of them hadn’t stopped dancing. There was nothing but a distinct silence between them. Embarrassment took over her, and she wanted to hide, run into a random room in the saloon and not leave until morning rose and Ezra was gone. 

“If you don’t feel the same, I’d appreciate it if you would let go of me.” 

Ezra dipped her, one strong hand splayed across her back to keep her balanced, their noses almost touching. “Don’t be ridiculous, little bird. Why do you think I spent almost a month looking for you?” 

The music seemed to grow louder with each spin they made, Ezra holding her a little tighter with each flourish of their steps. Annie buried her face into the crook of his neck. His shoulder absorbed most of the joyous laughter that erupted from her body. She made it to Armadillo. He loved her. The candlelight chandelier shining down upon them felt like a blessing from God. 

“Kiss me.”

“Excuse me, birdie?” Ezra’s smirk could have lit up the whole room. The nickname set her heart ablaze as the whiskey coursed through her. Annie couldn’t stop looking at his lips and the way his top lip arched into a gentle bow. She reached her hand up, tempted to brush her thumb along his bottom lip, but opting to trace the scar that danced across his cheek. The rest of her fingers curved gently under his jaw.

“I said ‘kiss me,’ Ezra.” She stopped their dancing in the middle of the saloon to bring each other in to focus, her hand still on his cheek.

Ezra’s smirk grew into a smile, the glimmer in his eyes reminiscent of the one he had all the way back in Valentine. The low light of the saloon shined around him like a halo and his beauty overwhelmed her. This man who went out on a limb to help her, to save her, to not once mention what she had done. Who wasn’t afraid to say he knew her. He made her feel safe for the first time in so long, and she didn’t know what to do with this feeling. It hit her like a bolt of lightning when he smiled and leaned in.

He kissed her. Quick and chaste in front of what felt like the entirety of Armadillo. It happened so fast, it didn’t give her any time to react to it until his lips were already gone, a ghost across her mouth. The delivery, the circumstance, felt so insufficient for what Annie had been anticipating that it almost made her scream. As she opened her mouth to protest, Ezra took her hand from his cheek and guided her past the bar to the stairs. When Annie realized where Ezra was taking her, her hands began to tremble. A nervous ache crept into her stomach. She fought back the urge to yell at him, chastise him for wasting the one opportunity they might have had where she finally felt okay. Their room was at the very end of the landing, and the mix of elation and dread grew with each passing step until finally they had made their way inside and Ezra closed the door. He paused, noting the look on Annie’s face. 

“Are you alright? I hope this is okay. I wanted to afford us some privacy. I think it’s the least you deserve.”

Annie nodded, almost unable to look him in the eyes. 

“Do you still want me to kiss you?” A touch of concern leaked in his voice. Ezra had kept his distance, a couple steps away from where Annie stood with her hands folded in front of her. She looked up at him pleading, almost begging.

“Yes.”

Ezra wasted no time closing the space between them, their bodies molded together as though they were carved from the same stone. He took her hand in his and traced his thumb down her middle finger. He brought the hand to his lips and gave it a soft kiss, the air from his nostrils cascading down her knuckles. He placed the hand on his shoulder. Annie mirrored his action and moved her hands down a little lower so they laid on his chest. She took comfort in the feeling of his breathing. Through her palm, she could feel his heart racing. Ezra cupped her face in his hands and drew her close, their lips so close to touching that the feeling made Annie’s start to itch.

“My bird,” he whispered, before bringing her in for a kiss. 

This kiss lit every one of Annie’s nerves on fire until the pleasure nearly veered into actual pain. It had been so long since she was kissed, since she wanted to be kissed, that she already had to hold back a moan. It felt like taking her first drink of water. To hold him in her hands, to feel his calloused fingers caress her cheeks, to just be kissing him without fear: it overwhelmed her. Made small tears fall from her eyes and collect at the bridge of Ezra’s thumbs. 

Hesitantly, Ezra brushed them away. “Should we stop?”

Annie shook her head ‘no’ and pulled Ezra impossibly closer, running a hand up the back of his head to tangle in his unruly hair. There was a passion behind it that Annie could never remember feeling; an urgency she forgot could ever exist. When Ezra lightly dragged his tongue across her bottom lip, she moaned. A quiet noise that got caught in the back of her throat and made her cheeks flare in their warmth. She ran her hands down his trunk and back up again, stopping at the top button of his shirt.

“I am all yours.” Ezra’s hands moved and settled at her waist to give her room as she undid each of the buttons on his shirt, showing remarkable restraint. His skin was burning hot, slightly flushed from the alcohol and the attention he was receiving. It felt impossible not to stare. Annie felt the urge to stop. She wanted to lay him on the bed and drink him in for a week. Nothing explicit, just tracing her lips down his skin, counting every scar and freckle until the world inevitably ends. She knew he would oblige. Instead she brushed the shirt off of his shoulders and held him close again. She kissed him where his jaw met his neck, relished in the small sigh Ezra let out; peppering kisses all over his face until finally moving back to his lips. Annie mirrored his action and traced her tongue along his bottom lip until it elicited a moan that she felt reverberate in the back of her throat. Her hands moved from one spot on his body to the next, unable to get comfortable with just one soft patch of him. Taking his wrist, not separating from the kiss, Annie pulled Ezra forward, moving herself backwards toward the bed until it came into contact with the back of her knees, and she sat. Eyes level with the waistband of his pants and the growing bulge beneath them. As she went to unbutton them, Ezra stopped her, his hands gingerly removing hers. 

“Let me focus on you, birdie,” he said. He kissed her forehead and told her to move back onto the bed so her head lined up with the headboard. Ezra straddled her waist and leaned in for another kiss, this time more desperate, more urgent than the last. There was more tongue, a sense of neediness that Annie had never sensed from him before. Annie matched his pace, holding onto him as though removing his lips from hers was a death sentence. The room was so far from the commotion downstairs that the only sound in their small room was the chorus of moans they brought forth from one another. She gripped onto his shoulders, digging her nails in hard enough she knew they would leave marks. She could feel the heat growing between her legs. 

Ezra cradled the back of her head with one hand while the other deftly undid the buttons on her shirt. He worked his way up and down her torso, planting open mouth kisses and love bites everywhere he could find. Annie’s back arched as he dragged his teeth down her ribs, and he took the chance to do it over and over until it left her breathless. His hand slid beneath her undershirt, a finger teasing the underside of her right breast as he watched her for permission. All in his hand. He lightly rolled the nipple between his fingers and Annie cried out, far louder that she was intending, and she watched Ezra smirk from between her fluttering lashes. She grew even louder as Ezra’s tongue began to dance around her other nipple, the sensation flooding down to her core. He coaxed off her undershirt, Annie grateful for the cool air that brushed against her heated skin. Ezra continued his way down her body, lighting a fire with each kiss he planted. 

