#you are eliza in this fic

[say-hwaet]

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You, Eliza/Arthur Morgan Characters: Arthur Morgan, Eliza (Red Dead Redemption), Isaac Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Dutch van der Linde, John Marston, Bill Williamson, Susan Grimshaw, Annabelle (Red Dead Redemption), Reverend Swanson, Uncle Additional Tags: Pre-Blackwater Massacre (Red Dead Redemption), Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), you are Eliza in this story, Angst, arthur makes it in time to save Eliza and Isaac, headcanon character insert, you get to see how the gang gained new members, Background History, arthur is a good daddy, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Parenthood, Not Canon Compliant, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Young Arthur Morgan, Annabelle takes you under her wing, you are Isaac’s mother, Mutual Pining, Flashbacks, Isaac is adorable, you and Arthur watch Isaac grow up, isaac and Eliza don't die, you help change the fate of the van der linde gang, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Protective Arthur Morgan Summary:

After four years of deliberating, struggling, and doubting, Arthur had finally made the decision. He was going to come back to you and Isaac. And stay. But instead of an emotional reunion and the reveal of his decision, you were both faced with a new reality and danger, when you were nearly killed by robbers. As if that wasn’t enough to jolt Arthur into reality, another shocking revelation presents itself, something that he wasn’t planning on. And now that it isn’t safe for you, he has to make a decision that he never expected to make. To return to the gang, and take you with him.

Preview the Prologue under the cut!! (word count: ~10,400 words)

“Where’s the money?!”

“What money?”

The man, whom the others call Dan, steps closer and slaps you. The left side of your face feels like it’s on fire and instantly swells. You try to touch it, but he quickly snatches your wrist with unreasonable force. “The money that you keep gettin’! I know he comes around and gives you money.”

You realize they’re talking about Arthur. How do they know? How long have they been watching? You remember seeing men, in the distance, on horseback a bit ago, just watching you. Could these be the same men? Could these be the bandits Arthur warned you about?

You try to make a threat. “He’ll be here soon…Y-you best go.” But you know better. He’s been gone for almost a year, the longest he has ever been gone. He’s most likely dead or decided to finally abandon you. 

Dan grabs you and throws you to the floor, crashing into your left side. Your shoulder dislocates and you try desperately not to cry, as Isaac is still in your bedroom with your baby. 

Your baby.

You think back on the last night he was with you. After years of keeping his distance, he took you in his arms and laid with you. But just as warm, and passionate as it was, it was also fleeting, for he left the next day without as much as a goodbye.

And to this day, he has no idea he has fathered another. 

“Liar! He’s been gone a while.” Dan lifts his chin and looks down at you as though you were less than the dirt he walks on. “We made sure of that.”

“You…you seen him?” As stupid as it is to ask, you so badly want to hear news of him.

The man’s yellow-toothed grin instantly gives you a feeling of uneasiness. “Oh, we saw him, alright. He came by and gave you wads of cash! We had been watchin’ your place, and we almost thought that it weren’t worth it, especially when we saw him from a distance. But we saw that he weren’t around, and after seeing you up close, we know it’s worth it, now…”

You are surprised they’re telling you this, but you remember what Arthur had said about what they do, these Calico Bandits. You and your children won’t make it out of this alive.

He stands over you menacingly. “So, tell us where it is!”

“Mommy!”

Isaac comes from the bedroom, with your revolver in his hand. He looks into your eyes and panic fills your entire being. When the men came barging in, your first thought was for him to hide, to be safe, but he has more courage than you wish. You try to get up to protect him, but one of the men quickly grabs Isaac and he drops the gun. It hits the floor with a sharp thud.

“Look at this little guy! He thought he could rescue his ‘mommy.’” The man handling the boy cackles and the rest join in.

“Let me go!” Isaac shouts, trying to break free of the man’s grip.

Dan goes to you and grabs you by your right arm and lifts you to your feet. He jabs the barrel of his revolver into your cheek, pushing it up. “I’m not going to ask you again,” he snarls, his sour breath making you want to vomit. “Tell us where the money is, or we’ll shoot your little hero here.”

It’s no use. You know it’s better to make this easier, even though you know the outcome. You weakly lift a finger in the direction of the kitchen counter. “I–It’s over here.”

You feel him let your arm go and you slowly, while keeping your hands up, walk to the kitchen counter. Grabbing a small tin you walk back to Dan and, with your hands shaking, give it to him. He takes it from you hungrily and puts his gun on the table. You glance down and see your revolver by your feet. The one Arthur had taught you to use. 

When Dan opens the tin he frowns and his face turns red with rage. “There’s only ten dollars in here!”

His compadre hisses in his direction. “I told you we’s waited too long, Dan! Of course, it would be gone by now!”

He flips around to the man who dared to challenge him, and she snaps like a viper. “Shut up, Lem!”

They start to argue. Now is the time. You try to seize the opportunity to take the gun he left on the table. You move quickly, your heart racing more than it ever could, and grab the gun. You only have but a split second to act, you cock the hammer back and fire. The bullet rips from the barrel, hitting Dan’s hand and he drops the tin. He clutches his hand as it bleeds profusely. 

“AAAARRRGGG…!!! YOU WHORE…!!!!” He bellows, his voice sounding almost inhuman at the expense of his pain. 

Taking another opportunity, you pick up the gun off the table and point both revolvers at the other two men. 

“Let my son go…!” you order, hands shaking. 

Behind you, Dan manages to ignore his bleeding hand for a moment, unholstering his second revolver quiet enough where you can’t hear. But even if you could, your attention is focused on the other two men, who still have their grimy fingers on your boy. 

“Now!” you roar, with as much ferocity as you can muster. 

Thankfully, the man holding Isaac lets him go and he runs to you. Once he reaches you he clutches your skirt tightly. “Mommy…!”

You look down at your son and see the fear and relief in his eyes. You want to stop everything to hold him, to shield him, but you have to keep your guns trained on the two men. They have their hands raised, and knowing you only have seconds, you try to think of a way to get out of this. 

But, still, you have forgotten Dan, who has now risen to his feet and is aiming his gun. 

At you. 

When you hear a familiar click, your eyes widen at the realization. 

And that’s when the door swings open again. 

It’s all a blur. You have no time to react to what is happening when feet quickly shift where they stand and shots sing loud into the space. Your ears ring at the volume and your first instinct is to crouch down and shield your boy. You crash into the floor and hold Isaac tight to your breast as your back faces the gunshots and cries of pain.

But they aren’t your cries, or that of your son. You bury your face in your son’s hair, praying that if any bullets hit you, your body will be shield enough. 

And soon, the cries die, until there is complete silence. The smell of gunpowder wafts in your nostrils, and you try to calm yourself as you continue to tremble. You hear Isaac breathe softly against your chest, his breath shaky as he whimpers. 

You dare not move. Your heart threatens to burst out of its ribcage, and you want to hold onto your son and the illusion of safety just a little bit longer. 

But when you hear heavy footfalls approach, you open your eyes. You don’t have time to react when a hand grabs you and pulls you up, causing you to lose your hold on your boy. 

You scream loudly. “Please, no…!!!” And you flinch, your eyes closed shut. 

The hands turn you around and you feel an exhaled breath on your face. It isn’t foul, like Dan’s. 

And the voice that speaks, thunderous and low, nearly has you in disbelief. “Eliza…”

You open your eyes and your legs buckle from under you as you look into the marine, saccharine eyes of Arthur Morgan. 

“Oh, God…!” you gasp and you instantly sob. “Arth—” Your voice is muffled once he pulls you into himself, your face pressed into his chest. He holds you close, tucking his face in your hair and you hear him inhale deeply. 

You continue to sob heavily, the reality of your situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You and your family almost died. You tried to protect them, but you failed. 

“Daddy…!” Isaac’s cry echoes into the room and you feel him crash into you and a tiny arm slips around your leg. Arthur removes a hand to embrace his boy. Isaac’s happiness is sobered by relief, and he begins to cry into his father’s leg. “Oh, Daddy…!”