“Is this alright,” he asked, voice gritty with want, and he toyed with the button of her jeans. Annie nodded. He pushed them off of her, making sure his hands came into contact with every bit of her legs as they came down. Replacing his hand with his lips, he kissed his way back up her legs, slowly becoming more rough the closer he got to her apex. Ezra nipped and sucked at Annie’s inner thighs until she begged him to stop from the overstimulation. He responded by kissing his way to her core, ghosting his nose over her lips until her hips bucked, urging him to push forward. 

Ezra ran a thumb down her slit, already wet from his prolonged teasing. His tongue followed a similar path, up and down, avoiding her clit until she reached a point where she was starting to soak the bed beneath her. He wrapped his arms around her thighs, pulled her closer, and dove in. He moaned at the scent of her, nuzzled his nose onto her clit as his tongue sank into her. His hands rested on her hips, adding pressure every time they threatened to buck again. Annie, her eyes tightened shut for the most part, dared to open them and glance at Ezra. She nearly came from the sight. His eyes were darkened by a lust and hunger she had never seen from him before, his nose was shiny from her slick. She reached down to tug at his hair and he moaned against her.

“I thought I would have to bring down heaven itself to taste you,” he said as he came up for air for a moment and kissed her inner thigh. All Annie could do was moan and sink further into the bed. Ezra made his way back down, tracing another finger along her slit, and slowly sliding it between her folds. Annie hummed with pleasure as he began to slowly thrust it inside her. He curved it and slowly massaged the area until he knew he found her spot. It took everything Annie had to not kick him off of her to try and bring herself some relief. He slowly coaxed in another finger, working his tongue on her clit and continuing to fuck her with his fingers. It was like he was purposefully teasing her more, trying to keep her as close to orgasm as possible without actually making her come. Every time she thought she was about to, Ezra would change his pace, or adjust his hand, leaving her unfulfilled and close to exhaustion. Even though night had fallen, the desert remained heated, and Annie’s skin gleamed with sweat. 

“Ezra, please,” she panted. When Ezra looked up at her, she could’ve sworn he looked drunk.

“What’s wrong, birdie?” As he talked, he dragged slow circles around her clit. 

“Please let me come.” 

He huffed against her thigh in disappointment. “If that’s what my bird wants,” he said, his tone taunting and full of need. “How do you want it?”

“What do you mean?” Ezra crawled his way up towards her and kissed her, his tongue dragging along hers, making sure she tasted herself. 

“How do you want to come? I can keep playing with you down here,” he ran his finger between her slit again, “or we can get to the real fun stuff.” Ezra took Annie’s hand in his and guided it to his center where his cock was so hard she thought he might come from the contact alone. He sighed at the small release. It made her dizzy, thinking that she caused this. 

“I want you.” The speed at which she said it almost embarrassed her. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Ezra smiled against her lips. He moved and pressed hot, fevered kisses along her jaw and down her neck. Annie watched in awe as he leaned up to take off his pants and underwear, her eyes trailing down his soft, scarred torso to the lush curls that swept down his navel to the length between his legs. The bed sank as he knelt over her, his body close enough to hers that she could feel the heat radiating from him. 

There was a tension in the air. A hesitation in Ezra’s actions that confused her while he hovered over her, unmoving. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Are you sure this is alright?” He brushed a strand of hair that had fallen to the middle of her face. The sincerity of his statement shone in the candlelit room, a glint of caution in his eyes that Annie appreciated, but the fire he had lit beneath her made her grow impatient. She dragged her nails down his chest, watching as the goosebumps followed down his skin. She took him in his hand and smeared the small amount of precome around his head. Guiding him to her entrance, Ezra raised his eyebrows, silently telling her he got the hint. He pushed in slowly, carefully, letting her adjust to every part of her. Annie relished in how he stretched her. She couldn’t remember the last time she had had sex. Before she killed her husband, she had been managing to hold him off for a couple months. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. A moan arose from her throat, a low mewl that encouraged Ezra to proceed. 

She rose her hips up to meet his, legs lazily wrapping around his hips as he began to thrust into her. It was hard for her to contain her moans with him filling her up so perfectly. Ezra leaned his head down so that his mouth was next to her ear. The combination of his own moans and his words of adoration made her mind fuzzy. Calling her things her husband never called her, saying things her husband never said: beautiful, mine, perfect, celestial. Ezra cradled the back of her head in one of his hands.

“I have been thinking of this far longer than I’d like to admit,” he whispered, picking up the pace a little. “Been dreaming about you, and your pearlescent smile, and how your hair smells, and the feeling of you around me.” He softly bit on Annie’s shoulder. His voice, praising her, loving her, laced with lust brought her close to orgasm again. Her hips found his rhythm and matched him, causing him to throw his head back. “Fuck. My sweet bird.” 

Ezra leaned back and propped one of Annie’s legs over his shoulder, allowing him to reach deeper. She knew she wouldn’t be able to last long from there as the angle meant that he could hit her spot over and over. Her left hand ran through his hair while the other snakes down between their bodies and began to rub at her clit. The pleasure built as Ezra continued to thrust into her, suck marks into her skin, whisper praise in her ear, until she saw white. 

He brought her lips to his and swallowed her cries of pleasure, his hips stuttering as he followed soon behind. In that moment, the world could have ended and Annie would have laid there in utter contentment. Ezra rolled off of her with a sigh. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled them together so they were face to face. The night had finally cooled, and she was grateful for his warmth.Annie could do was let out a breathless please before Ezra took it in his hand, gently kneading it 

Annie’s mouth moved, trying to find the correct syllables to properly convey how she felt. It was bliss. A slice of heaven she never thought she would have. She wanted to tell Ezra she loved him, let the words vibrate in her throat and watch his smile grow again, perhaps have him again, in the reverie they created. The sentiment fell apart, Annie still too breathless to get her point across. It didn’t matter to Ezra, who had been watching her the whole time. He still smiled, and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss softer than she expected.  

“You have a big day tomorrow, little bird. You should get some rest.” Ezra climbed out of the bed to blow out the candles surrounding them. When he returned, he pulled the quilt over them and molded himself to the curves of her body, tucking her head underneath his chin.  

Hopefully, I will be long gone by the time you read this. 

Annie wanted to burn the letter the second she read it. A crushing sadness gave way to a blazing anger that translated in the heavy steps she took as she descended out of the saloon. In the letter was ten dollars, enough for her to buy some provisions and a stagecoach to the ranch if she didn’t feel like making the trip on horseback. She figured the day was early enough, and the distance short enough, that she would be able to make it to the ranch before it got too hot again. Her heart couldn’t help but sink when she approached Lucille and didn’t see Ezra’s horse beside her. She grew mad at herself. What was she expecting? For him to stay with her? She knew he was one of those “once an outlaw, always an outlaw” types. Ones who had been caught up in the lifestyle for so long that getting them to leave would have been impossible. It still stung.

At one point, I did consider settling down alongside you, but I decided that the MacFarlane Ranch was not a place best suited for the likes of those like me. I thought it best to leave you, and therefore leave you untethered to the past you are so close to escaping.  Also, there are apparently five bounties on my head, and staying with you would only cause more trouble that you don’t deserve. 

All the trouble he went through to help her. The time spent simply getting her to this point. It almost felt like a waste. Did he think she wouldn’t do the same for him? Surely he could have made his own papers as well. The man in Valentine said the MacFarlane’s were always hiring. Ezra said he wouldn’t have minded dying protecting someone. Doing something “law-abiding.” He could have protected her on the ranch. Somehow. By that point, she would have done anything to keep him close by.

I hope, for your sake, our paths don’t cross again. To keep you safe. I know you’ll be fine. You were strong when I met you, and you’re even stronger now. 

It wasn’t hard to find the right path to the ranch, even if the same stretch of sand went on further than she could have comprehended. There was constant traffic that appeared to be coming and going, especially in the morning. Annie made way for the few carriages that made their way down Hennigan’s Stead, each filled with specific produce from the ranch. Before this, long before she married her husband, she wanted to be a teacher. A small hope in the back of her mind blossomed at the idea that maybe the ranch’s population was vibrant enough to necessitate one. She wanted to push it out, acknowledging that nearly every dream she had didn’t come to fruition. 

She hated to say it. 

She hoped to see Ezra again. 

The ranch was bustling as Annie finally reached it. More wagons traveled down the main road that housed the family home. A group of cowboys rode out towards Stillwater Creek. She jumped down from Lucille and took her lead, trying to find someone in charge. Everyone pointed her over to the horse stables and told her to ask for a man named Amos. 

“Where you from?” The question startled her as a man approached her from behind. 

“Tumbleweed.” It was a larger town way out past Armadillo. Ezra told her it would be the safer choice to say if they asked. He worried that Valentine was too far for anyone to be traveling there for a job. He wanted to keep her safe. 

“What’s your name.”

“Annie.”

He reached out his hand for her to shake and she took it obligingly. He introduced himself as Amos and she immediately told him she was looking for a job. 

“You good with a gun?”

“Yessir.”

Amos eyed her up and down cautiously. She knew she wasn’t exactly dressed the part, but with the money Ezra gave her, and the money she was bound to make from the ranch, she figured she’d be well integrated in no time. “You got a horse already, so that makes my life a little easier. How’s about we start you off with nightly patrols and see how you do from there.”

Annie adjusted the rifle slung on her shoulder. “I’ll take whatever you can give me.” 

They shook hands, and silently agreed on a deal.

Good luck, my darling Annie Bird.

Tag List: @immundusspiritu @borderlinedindjarin @aforces

[sweetarthurmorgan]

To New Beginnings (Reader x Arthur Morgan)

Hey so I have never written a one-shot on here before (Or about RDR 2 hahah.) So, I gave it shot! Hopefully you enjoy the story! Maybe I will write more if I am ever so confident!!

If you haven’t played the gameplay there are spoilers about Mary (Arthurs??? Ex??? Ex lover??? Yes??) So be weary of that!

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To New Beginnings By: @sweetarthurmorgan​ 

Word Count: 2,227 words 

Rating: PG (Just mentions of alcohol!) 

“How could one drink change a night?” 

spoilers

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You can't say you're surprised this time, you knew that he was going to cheat on you again. But maybe you didn't know that he was going to do it after you just finished making supper (not to mention his favorite meal), and as you were calling him to come down, you wondered what was taking him so long. Of course you were going to check on your husband. Was he sleeping? (Was he getting drunk in the bedroom again after you asked him not to for the millionth time.)

And of course you walked up the stairs, and of course you opened the door.

And of course you saw him lying in the bed with a woman.

So here you are, drinking once again in Valentine- hoping to find some answer in a bottle.

"I'll have another one, please." You said as you handed him the money.

"How about I get you something stronger, looks like you'll be here for a while. I'll be right back." The bartender said as he walked away for a moment, searching for something.

You groaned as you covered your eyes with your cold hands. They felt like ice against your burning eyes, filled with hot tears. The cold comforted the puffy bags under your eyes. But you felt too numb to even think about crying this time, but you still wanted to cry.

With everything that happened, you wanted to forget. Every memory with him that made you laugh, every moment where you smiled so widely. Even every moment you'd look yourself in the mirror and ever wonder if you were good enough for him. You just wanted to never be in your own skin, maybe he'd like you better that way.

As your thoughts were getting heavier, you heard a sound of footsteps approach next to you, the sound of their body getting comfortable into the chair that was right next to yours. You didn't respond only because it wasn't such an big deal to you that someone sat down next to you, it's  not like you were much company right now anyway.

"Here you go ma'am, the strongest thing I have- if you weren't a white liner now, just wait." The bartender said as he poured you a shot glass, you removed your hands off of your eyes and picked it up. You didn't give much of a second thought and downed it quickly.

You felt the burn as it flowed through your body, you sucked in your breath quickly. Your head hanging low as you felt the rising sensation down your throat. It was strong alright, maybe too strong for your liking.

"I'll take one of those." the guy next to you stated.

You reached your hand out and slammed the table.

"Put his drinks on my tab." You stated as you sighed, continuing to drink what little left you had in your beer bottle. You're not sure why you'd offer to buy the strangers drinks, perhaps that was the alcohol speaking to you. Perhaps you felt bad as this person was probably about to hear you complain and cry very soon, considering how the whiskey was taking control of you so quickly.

"Thank you, Miss-"

"It doesn't matter." You said with a wave of your hand. The slight tingle of your lips were coming into play, the way the buzzing felt was comforting to you.

"You seem 'bout as bad as I do, if not a little worse." He said with humor in his voice.

You turned your head to make a rude comeback but you closed your mouth quickly, glancing your eyes up.

You see a large man beside of you, his eyes sparkled. It was like looking at a nice jewelry store and seeing the pretty gems shine against the glass. His lips. They were awfully inviting. The soft shade of pink reminded you of a field of flowers, something so soft- so sweet. He looked older than you, sure. But yet the wrinkles in the corner of his eyes were something charming, something you didn't expect to like. His face hid behind his hat, but you could still his smile and his blonde hair, regardless if it was matted or not. He was one beautiful man that smelled of gunsmoke and fresh soap. Maybe the alcohol amplified how he appeared in your eyes, but then again, maybe not.

You looked away as you realized you may have been staring at him for too long, it was hard for you not to look at him. Or your movements were beginning to go slower.

"I hope you're not as chewed up as me right now, that wouldn't be too kind." You responded with a sigh as you tapped your fingers on the table for another beer.

"Honestly ma'am, it probably would be the kindest." He said as he quickly took his shot, making a stiff face, looks like it was really strong after all.

"You ever broke a girls heart? You ever slept with another woman in her own house?"

He thought about that question for while, returning the question with a slight shake of his head.

"Then you don't deserve to feel as god awful as I do." You said as you took a large gulp, wiping your face of the beer that trickled your neck.

He looked at you with worry, connecting the dots. He took a quiet sip of his drink.

"That's why I'm here anyway, caught him cheating on me again, I kicked him out- and now I'm trying so hard to forget everything. Maybe more drinks would help." You said with a small laugh, shaking your head.