You feel Arthur’s chapped lips brush softly against your cheek, as though it could have been a kiss. Your breath hitches, the hint of his mouth next to yours triggering an innate response. But he doesn’t follow through, instead pulling away and gazing into your eyes. “What happened?”

You try to steady your breathing, your sobs morphing into hiccups. “They came out of nowhere. Saying that they saw you handin’ me money.”

He tucks his chin, cursing under his breath. “I shoulda killed ‘em when I came across them the first time.”

Your eyebrows lift, eyes reflecting worry. “When?”

Arthur nods. “Last year. They saw me on the road, guess I was too intimidatin’ to take on.” His eyes soften. “But not my…” his voice trails off. He lifts a hand to cup your chin, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. Looking into his eyes, you see the glossiness, the color resembling a raging sea. “Eliza…”

“Arthur…?”

“I was almost too late…” Then his eyes express a sobriety, a calm resolve as he speaks. “But never again.”

This sudden change in demeanor surprises you, and your brow pinches in confusion. “Arthur…?”

“Eliza, I—” In the midst of his sentence, a shrill cry erupts from your bedroom. Arthur lifts his head from your gaze, turning to look in the direction of the sound. “What is that?”

You know what it is, and truth be told, so does he, but what he doesn’t know is why he hears it. Isaac is four. Not a…

You didn’t want it to be like this. You didn’t want him to find out this way. You lift your hand and place your palm on his chest and he looks back down at you. There is an intimacy at your gesture and you soon feel his pounding heart beneath. You gently back away from him and wordlessly hurry into the room, hoping he will follow. 

You enter your bedroom and direct your body toward the sound of the cry, and it leads you to your dresser. Regarding the bottom drawer, you see that there is a three-inch opening. Bending down and quickly pulling it open, you see your daughter, safely laid inside, her face red as she cries. She continues to wail and you waste no time in picking her up and bringing her close. As soon as she smells you, hears your soft whispers, and feels you bouncing her softly, she settles, her cries now soft coos. You kiss her soft, little head, her little wisps of hair tickling your lips. 

You hear the heavy footfalls behind you and so you turn to face him. 

The expression on his face says it all: pure shock and disbelief. 

“Arthur…” you begin, your thoughts scrambled as you try to say the words. “This is your daughter Alice.”

He just stands there in the doorway, gobsmacked. Not that he was ever full of words, but he has always said something when times have been rough. He’s been your only source of comfort these last five years. 

You don’t want to rush him, to push him, you imagine he has questions of his own, thoughts that he has to sort through. You continue to bounce the baby in your arms. “It’s a miracle she didn’t cry before this…” you say in an effort to ease the tension. “But she is a heavy sleeper.”

Like him. Maybe it’s good she’s a Morgan after all. 

From behind Arthur comes Isaac, eyes filled with worry. “Is she okay?”

You nod, feeling the intensity of Arthur’s gaze as you look down at your son. “Yes, she’s fine.”

Isaac sighs, finally smiling. “Good. I put her there.” He points to the drawer. “I thought she’d be safe.”

You swallow hard, trying to suppress a sob. “You did good, darling.” You sniff. “Real good.”

“We can’t stay here,” Arthur finally says and when your eyes meet his, he looks away. “No doubt those shots were heard.”

You furrow your brow. “But it was in self-defense. Those men tried to kill us.”

But when he looks back at you, you realize that’s not what he’s concerned about. 

Any bullet makes a trail, and eventually, it will lead back to him. Even though it may take years, that is a fear that he lives with. He means for you to flee again. To pack up and start over. 

You shake your head, holding your baby close. “No, Arthur. I can’t.” You really can’t. Not when you’ve planted your roots, have finally gotten back into the swing of things since you gave birth to Alice a month ago. 

“Eliza—”

“We have a good life here…! Everything was fine! If you leave, nobody will know it was you. I will tell ‘em I did it. I can shoot a gun now, they’ll have to believe me.”

Arthur’s nose flares, his gaze intensifying. “You think they’ll believe that a woman armed with one—”

“Two. I had two.”

“Fine. Two revolvers—do you think that a woman armed with two revolvers could shoot three armed men in a matter of five seconds without taking a bullet herself?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”

Arthur pauses, running a hand over his face as he exhales. “You’re a beginner, Eliza. They won’t believe you.” 

This reunion has continued to take a turn for the worse. What should have been happy and joyous, possibly passionate, is now a canyon growing deeper and deeper between you. With him a mere five feet away from you, he feels more apart than he ever has been. 

Embittered, you deliver a poignant line. “I got the whole town to believe that I was a widow.” And it’s true, you did. You were able to explain away the reason why a pregnant girl at nineteen was alone in a town where no one knew you. And you managed just fine. You raised a garden by yourself, shot turkey for Thanksgiving by yourself, you hitch the wagon and do repairs by yourself. You’ve been alone for a while. “How can this be any different?”

Arthur speaks to you calmly now, his eyes soft. You aren’t thinking straight. He was a mere few seconds from coming across your dead body. He has to make it clear to you, to help you see it for what it is. “That ain’t gonna keep you safe no more…” He pauses again. “And there are more of ‘em. They’ll be back.”

“So stay.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

And you can’t hide the venom on your tongue. “Yeah, I know. You’ve said that before.”

You expect him to react in kind, but he only looks sadly at you. “I really can’t this time. Maybe if they didn’t—I came here ‘cause—Hell, I was gonna—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “None of us can.”

Your mind is still running in circles. You’re trying to make sense of it all, but all you can focus on are all the hurts you’ve harbored the last ten months. “Why did you come back, Arthur?”

He blinks. “What?”

You hold Alice closer, as though you can protect her from the tension in the room. “Why did you come back? It’s been almost a year. Where have you been?”

Arthur looks down at his son, who has been silently watching this conversation unfold. “Isaac, can you leave me to talk to your mama for a minute?” Nodding softly, Isaac turns around and leaves. Once the sound of his bedroom door closing is heard, Arthur continues. “I was near South America. We got too close to Mexico and ran into some trouble. We had to lay low before coming back up this way.” Arthur scratches the back of his head. “I had to sneak out of camp to get here…” And his mind goes back to the reason why he did sneak away. And what he brought with him. It still burns in his pocket, a reminder of what he had set out to do. 

But things aren’t at all how he pictured. 

You scowl, still angry. “Mexico? Another one of Dutch’s ideas?”

“Eliza…”

“I thought you died, Arthur. Do you realize how painful it is to keep waiting for you? My heart breaks every time you’ve walked out that door.” You feel the heat in your chest, emotions you swore you wouldn’t let yourself feel. “And this last time, when we—” You can’t even bring yourself to say it.  A lump forms in your throat and sensing your uneasiness, Alice grunts in your arms. You look down at her. She’s the physical representation of that night. A night, up until now, you thought of fondly. Daily. It haunted your dreams as though it would play for you like a moving picture. But now…you know that you can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t pretend anymore. “I can’t do it anymore, Arthur. I…love you too much.” You’ve said it again, the same words you tried using to get him to stay. “And to think I almost died without knowing if you were still alive…” 

And there it is. The hard reality of the situation. Arthur is happy to hear that you still love him, but it’s different now. Even though he had made the decision to return to you, to stay, he knows that it isn’t possible. He can’t just get down on one knee and ask you to…

He can’t. He’s failed you. By seconds, he would have lived tormented for the rest of his life. He needs to keep you and the children safe. 

But where are you going to go?

No. No, he can’t do that. 

But there’d be more folks to protect you and Isaac…and Alice.

But then they’d know.

Wouldn’t that be better than having you all dead?

As you both stand there, he wrestles with his indecision and you can see the contortion in his face. You aren’t sure why, or what he is thinking, but his silence after you once again told him how you feel, makes you more nervous, and the dread in the pit of your stomach builds. 

“We can’t stay, Eliza.” His eyes lift to meet yours. “I’m sorry.”

We. So at least he hasn’t fully decided to abandon you. Deep down, you know he’s right. They will be back, and there will be too much attention drawn to Aspen’s Way. “Where can we go?”