"A girl broke my heart once." He said as you looked over, you turned your head sideways.

"Oh really?" You said as he nodded, he replied as he took another sip of his beer.

"Well, tell me more about her." You said as he adverted his eyes to you, sighing.

"She was beautiful, so beautiful. She was kind and witty. And smart! Oh, she had a great head on her shoulders. And-" You weren't listening as he continued to talk about this woman, but you saw how his eyes were gleaming, and how his smile was wide when he was bringing back old memories. He truly loved this woman, and something about that made your heart soar. If only, your husband could have loved you in such a manner as this drunk stranger.

You got out of your thoughts as you focused onto him speaking.

"But she- well we, we had different paths. And we both crossed them at the wrong time. She wanted me to leave the life I had to be with her. And, for that to happen I would have to change everything about me. But, I couldn't. I c-can't be with her and continue to be me. We are in different worlds. Maybe- if I were to change. I could truly be with Mary." It was like you could feel his heart ache and shatter into pieces. How could someone hurt someone so badly, it affected their whole world today. Not like you had it any better. But hearing someone else's pain made it seems like yours wasn't the main problem.

"Is that why you are here?"

You both didn't say a word at that moment, you just sat in silence.

"I guess so." He broke the tension, his shoulders rising up.

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said as you looked down slowly looking back over to him, seeing his eyes look so sad, a mixture of regret and despair almost. In a way, you pitied him.

"Well, that Mary woman is a real fool."

"How so?" He asked.

"W-Well, you see-" You said as you began to get tongue-tied, he just looked at you and waited for a response. Did he really seem all that interested?

"If she could only see how you talk about her like she's the finest gem in all of the world. She would feel really foolish right now. Asking you to change when you don't even want a single detail about her to be different."

For some reason, you had a feeling this Mary woman was in his life a long time ago- but he recalls it as it was a fresh wound. Maybe, he might not show it as natural as you can, he's hurting more than you have for the longest time.

"You know, if you don't feel like talking about Mary, I won't force you to." You said with confidence. You adjusted the way you were sitting as he nodded his head, making a huff as he looked over- giving back a small smile.

"Thank you." He said, taking a swig of his drink.

"Besides, I don't think marriage is a smart idea for me."

"I'll have to agree to that, sadly. Maybe I'm not the luckiest girl with love." You said with a small smile, a small bittersweet laugh escaped shortly after.

He continued to smile, shaking his head.

"But you know what? He is obviously empty headed from what you have told me, not like I can speak however."

You didn't say a word as you looked at him, he opened his lips and closed them before huffing quietly.

"I mean look at you, you're literally crying over a man you took care of and married- if he was dumb enough to not realize he had a good wife, than he's better off in Lemoyne hanging out with the alligators. And that's what you should be thinkin' bout." You could notice his words are getting more slurred, but what he said meant more to you than anything.

You smiled at him as he smiled back reassuringly.

"Y/N" you said to him, he cocked his eyebrow up.

"What?"

"My name is Y/N. You asked me what is was earlier and I didn't answer." You said as you took another gulp of your drink.

"You told me it didn't matter, so why does it now?" He questioned as you slightly blushed in his retort.

You just shrugged and looked away from him, it really didn't matter if he knew your name or not- but you thought he should at least know.

"Arthur." He said as you turned your head, making a small smile.

"Arthur? You don't look like an Arthur."

"That's kind of you to say." He said as you laughed, shaking your head.

"Well Arthur, let's drink!" You said excitingly as you tapped for the bartender to bring you more shots.

"What are we drinking for?"

You paused as you picked up your glass, thinking of a good toast.

"To new beginnings!"

Arthur smiled softly as he raised his glass.

"To new beginnings."

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The sun glared brightly against your eyelids, you groaned quietly. Immediately raising your head up, using your hand to cover that aching sun.

As your eyes adjusted, you quickly noticed that...this wasn't your room, or it doesn't look like it at all.

You looked around as you noticed you were in some random hotel room. Four walls, a bathroom, drawers, and a mirror. Seems normal.

Looking down at yourself, you were wearing the clothes you wore last night. Good, it meant only that nothing happened. But, however you were still confused as to why you don't remember anything after meeting-

"Arthur." You whispered quietly, looking at the window. Where did he run off to? Where did he end up?

You moved your hair out of your face quickly as you let it free for a moment, getting yourself up from the bed.

You quickly got up as you noticed a note on the drawer next to the bed, picking it up you realized it was a note:

" Y/N,

You are such an awful drunk to take care of, and I thought I knew even worse drunkards than you."

You laughed as a smile was stuck onto your face, you felt like it wouldn't ever fade away.

"But, regardless. You are one beautiful lady that I had such an honor of meeting last night.

Thank you for listening to me being a fool and acting the part as well. I know that also might have been troublesome.

But as for you ma'am, you need to know that you are stronger than you think of yourself.

Don't let anyo̶n̶e̶ man, tell you otherwise. You are a strong woman- even if one fool couldn't see that.

I apologize for leaving you alone in a hotel room, really couldn't find out where you lived- you were far gone. I had no idea what you were saying."

A sigh and a roll of your eyes appeared as you knew that sounded very much like yourself, you gave that poor stranger so much trust. It worried you how off guard you can be when very drunk.

"Thank you miss, for the company last night. I never knew that talking to strangers could be what I needed to get my head on right.

By the way,

You should keep your hair down sometimes, it's really pretty.

And also, you're a great kisser too.

All the best,

Arthur."

"Oh, Arthur." A smile continued to play across your lips, completely turning red at that last part. If you ever so lucky to meet him again, you were going to ask him so many questions.

You took a deep breath as you held the note close to your heart.

"Thank you."

[blustersquall]

3. A breathy demand: “Kiss me” - and what the other person does to respond. For Isabel and Arthur please please please. ♥

I guess you could say this is something of a follow on from this prompt from a month ago. :B

@rdr-oc-appreciation @ineedpeetalikehekneadsbread

Arthur said he had things to explain, and that was what he did. In the middle of a an old moonshine distillery in the middle of Big Valley, he explained to Isabel almost everything. He talked about Mary most of all. How he loved her as a young man. How the two of them were practically engaged, and how her family disapproved of him. He talked of how Mary ended things. The pain he went through and the anger. The resentment. The sense of shame he experienced that he wasn’t good enough for her. The money and the life he offered weren’t good enough for her. 

As a young man, it hurt his pride. Now older, he could see Mary was right to end things. The life he lived wasn’t one that Mary ever condoned. She never would have fit into the life he led, just as he could never have settled into hers. They were from two supremely different worlds, but drawn together by an unseen force. 

That was how he explained it to Isabel... but then he continued not letting her speak. Knowing if she did he would never say all the things he meant to. Arthur paced and told her that he never expected to feel anything close to how he felt about Mary ever again. He never dared to hope that he could feel that way about someone else. When she came back into his life, asking for his help in Valentine and again in Saint Denis it was a shock to him. So many years without seeing her... it all came rushing back. That intoxicating feeling of young love and infatuation, mixed with the resentment he unknowingly harbored all those years...

“And then... then I met you.” Arthur turned to where Isabel sat on a tree stump. He was breathing hard, the cold air, his pacing, and his speaking making his chest tight. “I met you before Mary asked for my help in Valentine, but I didn’t know you so well then. I didn’t know if you was going to stick around or...” He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. “The more time I spent around you the more I... The less I thought about Mary. The less I missed her, and the more I-- well, the more I thought about you, I guess.”

Swallowing hard, Arthur took a moment to collect his thoughts. On the ride to find Isabel he had thought of all the things he wanted to say. All the things he hoped to be able to find the right words to say. He wasn’t an orator like Dutch or Hosea, his way with words was limited to the page... but he was trying. And God, he hoped that counted for something. He didn’t know what Isabel was feeling. Her face was that perfectly still and impassive expression she wore when they played poker. Still as a looking glass and utterly unreadable. If she had tells, Arthur couldn’t spot them.  

As he breathed, he focused on the sensation of his chest expanding. The sun was beginning to fall and the cold was sweeping over Big Valley as the rays slowly disappeared. Arthur hadn’t thought much what he would do if Isabel rejected him... The ride back to Shady Belle would be long and cold. He would mull over all the things he could have done differently and all the ways he was a damned fool to let her out of his grasp...

“The thing is...” Arthur continued, inhaling and doing his utmost to ignore the frantic, loud thud of his heart in his chest, “when I saw you leavin’ in Saint Denis... when you was outta my sight I thought of all the things I should have said to you. And when you was gone longer than you said you was gonna be, I kept thinkin’ the worst. And I realised I wasn’t thinking about Mary so much no more... I was...” he cleared his throat and brushed his nose with his thumb ignoring the heat that prickled the back of his neck, “I was thinking about you. More an’ more and I don’t think I wanted to admit it cause that would mean--”

“That your happiness weren’t tied to Mrs Linton no more.” Isabel said. When Arthur looked at her, he saw she had her hands clasped between her thighs and her legs outstretched. She stared down at her hands, brows drawn together in pensive contemplation. 

“I guess,” agreed Arthur in a mumble. He approached and sat beside Isabel. “I know I must sound like a fool. That I probably left you angry and confused that I kissed you and then avoided you like that. But I...” he snorted, “I am a fool, ain’t no secret. And if you want me to leave you be, then all you gotta do is say so, and we’ll act as though none of this never happened. But,” he took a slow, steadying breath, clenching his fingers together in his lap. “But, if that ain’t the case... If you want me to... If you want me, then...”

His voice trailed.

What the hell was he trying to say? What the hell was he trying to do? What could he say and offer to her? Why would Isabel want him? After all the turmoil he put her through. Kissing her and then avoiding her at every turn while she recovered from her gunshot wound. Why would she want him? He was a fool, he said so himself and everyone made it clear what a dolt he was. Even Mary used to say he was foolish. Playfully, but there was an element of truth to it. Arthur knew he was offering Isabel nothing. Nothing but him, so why was he wasting her time?

“Never mind,” sighed Arthur. “I--”

He stopped when the sensation of Isabel’s hand rising and cradling his cheek hit him like a freight train. Heart in his throat, he watched her looking at him, a distance of barely a few inches between them. Her eyes flickered between his, scanned his face as if taking in his features and memorizing the expression on his face. A stupid expression for an ugly face to be sure, but an expression Arthur could not change for a moment or two. 

“Kiss me,” Isabel’s voice was low, and her words were a breathy demand that made Arthur’s head spin. “Just kiss me, and keep kissing me.” She drew closer which made Arthur lean back.

“Are you sure?” he asked, the trepidation inside needing to be calmed before moving forward. “Isa-- Miss Ashwood, I--”

“Isabel.”

He chuckled, “Isabel...” Feeling her name roll of his tongue with such ease was strange, but satisfying. He was more accustomed to that level of formality they kept. He liked the way her name felt in his mouth and on his tongue. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I know I’m a fool and--”

“Arthur Morgan, if you don’t kiss me right this instant I swear I’m--”

Isabel’s words descended into muffled laughter as Arthur’s mouth crashed against hers. An awkward meeting of lips at first quickly relaxed and Isabel’s mouth fit seamlessly against his, moving and meeting the slight adjustments of pressure. She combed her fingers back through his hair, winding her arms around his shoulders. In less than a minute, Arthur had her securely in his arms, one wrapped around her waist, the other on her left thigh, hitching her leg up and drawing her close to him.

Kissing Isabel was like being drunk, but coherent. Like being warm, and comfortable, and safe. She kissed with care, with enthusiasm, and with sincerity. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. There was a mutual longing between them. Mutual and strong and something that had been between them since their first meeting. A thread that connected them and bound them together. Kissing her was like a first gulp of fresh air after being submerged. Like cold wind hitting your face on a full gallop. She was clarity and confusion all wrapped up in one delicious enigma and Arthur wanted more. He never wanted this to end. 

She was the one to pull away. The one who’s quick breaths met Arthur’s ears. She was the one whose smile he saw as he blinked his eyes open. The sun had set now, sheer blackness covered the sky, with pinpricks of silver light . Isabel ran her fingers through his hair, tucking it behind his ear before she nuzzled his forehead, grinning. 

“I want you, Arthur Morgan.” She told him, biting her bottom lip. “I want you, and that’s the simple truth.”

Arthur nodded. He realised in that moment how his body felt warmer and lighter than it had in years.

I wanted a different ending, but its 2.06am and I have a stinking cold coming on that I need to start fighting so this is it I’m afraid. Still, I think it works? I feel like Arthur’s lack of self-esteem would really work against when he’s trying to explain to someone how he cares about them. Maybe. It was an idea. 

I hope this was okay m’dear.

[squidproquoclarice]

For the 20 RDR2 questions can I ask 1,4,7,11, and 16 please?

1. High honor or low honor? Why?High, always.  I admit some of this is that I have a hard time playing outright assholes.  And I do enjoy some of the Antagonize options on people like Dutch and Micah because let’s face it, even good people sometimes can say shitty things when frustrated. But for Arthur, playing generally High honor feels like the appropriate and in-character choice.  The storyline best supports him embracing the goodness in him, the kindness and concern and charity that he wants to express, but feels he can’t due to how it clashes with expectations of being a rough, tough, and sometimes brutally uncaring outlaw thug.  That conflict drives Arthur’s arc, and post-TB, his assertion of being his own man and making his own choices, rather than Dutch’s creation.  If he’s Low honor, that means that the mask of the violent, selfish thug really is all he is, and Dutch has effectively won by destroying anything else in him.  That’s a pretty shallow story with no character growth, and it makes Arthur no different from 5000 other white male protagonists we’ve already experienced who embrace their villainous behavior, ruthlessly hurt people, and make excuses for it. I think the fact that there are High honor only missions in RDR2, and no Low honor only ones, says pretty eloquently which game experience is the more fulfilling.