His eyes look down, gliding left to right. You know he’s thinking. Is it for the words to tell you or to come up with a place? You aren’t sure, and Alice begins to grow restless in your arms. You know she’s due for a feeding soon and as you wait for Arthur to speak, you begin to feel impatient. “Arthur, where?”

His eyes lift to meet yours. Seeing the deep was in his eyes, his lifted brow, you know he’s come to an answer. “With me.”

With me? But that would mean…

Your eyes widen at the realization: he means the gang. His camp. 

Years ago, you would have jumped at the chance. Like Maid Marion sneaking into the woods to find Robin Hood and his Merry Men, your curiosity couldn’t be sated. You wanted to see that part of his world, to meet the people he so fondly talked about. 

But most importantly, you wanted to be with him always. To see him ride off to hunt or do whatever he set out to do, and come right back. 

And back. 

And back. 

You wanted to see that loyalty to the gang be pressed onto you. 

But that night, when he made love to you, you told him you didn’t feel that way anymore. You wanted a home of your own, a place where you weren’t moving away from whenever there was trouble, like he always seemed to do. 

And now he is offering it to you. This is your option?

You start to shake your head. “What about Dutch? He doesn’t know about us. He won’t accept us.”

Arthur looks like he’s grasping for straws. “I’ll make him. Hosea he—he’ll understand.” Or at least he hopes he will. Since losing Bessie, he drinks most nights. And he usually snaps in that fox-like way when he’s angry. He’s unpredictable right now, and that is an uncomfortable thing for Arthur to admit. 

“I am not going to go robbin’ or anything,” you insist. 

Arthur holds up his palms. “I wouldn’t ask you to.” He pauses. “Just…come with me. You’ll be safe.”

You stare at him, unsure. 

Then he adds a promise, “I’ll find you a new place. Like this one, only better.”

You narrow your eyes. “When?”

“Soon. Once we get the money.” And you see a shift in his eyes, a deep softness he gives when he looks at you lovingly. It makes you melt almost nearly time. “Let me take care of you.”

Alice begins to grunt more pointedly, she is not going to wait forever. You try to console her while you think about it. 

At least he made the point to mention that it is temporary. You will have a homestead again. A place again. Aside from being gone too long, has he ever failed you?

You sigh, resigned. “Okay.”

***

The night is cool once the sun goes down, which is a welcomed feeling after coming back from the border of Mexico. But it doesn’t cool the simmering rage within the notorious gang leader, Dutch Van Der Linde. 

Dutch has been getting quite impatient, as he’s eager to utilize the newest member of the gang, a brutish, grizzly of an ex-soldier named Bill, and while he’s practically incoherent when he’s drunk, he speaks well with his fists. 

He was hoping that Arthur would be just as excited, but as soon as they reached the Idaho territory, everyone woke up to find him gone. His horse, and guns had gone with him. 

Thinking that he was just on a routine adventure, the charismatic leader wasn’t worried. It had been some time since he had run off to only God knows where, but he noticed something that made his blood boil. 

Most, if not all of Arthur’s personal effects, were gone. 

He done it. He left the gang. 

“It’ll be fine, Dutch,” Hosea reassures his longtime friend, resting a hand on his shoulder. This is one of his rare good days, he hasn’t touched a bottle of whiskey yet, but the night is still young. “Arthur is too loyal for his own good. He will be back before we will ever have cause to worry.”

But Dutch isn’t convinced. “He didn’t say he’d be back.”

Hosea doesn’t offer a smile, but looks at the expanse of the valley before him. “This is around the area that he always likes to take off, you know that.” But Hosea can’t lie that he, too, is a little concerned; it has been four days since Arthur left them. He tucks his chin. “He always comes back. It isn’t like he has a reason not to.” He says this with a hidden meaning, a guilt that punctuates every word.

Dutch’s eyes narrow. “Don’t blame me for Bessie, Hosea.”

Hosea takes a soft step back. So much for trying to be helpful. After everything they’ve been through, this is how he treats a friend? It is an uncomfortable shift, and while Hosea doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have the motivation, nor the desire, to try to fix it. “Well, excuse me, friend,” he says flatly. “I guess I’ll pick up where I left off…” And he turns in the direction of his crate of whiskey. 

Dutch ignores the subtlety of the con man’s words. He doesn’t care for the moment. He’s more focused on the implied abandonment from his most reliable gun. Now, that man has his priorities straight. He wouldn’t let a woman get in between him and the gang. Sure, there was that fling with that Mary girl, but once he saw through the bull and wiles, Arthur was back to his old self. And since Hosea has been mourning Bessie, Dutch feels that he’s one idea short of a strong movement, and he needs Arthur with him in this time of uncertainty right now. 

Of course, in the beginning, Dutch was sympathetic to Hosea’s woe, but it’s been almost a year now. Bessie was a good soul, perhaps too good, and her death hit everyone. But because of her illness, they were stuck near South America longer than he wanted to, and since the trouble they started turned out to be more than just the typical con or robbery, tension was building. 

Hosea insisted that they stay put, Bessie couldn’t travel, but Dutch knew better. They had to leave. They argued for a few days. 

But they didn’t have to argue for long, for their decision was made for them when Bessie passed away. A day after burying her, they packed and headed north, and finally, after several months, they reached the Idaho territory. 

And now, here they are. 

Dutch has since resolved that he won’t let a woman get the better of him or any of his men. Even Annabelle, whom he adores and loves every morning, noon, and night, will have to work extremely hard to get the better of this gang leader. 

As Dutch continues to pace outside his tent, he hears a sharp sound from the front of the camp. 

“Dutch! We got a wagon comin’ in!”

It’s Bill, boarish as ever. 

John, Dutch’s young protégé, rises from the scout’s fire, grabs his gun, and runs out of the camp to join the newest recruit. But upon reaching him, he quickly puts his gun away. “Lower your gun, you idiot,” John tells Bill. “It’s Arthur.”

It’s Arthur, alright. He’d easily recognize that black leather hat, the buckskin jacket, and the…sad little cart?

John pinches his brow and lifts the corner of his upper lip. Why the hell is he driving a cart with a Suffolk Punch at the reins?

Then, after squinting his eyes, he sees his potential answer. 

He sees you, sitting beside the runaway outlaw, with a little baby in your arms. 

Now, John knows for a fact that they’ve done the good deed once in a while, but bringing in a woman? Well, women, sure, but a woman who ain’t the come-and-go kind? A mother and baby? What kind of good deed is this? 

Bill still hasn’t lowered his gun, and with a forceful arm, the twenty year old grips the barrel and pushes it down to point at the ground. “Didn’t ya hear a thing I said?”

“What the hell is a woman doin’ here?” Bill snarls. 

John, while asking himself the same question, isn’t about to let Bill interrogate his brother-in-arms. “You have no right to be askin’ him them questions, Williamson! Now, go tell Dutch to stop diggin’ a canyon in the dirt!” Bill gives him a confused look and John has to roll his eyes. He never figured the ex-soldier is as dumb as he is big. “Tell Dutch Arthur’s back!”

Bill growls. “I ain’t stupid, Jimbo.” And he turns to head back into camp. 

“It’s John…!” John roars through gritted teeth, and taking a moment to compose himself, he returns to the task at hand: seeing about Arthur’s new business of rescuing maternal women. 

His footfalls make little to no sound as he crosses into the tall grasses as Arthur continues to drive up. The sun has nearly gone down now, and he can barely make out their figures until they reach the glow of the camp. 

Arthur looks tired. It isn’t the typical travel-tired, or battle-worn expression he will wear when fleeing or moving to the next job. This is a different expression that John has never seen. 

They lock eyes. It’s definitely not an expression he’s ever seen. 

“John,” Arthur greets. 

What? No quip? No jab? Just a solemn hello. John’s eyes migrate to the woman, you, sitting beside the fatigued outlaw. Your eyes are soft, brown, doe-like, but it hardly takes away the intensity of your gaze. A watchful look, and it is reflected in how you hold your baby. John can’t get a good look at the baby, it is bundled too tightly in what looks to be a shawl. 

But he gets a good look at the gun on your hip. 

Hell, this isn’t just some regular woman. Who are you?

“Morgan,” John finally says in reply to Arthur’s greeting a moment ago. He motions to lift a finger and point it in your direction, but decides against it. 