4. Who is the most misunderstood character?I’m going to say Mary Linton, because I see her take so much shit as a “selfish bitch” who just uses Arthur, etc.  I’ve addressed it before so I’m not gonna repeat the whole meta, but I don’t play that game, and I think it’s misogynistic to so viciously throw her under the bus as some kind of manipulative harpy because she hurt a man’s feelings.  Yeah, and he hurt hers too.  No, it’s not admirable she twists his arm to get him to help her, but I believe that she’s desperate, and she’s ashamed and awkward to ask Arthur, knowing how this makes her look.  It’s appropriate to the times when most women had fuck-all in terms of agency, and had to try to manipulate and influence the men around them with “soft power” to get anything done.  She can’t accept him as he is while he persists on following Dutch, because she knows that’s going to bring disaster into her life.  Eliza seemingly made the same choice.  They hurt and disappoint each other, over and over, because they’re two good people in an unworkable and toxic relationship.  And they both need to grow up enough to realize that.  Painful as her goodbye letter was for Arthur, I actually think that was mature of Mary to say she finally realized that they needed to let him go entirely, and apologizing for starting things up again.  That, and presumably seeing her father really does suck is her own self-assertion, much like Arthur is also growing up and asserting himself against Dutch.

7. Funniest moment?The entirety of “A Quiet Time”, let’s be real.   Multiple Lennies.  Lenny-on-Lenny action in that one room.  Drunk “I’m an Americaaaaaaaan!” fence-hop while running from the lawmen.  YNNEL?  LEMMY? Grate?  Great?  Can-can dancing with Arthur’s super enthusiastic high kicks.  Slap-fighting.  Arthur’s dorkish joy at just letting loose and not having to be Big Scaryboah.  Even that heartbreakingly vulnerable “No one would have me [and marry me]” and how Lenny seems to reassure him right out of it. The whole mission is a riot, starting with Arthur’s snark to Dutch about breaking Micah out of jail, and ending with waking up miles from Valentine and literally walking back to camp in hungover shame.  ;) 

11. Do you believe Jack is John’s son? If not then who do you think it is?The looks and the genetic implications fit.  Abigail says he is, and she would know best who was sharing her bed at the time.  I have no reason to disbelieve her, and John seems to accept that he is Jack’s father.  Honestly, I think he was young, stupid, say paternal responsibilities he wasn’t ready to assume, and he freaked out and pointed out she’d had other lovers not long before and tried to cast doubt on whether this was his child or not.Occam’s Razor.  The evidence points towards it, and aside from stirring up relationship drama, not sure I see much reason to make someone else Jack’s father.  If it absolutely had to be someone else, the eye color genetics prove 100% that it can’t be Arthur, and I’m firmly of the opinion Abigail and Arthur never slept together anyway.

16. If R* were to make a third RDR game, what would you want it to be about and who would you want the protagonist to be?As discussed, I’m not really interested in a RDR2 prequel with the early days of the Van Der Linde gang because there’s no story to tell there that adds much as a game, for Arthur or for the gang.  We know where that train is headed with the gang, and seeing Arthur at 21 when he’s rendered canon-incapable of changing and growing as a character because his Rubicon is still 15 years in the future is really not terribly interesting to me as a story.  It’d be a prequel for a prequel’s sake, not something like RDR2 that had a lot to say.  Also as discussed, I’m not too interested in Jack post-1914 because if he’s got an RDR game, that means he didn’t leave violence and crime and all of it behind after killing Ross.  That feels like a defeat, not something to celebrate as the tentpole of a new narrative.  Again, comes across as a sequel for a sequel’s sake, not because of a compelling story.I want an RDR3 only if there’s a strong story that adds something to the big RDR picture, hopefully broadens the RDR world, and features a character who has a journey ahead of them to match John and Arthur’s rich growth in their respective games.  So if anyone, I’d like to see Sadie post-1907 and her adventures in South America, and her character growth after settling accounts with Micah.  It feels like there’s a lot to be done with her yet.  (And hey, maybe we find Arthur’s alive and in South America too, just saying…)

[reddeadchesha]

                                        RDR OC BIO - Avery

                   B A S I C S:

Full Name: Avery Johnson

Gender: Male

Age: 25

Sexuality: Bisexual

Pronouns: He | Him

Appearance: Avery is a tall man standing at 6’6”. He has straw blonde hair, shaved at the sides and slicked back regularly with pomade. He was originally malnourished and scrawny but once he began running with Ginnie he quickly filled out, his shoulders and chest becoming broader and tapering down to a thinner waist. He keeps himself in shape and due to his werewolf genes he only has a few scars, two on his back from bullet wounds and one on his stomach from where a silver knife cut him. His eyes are dark green and seem to stand out in the darkness. Avery has very little facial hair that he tries to keep shaved down.

                  O T H E R:

Family: Father: Unknown werewolf, Mother: Unknown human

Animal(s): Horse - Autumn, a once wild seal bay mare he caught and tamed himself

Birthplace: Born in Blackwater, raised in Tall Trees, West Elizabeth

Job(s): Outlaw, Right-hand man

Phobias: Fears loved ones leaving him, drowning, and snakes

Guilty Pleasures: Eating expensive steak, drinking beer

Hobbies: Singing, hunting, napping, and teasing other gang members

                   M O R A L S:

Morality Alignment: Neutral Good

Sins: Lust

Virtues: Charity, Diligence, Patience, Kindness, Humility, Temperance

                  T H I S - O R - T H A T:

introvert / extrovert

organized / disorganized

close-minded / open-minded

calm / anxious / restless

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient

outspoken / reserved

leader / follower / flexible

empathetic / unempathetic

optimistic / pessimistic / realistic

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy

                   P E R S O N A L:

Personality: Avery, despite his big talk and grins, is surprisingly pessimistic and anxious. The abuse his foster family put him through causes him to harbor insecurity about his own heritage. He fears those he loves will leave him because of this, and still struggles to accept it. However, he is extremely loyal and hard working with the gang, and would readily defend them. Avery is reserved, almost shy around new people, preferring that others talk instead of him, especially since he has little patience for people who look down on others. He acts before he thinks many times, following instinct before weighing his options or thinking about the consequences. The gang values him and his playful attitude, as he manages to keep spirits up even when his are down.