But Arthur doesn’t miss it, and so he turns his body in your direction, nearly placing a hand on the small of your back, but rests it against the back of the seat instead. “This is Eliza.”

You swallow. He has yet to introduce your two little ones. 

John, unacquainted with manners, fumbles with his hat as he takes it off his head. Normally, with woman-folk, aside from the ones who live at camp, they aren’t really too picky with the men they keep for company, and so they usually skip any and all formalities. Hell, they bear no introductions and jump right to the informal actions that are reserved for the most intimate of spaces. John swallows thickly. “Erm, ma’am.”

You don’t answer. You’re still numb. Your fingers press into the shawl covering Alice, and you feel her wriggle in your arms. 

That’s when you feel Arthur’s palm against your back. You nearly gasp. 

“Eliza, this is John.” He doesn’t bother with the last name, he doesn’t need to.

You force a soft smile. You don’t want to make a bad first impression, especially now that you’re here. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marston.”

John reacts surprised, his brow furrowing and his left foot moves backward. By the way you spoke, it sounds like you already know him, but he knows he’s never met or heard tale of you. 

And without any further explanation, Arthur motions to get off the wagon cart. “Where’s Dutch?” he asks. 

John turns around and looks into the camp. Dutch isn’t pacing by his tent anymore, he must have gone inside. The other members of the camp, Susan, Pearson, and Bill, are all standing nearby, watching. 

John looks back at Arthur, who has just planted his feet on the ground. “In his tent.”

Arthur sighs. “Alright.” He looks up at you and places a hand on your arm. “Wait here, Eliza, can you do that?”

You nod softly. Isaac is still asleep in the back of the wagon, and you aren’t fixing to leave him. 

And so, Arthur turns. “Let’s go, Marston.”

John, still somewhat impressionable by his superior, follows. 

You regard the camp and the strangers who stare at you. You can only make assumptions based on the little things that Arthur has told you over the years, but you aren’t going to waltz over and address them by their names. Instead, you hold your baby close and turn your body to look down into the back of the wagon. 

Isaac is laying down on some rolled-up blankets for comfort, his eyes closed shut and his mouth slightly agape as he sleeps. How he is still asleep after the last stretch of bumpy trails, you’ll never know, but you’re glad that he’s not in any distress. You and Arthur both have been trying to conceal the severity of your situation, he has heard too much already. 

You hear voices and turn back around. It’s two distinct voices coming from the largest tent in the camp. The tent flap opens, and a woman, beautiful and in her mid-thirties, steps out. She has a shawl draped over her shoulders and by the way the others look at her, it is clear she holds some importance. You can’t seem to put a name to her round face. Who is she?

She tucks her long, dark brown hair away from her face and she looks at you. 

Her gaze isn’t imposing, or judgmental. It is soft and observant. She says something to the onlookers and they seem to go about their business. 

You suddenly hear a rise in voices behind the tent. And then a booming voice, not Arthur’s, roars from within. “You did WHAT…?!”

The tent opens in a frenzy, and out storms a tall man, with dark hair, and in imposing posture. 

And Arthur, eyes aflame, follows after him. “Dutch, you leave her out of this!”

So, this is Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde in the flesh. The man with the plans, schemes, and dreams. 

He turns on his heels, facing Arthur. “Leave her out of it?” He points a bejeweled finger in your direction, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. It is then that you recognize him, those rings catching the firelight open up a series of memories, one being of the two men you served at the restaurant years ago. Two men, looking for information on the bank. Dutch was one of those men. 

It all makes sense now. 

Dutch continues, “You mean to tell me you’ve had this woman, bring her here, and expect me to keep her out of this?!”

Arthur, clearly flustered, snaps back. “She ain’t done nothin’ wrong! I had no choice but to bring ‘er here.”

“And why’s that, boy? By the looks of it, she ain’t the sort to be bringin’ around folk like us, especially how you come back with your tail between your legs.” Dutch studies Arthur, cocking his head to the left. “Go on, tell these hard-workin’ folks what you’ve brought to us.”

Arthur swallows. He had never intended for Dutch to know, or any of them to know, for that matter. He can tell by the sudden hush in camp that all work has stopped to ensure that what Arthur says will be heard loud and clear. He knows that they will know sooner or sooner. 

But he wants to fight that reality. “Dutch…”

“Go on, Arthur.” There is a pregnant pause, which infuriates Dutch all the more. “SAY IT…!”

A vein bulges in Arthur’s neck, but he soon answers. “My children and their mama.”

There is a collective silence, and a soft gasp from the two women who were eyeing you earlier. They look at you and you clutch your baby tighter. 

Dutch grins, but not the kind that gives off true joy, but of victory. “And after abandoning us, you just expect me to accept them with open arms?”

While that may be true, Arthur has too much pride to admit it. “Who says I left?”

“Don’t try to play ignorant, boy.” And he points a finger in Arthur’s chest. “You better figure out where your loyalties lie, or you will be playin’ a different sort of game.”

Arthur doesn’t flinch, showing no sigh of fear. “I’m here now, ain't I?”

Dutch scoffs, opening his arms. “Ah, see? There it is! Arthur Morgan, the one man I can really count on, had gone off and betrayed us! And now, he expects me to just let him have his way?” He may be shouting into the night for all to hear, but he has no intention of having his question answered. Then his face darkens as he looks Arthur dead in the eyes. “They cannot stay here.”

Arthur blinks, trading his cold resolve for a simple plea. “Dutch, they have nowhere else to go…! You can’t just—”

“They. Can. Not. Stay. Here….!!”

“They aren’t goin’ anywhere, Dutch.”

Arthur and Dutch turn and follow the line of everyone’s gaze as they look upon another unfamiliar but familiar face to you, a lean, older-looking man, as he carefully walks towards them. He holds a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and while his steps are sure-footed, you can tell that the man has had a couple of drinks. By the lean frame, and confidence in his speech, you can tell that this is none other than the Hosea Matthews...and the man who accompanied Dutch at the restaurant. 

Dutch’s eyes narrow. “What did you say?”

Hosea stops and takes a big swig of the bottle before answering. “You are going to tell me you are above mercy? This is Arthur’s flesh and blood we are talkin’ about, here…! You’re going to turn them away?”

Dutch’s voice softens, if but only to show annoyance. “Go to bed, Hosea, you’re drunk.”

Hosea’s eyes flash a lightning-hot rage, and he throws his bottle into the ground, the ground soft enough to where it doesn’t shatter. “I’m not drunk enough! Arthur has come back seeking our aid and you’re too stuck on your own pride to grant him this one thing. He’s never asked for anything, but has always done as he was bid.” He points at Arthur. “Don’t you think he had reason to keep this part of his life a secret? Look at what you’re doin’ now!”

Dutch looks around him. These people, these carpetbaggers and dreamers, they all look up to him and suddenly, he fears that is being called into question. At first, he was sure they would side with him. After all, Arthur was fixing to abandon them. To leave them, all for a woman and two whelps. But now that Hosea has opened his mouth, and looking at their faces…

He can see it. Compassion. Sympathy. Mercy. 

And suddenly, a soft hand enters his, causing his breath to hitch. Turning his neck, he looks into the green eyes that he knows all too well. 

“It’s as you say,” Annabelle begins gently. “Save those as need savin’, shoot those as need shootin’, and feed those as need feedin’.”

But he can’t just cave in, not at the pleadings of Hosea nor from his lover. 

He maintains his scowl. “They can stay. For now.” He looks intensely at Arthur. “They are out of my hands. You will take care of them.”

And Arthur challenges him right back with a look of his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And with that, Dutch makes his way back into his tent, trying to pull Annabelle with him, but she gently wrings her hand free. He halts in his steps looking at her and she softly shakes her head. “In a minute, my dear.”

He doesn’t answer and instead goes into his tent without another word. 

Annabelle, waiting a moment, turns and goes to Arthur. Looking into his eyes, she links an arm with his. “Let me meet this family of yours,” she says with a smile. 

Arthur, still surprised by the streak of kindness after all that, wordlessly walks towards you as you remain in the wagon. 

You’ve watched the entire exchange without as much as a peep from your lips. You’ve seen the dynamic of the gang in just twenty minutes, and you now see what it has done to Arthur. He was in the highest part of Dutch’s cast system, and now he has lowered himself to that of a new recruit. 

And he had left them. All for you. Was he really leaving? Was he really intending to stay with you in Aspen’s Way?

You so desperately want to ask him, to have your deepest wishes confirmed, even though they are clearly out of your reach now. You want him to tell you that he loves you, all of these years he’s never said it, it would mean something now.  

Annabelle and Arthur reach you and she slips her arm out from under Arthur’s. She gives you a smile and stands right next to you. 

“Hello,” she says. “I’m Annabelle. Dutch’s woman.”

You blink. “I’m Eliza.”

“Eliza,” she repeats. “Lovely name for a lovely young mother.” She holds up her hands. “Do you need someone to hold your baby so you can get off the wagon?”

You look up to Arthur, seeking feedback. He notices, and nods his head. “It’s alright.”

And seeing that Annabelle is showing kindness, you’re tempted to accept. Carefully adjusting Alice in your hands, you hand over the baby and Annabelle takes her with a familiarity. You wonder if she’s had children of her own. You have yet to see any. 

But if you’d think a little longer, you’d realize that there is a rule against babies and small children in camp. 

Annabelle takes a step back with Alice in her arms and she begins to rock her. She looks down at your daughter fondly. “What is her name?”

Arthur answers, saying her name for the first time. “Alice Elizabeth.”

Annabelle clicks her tongue. “Ah, a beautiful name.” She looks up at Arthur. “Her initials will look a lot like yours, won’t they, Arthur?”

Huh, he hadn’t really thought of that. “I guess they do.” He steps around Annabelle to get to you, and offers his arms. “Let me help you down.”

You nod and bend over to support yourself by resting your hands on his arms. His large hands take you by the waist and with a quick motion, he helps you to your feet. Not letting the moment linger, he removes his hands and goes to the back of the wagon. 

Arthur leans over it, and sees his sleeping boy. His eyes soften. Such an innocent life, so fragile, and he can’t help but feel that he’s failing him again by bringing him here. 

Arthur reaches down into the wagon and gently jostles the boy. “Isaac…”

And just like that, Isaac begins to stir, arching his back to stretch and scrunching his face. When his little, brown eyes squint open to see his father, he whimpers. “Oh, Daddy…”

Arthur can feel his heart melting away. He so desperately wanted to keep the tough facade he’s maintained in the gang, but how can he keep being cold towards his son? He just can’t do it. He reaches and scoops his son under the arms and picks him up carefully. He brings Isaac close to him and supporting Isaac underneath his arm and bottom, Isaac rests his head in the crook of Arthur’s neck. Arthur, without giving it a second thought, cups the back of his son’s head and kisses the boy’s cheek. Arthur locks eyes with you and you feel your own heart melting. 

You turn and face Annabelle, holding out your arms to take your baby back. She gives her up willingly and you look Alice over. She’s still peacefully asleep. Peacefully unaware that her life has changed forever. 

Arthur comes up beside you. “Follow me.” And he walks into the camp. You remain close by his side, seeking comfort and protection in his presence as eyes continue to stare at you. 

John, while being like a stray dog, isn’t a stranger to your cue and turns to the old man and Bill who stand nearby. “What’re you gawkin’ at?! Don’t you got some beer drink and a post to guard?” He begins pushing the old man off and Bill turns away, clutching his gun like a lost treasure. 

Annabelle, who’s following close behind, looks over to another woman. “Susan, do we have any spare blankets? Or a tent?”

Mrs. Grimshaw. Arthur has only mentioned her to you a few times, but you see how she matches his characterization of her. You can tell beneath the age that threatens her skin, she was a beautiful woman in her time. She’s older than Annabelle, to be sure, and you wonder why she’s still around. 

Susan nods. “I will check the wagon. Doubt we have a tent, but we sure got some blankets…” and she turns on her heels and walks between two tents and to the wagon, which is parked behind them. 

Arthur leads you to a wagon that has a canvas covering set up as a tent on one of its sides. Arthur lifts the flap and backs up to let you in first. “This is…where you can sleep for now.”

It’s then you realize that this is his tent. His place. After leaving his gaze, you duck your head slightly and enter. 

The space is small. There is a cot on the left and a set of crates that act like a makeshift wall. A small table stands beside the cot, and several small items rest on it. A lantern hangs on one of the posts and casts an orange glow about the space. You figure you and Issac can sleep together on the cot. You need to get Alice’s cradle from the back of the wagon. 

But that leaves another person. You turn around to see Arthur enter the space, Isaac still sleeping on his chest. “Where will you sleep?” you ask, the first words you’ve said to him in hours. 

He looks around, as though he can conjure up something by just looking at the floor. “I will sleep outside. I don’t mind.”

You aren’t sure how you feel about that answer. He’s the only person you know here, and after everything that has happened, even with the tension between you, you find that you still desire his company, his safety. “Can’t you…?” you begin, your voice fading into the night as you can’t decide whether to ask him or not. You watch him as he holds his son, your son, and the way his hand is gently rubbing the boy’s back as he sleeps. He’s been such a good father when he’s present and now that you’ll be seeing each other more often, you can’t help but find some sort of happiness for Isaac. 

You haven’t finished your sentence in a minute, and Arthur begins to grow curious. He wants to please you, to make things less stressful than they already are. “Can’t I what?”

Your eyes look down, the light catching your eyelashes. You’re a beautiful picture there, like old paintings Arthur has seen in wealthy houses he’s robbed. The way the shadows are cast in the folds of your blouse and the ruffles of your skirt. The glow of the light on your skin and the forehead of your baby. If he were a painter, but he’s only a mere man with a pencil, he’d set up an easel and begin the first paint stroke on the canvas right here. 

“Can you…” you begin again. “…stay here? With us?”

His heart beats a little faster at that question. But surely, you don’t mean exactly that. “You mean…in here?”

You shrug, and your baby stirs. Her face scrunches and she begins to whimper. You wish you knew what time it was, but it has been hours since she was last fed. 

Arthur knows that cry and he begins to go to the cot and lower Isaac down. “I’ll bring your things in here.” And he turns around to leave, closing the flap behind him. 

You look down at the sleeping form of your son, blissfully unaware he’s no longer in his father’s embrace. Carefully positioning yourself, you sit down beside him and hurry to unbutton your blouse while Alice continues to get fussy. After hearing Dutch’s outburst, the last thing you want is to give him something to complain about, regardless of who may be on your side. 

You manage to unbutton your blouse with one hand and once your chest is bare, you are able to nurse your daughter. Her cries are muffled and soon she makes contented feeding sounds. You gently rock her, humming the lullaby you’ve always hummed to soothe her. There is ample privacy from the confines of Arthur’s tent, but it isn’t soundproof. You begin to worry. This isn’t going to be just one night. This is going to be multiple days and multiple nights, however many it will be before you either find a new place, or Dutch kicks you out. 

But if you have learned anything from the last five years, it is that you are capable of making something out of nothing. You will make it through this. 

But what about Arthur? What does this mean for him? 

Your thoughts have you drowning so deep that you don’t notice the flap pulling back again. Arthur steps inside, carrying the baby cradle with some blankets inside. He sees you, eyes cast downward to your daughter, his daughter, as she feeds. Her eyelids are growing heavy, and her chubby little fingers are wrapped around your sole forefinger. He steps inside and lets the flap fall behind him, enshrouding you both in privacy once again. 

It has been a while since he’s seen you like this. When Isaac was just a baby. He remembers drawing you in a familiar position, and it felt more sacredly intimate than any other time he had drawn you before. It was the first drawing he had shown you, and feeling shy for asking, his face was nearly pink when he asked if you were okay with being drawn like that. But you smiled, and said you didn’t mind.

You finally notice him at the corner of your eye, and you lift your head to look at him. You don’t rush to find something to cover you. You just sit there, doing the most natural thing you can do as a mother. 

He clears his throat and motions to set the cradle down just in front of the table. “Do you want this here?”