Bio: Avery is a 25-year-old man who was born to a prostitute human mother and werewolf father that ran off shortly after finding out about the pregnancy. The unwanted product of the fling, he was dropped on the front steps of the Johnson family’s home. The foster family raised him and loved him nearly as much as their own three kids until he was 8 and his werewolf genes appeared in the form of faster regeneration after an accident. When his first shift happened at 11 the family’s attitude changed. They became cold and distant toward him and taught him how to control his shifts. When he was 15 the family kicked him out he ran to Valentine where he took to wandering the streets begging and stealing. For the next three years, he struggled to survive and often got laughed and scorned by the local drunks. When Ginnie came to Valentine in 1892 and found him begging on the streets with no food or shelter she took pity on him. She offered him a place in the gang, which he hesitantly accepted, planning on running away later. However, after the senior members showed him kindness and he was given a place to sleep, he decided to stick around for just a little bit longer. Ginnie had a soft spot for the scrawny young man and quickly took him under her wing, teaching him how to shoot and hunt, though he quickly surpassed her in the latter category. Avery becomes afraid of accidentally outing himself as a werewolf and sneaks off every full moon to avoid questions from other members. After two years of being with the Raiders, Ginnie decides to follow him out when he tries to run off. She sees him shifting and afterward when he is back to normal they sit down and talk. Despite her surprise, Ginnie sees him as family and believes there’s no reason as to why he should be kicked out because of how he was born. The gang becomes aware of this, and accept him just as Ginnie does. With new confidence and support, Avery starts coming out of his shell and gets close enough to Ginnie to see her as a mother figure.

                  R E L A T I O N S H I P S:

Banzette Raiders Members: Ginnie Bee - 38 y/o woman, Duncan - a 23 y/o man, Clara - a 19 y/o girl, Vivian - 47 y/o woman, Ellis - a 33 y/o woman

OTP: Avery/Cass

Acceptable Ships: N/A

OT3: N/A

BroTP: Avery/Duncan, Avery/Tommy, Avery/Lenny, Avery/Sadie

NOTP: Avery/Uncle, Avery/Micah, Avery/Bill, Avery/Ginnie

Tagging: @rdr-oc-appreciation I’ll be making more of these for the rest of my ocs

[drogabismo]

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[batoo96]

Thoughts

Since the beginning of the year, I've lost the girl I loved and my zest for life. She, lost a person who genuinely loved her to give what she can never take back to a guy who made fun of her and threw her away like a piece of shit (it shouldn't be the case, but knowing that really depress me).

I can win back what I lost and I have no more contacts with someone who doesn't appreciate me at my worth and who openly disrespects me and slanders me.

I won't use my computer skills to see what is hidden on her private profile on FB. I think the trick is the same for IG, I'll try with my sister's account out of curiosity if she allows me to. Same for the IP address tracking with emails or phone number. I wonder if the sites I tested during my BTS are still active? I want to respect her will to cut off all contacts.

The human being becomes a monster when he feels he has "power" over someone. I'm very proud that I didn't take advantage of this "power" when I had it over her, a good part of March to end of April. I still have the messages, I try not to regret letting her "her dear freedom", that she was ready to give up "for my happiness". Considering the suffering she put me through from the next months on and enjoyed inflicting on me. I have honor, contrary to what she thinks. The "old her" from before knowing him, knew that fact very well. Unless what I known was a mirage.

I hope that her friends have come to help her. But without wanting to be slanderous, I'm sure she won't even appreciate the help they will give her. She would even be able to send them to hell despite their support. She'll end up losing everything if she doesn't change...

She doesn't want to remember our good memories, they're legions ; like our Hannibal Lecter rant, our meetings at her flat laughing around her table and on Skyrim, "blazer Cushing", her thing - with her baes - that I had found kinda cute, when she translates me what her grandfather had told her and that she had recorded, the first time she came sleeping in my room (when she came sleeping besides me at the end of the night), when she came discovering RDR II and my brand new bed, our first vacations at her house and seeing the place she grew up, meeting her family and her friends, the Bavarian restaurant, the Black Forrest cake making, this trip in the small village inside the Black Forrest, our attempt to go in the casino, Constance, our day long video calls until her return, our German learning sessions, us trying to find new exercises for her students, Quincey's story, Edwin and his chicks, Little Big Man and "Peau de la vieille hutte", Charlie in front of the TV waiting for his kibbles, Yuki's "fffffff", our hugs, our laughter, the Halloween pumpkins we made, the snowman, Mumble, Castor, my eggs that weren't always perfect, our birthdays, her smile when I offered her Custer letters for Valentine's Day, when I accompanied her to the station where we didn't want to let go of each other's hands, our last kiss before she got on the train, when she dressed up and made up as a man, and more and more other great memories.

We started to argue from the moment he appeared in our conversations. She ruined everything, for what in the end?

I hope she will realize this, one day. I really wish her to live in happiness.

At what I know now, she lied a lot to me since March. I won't write a list but who was the more Machiavellian of us? Me who was only scared of losting her forever or her with her own reasons hidden behind her lies and games?

She blames and hates me for finding out things, for not being obedient to her whims but at least I never tried to make her feel bad and sad on purpose. I could say easy and humiliating things about her, out of anger, but I prefer to calm down and let wisdom guide me.

I saw what I did wrong, and I indeed did things wrongly, but I also know what I had never done. It was useful to reread our thousands of messages. I could saw what I wasn't able to see before, because of love. It also made me grow up and I just wanted to share this new knowledge with her, my "last rose" before buried my love in a coffin. But...

I think she really wanted me to think forever that he was the respectful-careful-sincere-holychristian-honorable-soldier man who wasn't interested at all in having one night stands with her and that she would get married... As if she was a trophy to won. She isn't a trophy, she is a flower that deserves to bloom. All I wanted was to have the privilege of growing old beside her, to encourage all her projects, to be the shoulder she could lean on, to listen to her talk to me all day long, to remember the little "insignificant" details that made her who she is, to try to please her with little gifts or small attentions, to go see her parents once in a while, to see her blossom through her studies and her art, and finally to see her smile and to be immersed in her eyes until my last day.

It hurt so much to realize that I had literally lost her for nothing, while I thought and hoped she was swimming in happiness. It hurt so much to know that he didn't care about her feelings. It hurt even more to realize how much she despised me when she called me. But it was with that call that I realized that she could no longer have the upper hand on me.

But as I said, I'm tired of arguing with her. Whether literally or figuratively, she's deaf. I'm not going to fight windmills.

I promised her I would never give up on her, she promised me the same thing. I always keep my promises. She's the one who's leaving, while she maintained that it was never her who let others down.

If thinking I only was a asshole, helps her moving on and starting a whole new life, away from "those men", so be it. I don't care what lies she tells to herself, as long as she doesn't do anything stupid that puts her life or health at risk.

Everyone has the right to do the wrong choices. We're human and imperfect. I don't blame her for having made mystakes. I will never do. I only blame her for being a liar and manipulative. I'm sorry that she's hurt, I perfectly understand her feelings. It's what we call having ampathy. But she has indeed disappointed me, that's a fact, I feel it when I reread what I had written earlier on my blog. I forgive her now, even her disrespectful behavior, but I'll never forget what she psychology done to me. I loved her so much that I started to see in her the one with whom I wanted to form a family. I don't abandon my family. I don't hate her and would be willing to support her if she asked. Coco told me to stay a good man and not let this experience destroy me. I would stay that way, but not so naively anymore. I think this paragraph is perhaps the only important thing to remember.

I really need to stop writing paving stones. I even write them to myself... But I can improve my English that way.

[littlestarofthewest]

Author Interview

Tagged by @shallow-gravy​ <3 Thank you :)

Name: Cara

Fandoms: RDR2, Supernatural (but barely these days, so all answers are related to RDR. my spn writing is a whole other beast)

Where You Post: tumblr and AO3

Most Popular One-Shot: surprisingly enough: “Bound to be Free,” seems like AO3 has more love for morston than tumblr

Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “You’re Mine,” my baby, that I didn’t expect to love that much. Can’t wait to keep writing it. 

Favorite Story You Wrote: I have a tough time picking favorites. I love a long fic that I’m writing, but nobody knows about that yet. I also love “You’re Mine,” but I think I’m going with “Glorious Hunt.” It was the first request I wrote and totally got me hooked on requests because it was so easy and so much fun to write.

Story You Were Nervous to Post: “A Life Full of Surprises” It’s my first time writing a trans character, and I was (and still am) afraid that I might fuck it up.

How You Choose Your Titles: It’s usually a very short summary of what happens in the fic, I guess? Or I use common phrases and change them a bit to fit my story. I’m one of the few people who rarely use song titles, I guess.

Complete: about 20 or so

In-complete: hahaha too many

Do You Outline: Only for long fics, aka upward of 10k, and then it’s usually a few bullet points for each chapter. I wing most of my stuff.

Coming Soon / Not Yet Started: Valentine’s exchange and a few stories which are inches away from being done if I could just get my lazy ass to write them (maybe when I’m no longer sick) AND a ton of requests xD

Do You Accept Prompts: Yes! Both SFW and NSFW. It just might take a while until I get to them.

Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: The next chapters of “You’re Mine,” and my 500 follower giveaway fic, but I’m kinda excited about all of them. I just don’t have enough time and motivation.

I’ll tag @gangofgunslingers @fangirl-ramblings @emily-strange @jarbaje @thekingofthegoats @reddeadunredeemable @verai-marcel​ and anybody else who wants to do this because I know I’m forgetting a lot of great writers.

[notepadsandtealeaves]

Dutch van der Linde x GN!Reader in: Loving You More Than You Can Ever Fully Know

From the van der Linde Boys, With Love 💌 || VDE 2021

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ ONLY ||

|| ao3 version | event m.list | rdr tag | main blog ||

|| rdr vde (ladies) | batboys vde | bnha vde ||

Thank you for giving this to me, sweetheart, this promise of a hundred thousand beautiful tomorrows.

Even when he doesn’t say it you know how much he loves you, how much he cares…

↠ Requested By: My burning desire to receive a love letter lol ↠ Reader Gender: Neutral ↠ Content Type: SFW fluff ((but my blog’s 18+ if minors want to consume my sfw stuff while still respecting my wishes of them staying out of this space, they can head over to my AO3)) ↠ CWs: None ↠ Betas? Nah, we don’t do that here. ((tho we should, honestly)) ↠ Total WC: ~400

My dudes—this was so fucking hard to write.

I know Dutch must be capable of love, but given my own perceptions of him… It’s one thing to write about it in sweeping terms as I’ve been doing in the Relationship ABCs, but trying to convey it with more depth is not at all easy. I know he cares for/loves others, but tbh I’m not entirely sure how that would look coming from Dutch.

All that being said, I’ve done My Best, and really that’s all anyone can ask for, right? Heh… Yeah, okay, I’ll leave y’all to it…

|| Loving You More Than You Can Ever Fully Know

Dear heart,

There’s little else better in this world than waking to your beautiful face. In fact if there is indeed a better start to a day—to a lifetime—I’ve yet to find it. Doing so on a day dedicated to love makes it doubly so. I know how much you love waking in my arms, but there are a few things that I needed to tend to this morning, so unfortunately I more than likely won’t be there when you rise. I think the end results will more than make up for this, however.

I never need a reason to spoil you, but Valentine’s Day gives me leave to go just that little bit further. And so today I shall treat you like the royalty that you are, and no, I won’t hear anything of it. I am at your beck and call, my dear, your every wish and whim commands that I will gladly follow, so do with me what you will…

That said– As you well know, I am a man given to many passions. By my estimation anything that’s worth doing should be carried out with all due conviction and fervor, otherwise what’s the point? Still, sometimes my more—let’s call them verbose declarations and grander actions can sometimes come off as insincere, I’m sure. Because of this I want to make it absolutely and abundantly clear just how much I love you, darling, and so I decided to write you this letter so that if you ever have any doubts as to just how deeply I care for you, you can come back here and avail yourself to these words.

I love you, ____—with all that I am and all that I’ve yet to become.

The future is always something I’ve always actively embraced, but only because I was running from my past. There are so many things I wish I could go back and change, poor decisions made and disastrous paths trodden, but knowing that was never a possibility I was determined to put as much distance between me and all those yesterdays as possible. With you by my side, however… Well, it’s nice to be running to something for a change. 

Thank you for giving this to me, sweetheart, this promise of a hundred thousand beautiful tomorrows.

Loving you more than you can ever fully know, Dutch xo

© notepadsandtealeaves, 2021 || Please do not repost, translate, or otherwise alter or distribute my works without my express permission. And for the love of god keep it away from Youtube and TikTok lol…

[jeragar]

Campaign i will Dm

So i am planing a dnd campaign for a group of friends. I decided to make it western themed. With the players we created the following PC’s:

Pícara Mindhunter (pícara means rouge in spanish): A phantom thief ( homebrew class) wood elf that was originaly a native (like native American) whose life changed when her village was attacked by some slave merchants. She was saved by a high elf (also a phantom thief) Named Kaitou (his thief persona and the archetype of the class she chose). Whit his help, she and her brother went to a civil war against the slavers and, later on, against the descendants of the first colonizers freeing all the west side of the country for all the natives. Now she lives in the east side trying to bring justice fo them as she did for her people (like a zoro type figure).

Ramedes Tesla: a human engineer (homebrew class) tha decided to use his invetions to improve the world, due a phrofecy made by a hag. In the way he meet Picara and saves her life, she gives him a magic armor and both decided to work together for a while.

Darrak Frostbeard: Dwarf bounty hunter (homebrew class), that once worked alongside his clan ( that is also a bounty hunter guild), but left after killing a bounty in front of a kid (the bounty was the kids father). And for a while he was fine. He found a hotse, got some money and found a acid vial.

Hania the wolf heart: Beastfolk (homebrew race) druid. From one of the many natives species that live in the continent. He decided to explore the east since he will not become the next chief of his tribe.

Lawrence Fawkes: Half elf mage, a so called archeologist from the old world of avalon (england), he went there so he could study the natives, or so he says.

All of them will have been areated in the same day bu the accusation of murder of two women. The idea is to give tjem a start similar tho RDR 2 online, but mixed with the beginning of the series Arrow (a list full o targets). And the false sense of choice on the matter.

To help the in the journey they will have the help of:

Black Bart: outlaw an craftsman of firearms

Howard Zadan: so called fortune teller and fouder of secrets

And Lisa Valentine: loyal server of the players employer, Mister Howard Lincoln.