You nod softly, your voice low and gentle. “That’s fine, thank you.”

He rises and pulls down on his jacket. “Well…erm…you hungry or somethin’?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He looks at Isaac. He’s surprised the boy is still out cold. “It’s been a long day for him,” he says out loud without realizing it. 

“Yes, it has.”

His eyes return to you and your bare shoulder, the loose strands of your hair, your calloused hands though gentle they seem as they cradle the nursing babe. You’ve worked too hard and too long, and yet you’re working still. 

“Is there anythin’ else I can do for you?” he asks quietly. He, too, is aware of the level of privacy behind his tent. That’s why he takes to traveling out on his own, and keeping thoughts to his journal. Otherwise, everything is out in the open. But now, everyone knows his greatest weakness. It’s only a matter of time before it is used against him. 

You shake your head. “Just get yourself some rest, Arthur. You look tired.”

He nods. He probably looks horrible. He looks down at his blue shirt, the one you made for him. You had put a lot of effort into making it, a lot of love into every stitch. 

And now there are specks of blood on it. He didn’t even notice until now. And neither did you. 

A soft “oh” escapes your lips as you cast your eyes on the red that is scattered over the light blue. 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he manages to say. 

You look away to Alice, who has fed from all that she can and before she can get too fussy, you switch sides and continue feeding her. “I can wash it,” you sigh. “Get some rest, Arthur. I’ll be up a while longer.”

He wants to ask you if you still want him to…no, he can’t possibly ask you again. After all, you just said to get some rest. There isn’t any place for him to sleep. 

He sighs, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. “Okay.” And he turns around to leave. 

“Oh, you are comin’ back, aren’t you?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder. “Come back?”

You swallow thickly, the uneasiness of your heart betraying your desire to remain closed-hearted. “I can’t…I can’t bear to take your tent and not have you use it.”

He turns his full body back around. “It ain’t right to leave you with nothin’, Eliza.” He looks at the cot. “There ain’t room for me in here.”

You blush, he means to sleep with you on the cot? If you got real close you could manage it, but what would that mean? What does all of this mean? 

You heard what Dutch said. Arthur had meant to leave and not come back. He admitted to the very deed. 

He was running back to you. To do what? 

You swallow. “Maybe if we…” you look over to the cot. “But Isaac…” and then you look back up at him. He sees those pools of brown. Those mud-stained amber stones that warm his soul. He sees those pleading eyes. He knows you don’t want him to leave. 

And neither does he, but what does this mean for the two of you? Can you both move past this and leave things as they are? 

He reaches behind his neck and scratches his scalp. “I guess I can sleep here on the ground. Lay my sleepin’ roll down and keep my head up by the cradle.”

“You’re too long, Arthur.”

He waves off the notion. “I don’t always sleep sprawled out. It’ll be fine.”

He sees you relax, a smile barely forming on your lips. “I guess you’re right.” You remember the colder nights where he’d be balled up, and you’d sneak another blanket on top of him. You wish for those nights again. 

He turns back around. “Gotta get my sleepin’ roll off Boadicea.”

“Okay,” you quietly say, and watch him go. 

***

Arthur makes it a few feet away from his tent when he hears a low cackle. Looking over towards the fire, he sees Bill, sitting on the log next to the fire. Everyone else has clearly gone to bed, so Arthur gets the impression that the boar was waiting for him. 

“You wanna tell me what’s so damned funny?” Arthur asks with a growl. 

Bill reaches his hands toward the fire to warm them. As his face nears the glow, the smirk is clearly planted in his expression. “Just never thought Dutch’s boys were a bunch of sissies.”

Arthur feels his hackles rise. “Never took you for a thinker, Williamson.”

This is enough to catch Bill off guard and enough to grow angry. He quickly rises to his feet, revealing a more agile nature that is quite the antonym for his size. “What did you just say to me?”

Arthur is not in the mood for a fight, not when he’s tired and in enough hot water already. “If you didn’t hear the first time, ain’t gonna bother to repeat it. Go back on guard duty like you were supposed to.”

He doesn’t bother to wait for a response and continues walking. 

But he hears a growl behind him. “I don’t take orders from you, deserter! You’ll get what’s yours when Dutch comes to his senses…!”

Arthur clenches his jaw and his fists. Normally, if any man so as much as spat in his direction, he would take it as an invitation for a fight. In his younger days, it was a fine way to show off, to impress any new members, or to prove his status in the gang. But now, as he’s gotten older, he’s learned to be more patient, and to keep his strength in check. Let it be the one thing that his opponent underestimates. That’s the best course of action, especially now, when only but a few feet away his children and you are hidden away in his tent. 

They don’t need another act of violence tonight. 

He reaches Boadicea, who is still tied to the end of the wagon. He reaches her head and strokes her forelock slowly. “I’m sorry, girl,” he says quietly. “Didn’t think all that would take so long.” He goes to work at removing the reins from its knot and begins to lead her toward the other horses that are loose together and grazing. He doesn’t remove her bridle, but decides to take off her saddle. The leather creaks in a comforting way, and he watches Boadicea’s ears as they pivot and move in the direction of its sound. She snorts happily, freedom and rest only a few moments away. 

“Almost done there, girl,” he chuckles. “You was never patient.” And after another moment or two, the saddle is off of her back. Resting it down in a convenient place, Boadicea lumbers over to the other horses. Arthur goes to work at removing his sleeping roll and tucks it under his arm. 

“You ready to retire for the night?”

The voice nearly spooks him and he turns around quickly. “Hosea?” he asks. 

“It’s me, Arthur.”

He sighs. “You shoah scared me.” Hosea steps into the light, revealing dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “Hell, Hosea…”

“I’m fine, Arthur.”

“It‘ll take more than that to convince me.”

Hosea smiles, and a sense of calm comes over Arthur. He’s always loved Dutch like a father, but he can’t help but love Hosea a little more. He seems more human, more about people just as much as he is about staying alive. Hosea treats him like a son, he and Bessie both did. 

Oh, Bessie, if only she hadn’t left them all. Hosea is clearly lost without her, even though he came through for Arthur tonight. 

“Worry about yourself, you look like a deer carcass.”

Arthur tucks his chin. “I ruined Eliza’s shirt.”

Hosea points a finger at it. “I was wondering where you got it. You came back to camp all saddened, like you just came back from a funeral.”

“It was the last day I saw her,” Arthur explains. “She gave it to me the night before…” He looks up at Hosea. “I had to go, Hosea. Dutch kept sayin’ we was all leavin’ and Eliza weren’t gonna go with me. I wanted…I wanted…” he lets his voice fall. “It don’t matter.”

“Why did you bring her here, son?”

“Robbers. Call themselves the Calico Bandits. Nearly shot Eliza and our little ones, if I were only a second late...”

“My god.”

“I couldn’t leave them there. I killed those men, and it would’ve all been—”

“I understand, son. You did what you thought was right.”

But Arthur feels uncertain. When he usually makes a decision, it’s usually with great confidence. In a fight or stressful situation, he can think of a way out on a dime, it’s how he’s been raised. Not this time. His brow furrows and he feels a tightness in his chest.  “But is it best? To have brought ‘em here with Dutch bein’ so angry?”

But Hosea doesn’t immediately reply. It could be because half of the whiskey bottle is still settling in his stomach or that he doesn’t have an answer. And either option is still left in the dark when he speaks again. “Were you really going to leave us?”

And Arthur, too, goes quiet for a few seconds, before he answers calmly. “What would you say if I was?”

There is something in Hosea’s eyes, in the dimmed light. A convicted softness, as his eyes lift and look into the darkness before them. “I’d say you’ve learned much at a better bargain than the rest of us.” And before he will give himself the chance to offer an explanation, he rests a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Goodnight, son,” and he turns to head in the direction of his tent. 

Arthur thinks he knows what he means, but he doesn’t want to believe it. Would Hosea really have left the gang for Bessie? Sure, he did leave years ago, but was only gone for a year before they both came back.

He remembers how Bessie was, even though she smiled, there was a sadness in her eyes. Hosea lit up her world as though he were the sun itself, but when he left her presence, the moon in her eyes grew dim. 

Now, Arthur isn’t an astronomer or anything, but he figures if one were without the other, everything would just fall apart. He has enough evidence from the last ten months to come to that conclusion. 

After unhitching your Suffolk Punch, named Farm Boy, and letting him graze with the others, he lumbers his way back to his tent. Lifting away the flap, his eyes immediately gravitate to where he left you. You’re laying down on your side, Issac pulled towards you, and a single blanket covers the both of you. He looks over to the crib, and still in your shawl and a knitted blanket, lays Alice. 

He exhales slowly. Alice, his daughter. He knows how she came to be here. Does he feel regret? Guilt? Perhaps. Only for the fact that he would have been too late. 

Too late. 

He gets to work at unwraveling his bed roll, the opening at the foot of Alice’s cradle. Knowing its a cooler night, as they usually are in this part of the country, he takes another blanket and lays it over you and your son. He pauses a moment and after hesitating, he bends down and kisses Isaac atop his head. “I love you, son.”

Backing away carefully, he goes to the ground on his knees, looking over the cradle. He sees her still form, her little breaths in the rise and fall of her chest, and how her arms are up close by her face. Such a little thing. 

“Alice…” he whispers so quiet, that he can hardly hear it. He reaches a tentative hand into the cradle and carefully adjusts her blanket. Her hand suddenly falls and her fingers take his pinky. He feels the tightness of her grip and also the chokehold on his heart. 

He feels a lump in his throat, a choking feeling as the tightness in his chest makes his body go rigid. His eyes begin to sting, and he hates himself for it. 

Get ahold of yourself, Morgan! he chastises himself. 

But he finds himself going weaker and weaker, and seeing the soft smile on his daughter’s face, he gives into the swell, sobbing into his hand as he covers his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry…” he cries, trembling. “So sorry.”

And while struggling to speak, he makes the promise to do right by her and that she and Isaac will never have to wonder who or where their father is, ever again.

Thank you for reading!

Would you like me to post the next chapter? Leave a comment if you’d like the next one! :D

[juanabaloo]

BTVS Fans: Pop Quiz hot shot!

(you can make polls for 3 days now, cool!)

Answer below the cut. This is a spoiler free poll!

It's Jenny, played by Robia LaMorte.

Jenny has 14 appearances sprinkled throughout S1-3. Faith has 13 appearances in S1-3, all in S3. (If a character is only mentioned that does not count. Visions and dreams count.)

(Also Lehane is in parentheses bc she didn't have a last name while BTVS aired, she got it afterwards. Faith is played by Eliza Dushku.)

And now you know!

+ BONUS: other people's gifs of Robia and Eliza from pre-BTVS projects!

First two: In 1991-1992 Robia was Pearl as in "Diamond and Pearl" for Prince!

Last two: Eliza was in movies, including Journey 1995 and That Night 1992.

gif credits: - Robia interview thanks to glammslam - Robia (Pearl and Diamon) thanks to sillysymphony - Eliza in Journey thanks to poeandmoonknightgirl - Eliza in That Night thanks to oldschoolteenflicks

Thank you original gifmakers!!

[valeriianz]

it's been a while, but the brainworms would not stop festering until i wrote this little prequal to my original Vampire Hunter!Hob ficclet. dedicated to @mathomhouse-e, the biggest instigator for this au lol. thanks @quillingwords for some mad crazy beta skills <3 i appreciate you!

“Don’t look now, but that guy in the back has been staring at you since we sat down.”

Hob hummed as he took a long sip from his tankard for his mate’s benefit. Hob didn’t have to turn to confirm this; he’d felt the stranger’s eyes on him as soon as he’d entered the crowded pub, though he hadn’t spotted him yet. 

The revelation fascinated Hob now, after weeks and weeks of scattered moments where he had felt that itch of being watched, Hob could recognize the feeling and pinpoint it to one, singular person.

Their eyes had met a handful of times, Hob turning away politely at first, sometimes lengthening the stare with a curious look, or more recently, staring back with challenge in his gaze. Intentionally holding the man’s icy blue– visible even in the murky, darkened room– stare until Hob was forced to look away first, a chill running up his spine.

The feel of the stranger’s eyes on him had become frustratingly familiar. It was a bit hair-raising, to be sure. But it was also… alluring. Inviting. Titillating. 

Hob had begun dreaming of this mysterious man, drafting up introductions in his mind, anticipating a confrontation eventually. Whether their meeting would be easy or difficult was warring within Hob’s chest until he’d finally made a decision to confront the pale man with striking blue eyes. It seemed like divine intervention that, the day after making this decision, the stranger would appear in his usual spot, at Hob’s usual haunt, precisely as he sat down to join his friends.

“Want me to tell him to fuck off for ya?”

“Nah,” Hob downed the remainder of his pint before slipping off the barstool, tossing some coins on the counter. “I got it.”

Hob made his way to the man’s table, tucked away in a corner, where he sat alone. Where he always sat alone. The mud brown of the pub's interior seemed amplified by the yellow glow of the electric sconces on the walls. It made the White Horse’s patrons seem dull and muted, even those who wore many colors or laughed raucously. Hob’s stranger in the corner, however, seemed to push through the soft and warm glow like a supernova.

And strangely enough, he was dressed in all black. Darker than shadows and just as intangible, like the starless night sky when the moon was hiding. The lights hit his cloak and revealed a matte, velvet texture that looked rich and soft and clean. Too clean, too pressed. Like the man had walked straight out of a tailor’s and came right in here. The man stuck out like a sore thumb amongst everyone else, and yet no one seemed to be paying him any mind.

Hob kept eye contact as he drew near, his posture lax, unimposing, though he could feel his heartbeat in his throat. And he wondered, briefly, if his stranger could feel it too. The way his eyes seemed to brighten as Hob approached, the way the corner of his mouth began to curl, making Hob’s stomach twist with a mixture of unease and delight.

“Hello,” Hob greeted as he finally stepped up to the empty chair opposite the man. “May I sit?”

The man lifted one elegant dark brow in response and Hob took that as an affirmative, pulling out the rickety chair and dropping himself into it.

Hob had to remind himself how to breathe, looking upon the man who’d been unashamedly watching him for the past few weeks. The dark clad man was already a vision from across the room, his eyes alone making a statement. But up close he was devastating. His coal dark hair was thick and messy, long tendrils that framed his ghost-white skin and severe cheekbones like a painting. A vision of lust, secrecy, and– Hob realizes belatedly with a stab into his gut– danger.

And he hadn’t even spoken yet.

“Are you aware of how obviously you behave?” Hob managed to find his voice again, dredged up from where it had fled moments prior. “Maybe instead of staring at me all night, you can buy me a drink.”

The man across from him tilted his head a fraction, imperceptible. Hob forced his usual smirk, roguish and sly. The one he used countless times to woo women to his bed, as he waved down a barmaid.

“And what is obvious… about my behavior?” 

Hob looked twice at the man, unable to parse the words at first, convinced he had just heard a rumble of thunder outside. But as he stared, the stranger’s face became more and more curious, waiting for an answer. 

Hob swallowed. The question– spoken in a low murmur, deep and decadent– fluttered around his chest before finally settling somewhere low in his gut. Hob felt his bravado promptly leak out his ears.

“Ah. It’s not exactly what I’m used to,” Hob hid his hands under the table to hide how he began to fidget. “Typically a ‘hello’ or ‘how do you do’ is more acceptable than silently watching.”

The barmaid finally arrived and it gave Hob the excuse to pull his eyes away from the indigo sea swirling before him, almost hypnotic. He took a shuddering breath and blinked, staring up at the woman who was waiting for an order.

Hob ordered two cask ales, forgetting about the bold way he’d suggested the man buy his drink and operating now on autopilot. As the woman left, Hob brought his attention back to the enigmatic man before him, his skin prickling with gooseflesh at the realization he hadn’t moved an inch, piercing gaze still on Hob, posture straight and solid as a wooden stake.

“I was watching,” the man spoke again, his voice soporific. “Because I’m interested.”

Hob’s heart, which had finally calmed down a bit, flipped over in his chest. “In me?”

The man hummed, his chin tilting down, considering, while something akin to a smile tugged on his lips.

“In a way…” he replied cryptically. He spoke slowly, as if mulling each word over, making them deliberate. He closed his eyes for a moment and Hob belatedly realized the man hadn’t blinked once thus far.

“You are an apprentice.”

Hob couldn’t help it, he grinned, pulling one hand back on the table’s wooden surface to drum his fingers.

“How can you tell?”

The man tilted his chin up, taking a moment to study him and Hob felt his smile grow with the attention. Though there was something in the back of his head, tickling his base instincts of self-preservation. It was odd, Hob didn’t feel as though he was in any danger, but there was a certain… air about this gentleman. Hob couldn’t be sure yet, but there was definitely something off about him. Perhaps he was a lord– he certainly dressed the part. With his thick cloak, parted just enough to see an expensive looking waistcoat made from damask, the design threaded in gold that glinted with each microscopic movement.

The way he carried himself too, was with arrogance and power, and without a trace of sympathy. It was cold and hard. It was also breathtaking and Hob delighted in the man’s sharp gaze, his scrutiny, focused solely on him. 

Not just now, Hob had to remind himself with his own smug grin. But for the past few weeks.

“You dress the part,” he nodded down at Hob’s clothes. “But you are still young. I assume you’re in training.”

Hob looked down at himself, hardly dressed for style, but comfort. For easy movement during his training but also leather clad to protect against blunt force and brutal encounters. His coat, which he’d draped over the chair, had deep pockets for concealing weapons and the thick utility  belt around his waist had many compartments to hold his tools… though he had very few at the moment.

And like his stranger, Hob wore all black, to blend in with the night. He wouldn’t say what he was, even if the handsome man asked… it was frightening enough that he’d managed to even guess at his occupation thus far. 

“Good observation,” Hob said, offering nothing else.

The barmaid returned, setting their drinks on the table and leaving again with a smile.

Hob brought his own up for a long drink, for thirst and also to distract his hands, which desperately needed something to take hold of.

A beat passed before the stranger spoke again. “A priest?”

It’s the tone of the question that made Hob set his drink down slowly, swallowing deeply and eyeing his stranger again, his own brow arching. His tone was polite. As if he did know what Hob was and only asked to prompt him to reveal his true work. Like the man was playing dumb.

Hob looked down suddenly at the wooden cross hanging low on his chest, which is what might’ve provoked the inane suggestion. He laughed and he could hear in his own ears the edge to it.

“Far from it,” Hob tucked the cheap jewelry into his shirt. “Just superstitious, is all.”

The man hummed and seemed to relax, imperceptibly, in his chair. Hob took note of it with a curious expression

“And what about you?” Hob leaned back, fiddling with the handle of his pint. “What is your business?”

“Hardly worth mentioning.” The man responded quickly, his words premeditated. “I am curious though, young apprentice. Do I entice you?”

Again, Hob’s heart lurched at the forwardness. His blood racing through his veins and nearly making him dizzy. 

Unexpectedly, the stranger took a slow, deep breath through his nose, his chest rising with it and Hob unconsciously felt himself leaning forward. It is as though the man intended to pull Hob in, like he’d tied a rope around his chest and tugged. Hob caught himself on the table’s edge, forcing his eyes down at the man’s untouched drink and took a shaky breath, stolen from him, back into his lungs.

Hob laughed, shaking his head, pulling himself back up and hoping he hadn’t made too much of a fool of himself. His chest and neck were burning.

“What kind of question is that?”

For the first time all night, the man took his hands from where they’d been hidden under the table and clasped them on the surface. Hob sees no rings but couldn’t help but to fixate on his long pale fingers, his knuckles smooth as silver bullets. Hob wondered if they’d be just as hard and cold, too.

“You approached me. You sat at my table.” His hands turned palm up, fingers spreading wide. “What kind of question do you think it is?”

Hob laughed again, nerves getting the best of him. His young, traitorous heart was like a racehorse galloping along his ribcage.

“I’m afraid to answer that question,” but Hob smirked anyway, taking his drink up again to distract himself.

A small, barely there smile crept through his stranger’s carefully composed visage. A proper smile filled with pure amusement and– Hob blinked dumbly as realization settles in– desire. His eyes seemed to glint with excitement, hunger.

Ah, that was it. Like looking upon something you craved, pupils dilating with it and lips unconsciously parting, which Hob’s stranger did now. It was an intoxicating sight, and Hob could only stare, caught like a mouse in a trap.

Then he rose, so fluidly and gracefully that it took Hob a moment to even register that he was staring up at the man.

“What’s your name?” Hob asked, his voice gone quiet, awestruck.

The man hummed again, eyelids low, considering.

“Next time.”

He set a gold coin on the table, right next to his untouched ale, and left.

[mrsstarkey1]

if i theoretically had a fic w rafe cameron based on the song “that would be enough” from hamilton should i post it 🤔🤔🤔🤔

i feel like it may be too niche

[countrymusiclover]

3 - Looking for an Alliance

Part 4

Are You District or Capitol?

Pretty please leave your thoughts in the comments 🙏 😁 ❤️ Tag list ( send an ask in my ask box to be added ) @lemonluvgirl @virtualsweetsdreamer @emma-andrea1 @voiddylanobrosey @kmc1989

@agentxx92

Sitting at the foot of my bed in the fancy bedroom I just silently stared at the wall. My stomach was twisting in intense nervous knots wishing I was somewhere else. Wishing that we weren’t back home just staying away from the Capitol. I had managed to hide for so long I felt trapped here more than I ever did when I would hide on the Reaping days until a few days ago. Hearing three knocks on my locked door I got up from my spot on the bed. “What are you doing here, dad?”

“You’re mother and I want to talk some things out with you.” He explained in a long Grey tea shirt and some black pants standing in the hallway.

I clicked my tongue not sure where this would go but agreed nonetheless. “Okay. I guess it's about time I meet my mother.”

My father and I went down the hallway and into the open living room with a lot of light being provided through the large windows. “My sweet dear, I would first like to apologize for the horrible state your father must have raised you in.” My mother Effie spoke up before we had even sat down on the couches.

“I may have drank around her but I never endangered her life while doing it. I took the best care that I could manage.” My father started talking to her.

She rolls her eyes wearing a pink wig and a dress to almost match its color that was all poofy too. “You say that now but she might have just spared your feelings.”

“When you come home after winning the games and your entire family is killed a few days later then we'll talk about what I spared her from!” He raised his tone, clutching the alcohol glass he held in his hands.

She went to respond but closed her mouth. “Haymitch, I-”

“So what did you need to talk to me about or is this what you meant by talking, angrily yelling how the other would've messed up my life.” I swore the tension in the room could be cut with a knife if you tried showing there was definitely history between these two.

My father shifted next to me on the couch. “I was thinking that you should start making some allies here. I don't know why Snow wants you but we should be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst being he throws me into the arena.” I gulped the end fabric of my shirt I had on. “So who should I start with first?”

He picked up the tv remote turning it on showing me the District 4 Reaping zooming in on Mags and Finnick. “I'd suggest Mags. She's a sweet elderly woman and is a mute unfortunately though.”

“I'll figure something out. What about the Capitol Darling?” I decided to use the nickname he had mentioned to Peeta, Katniss and I the other day.

My mother clasped her hands together in joy. “Ohhh. He's quite charming.”

“I'll talk with him and I'll do my best to convince him to help you out.” Dad touched my shoulder before I nodded leaving them there heading to the training area.

Walking around I didn't focus on what Katniss and Peeta were doing considering I wasn't experienced in any of this stuff. Finding a station that had ropes hanging on it I shrugged my shoulders deciding to start there. Picking up the rope the screen showed the direction to follow so I started folding it under and over until I felt someone move their hands over mine. "What the hell!" I jumped back elbowing whoever it was in the rib.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I am really sorry, blossom." Spinning around I saw that it was Finnick Odair. He sends me a cheeky smile now holding the rope that I was holding in his hands.

Crossing my arms over my chest I take a step back away from him. I had my hair in a ponytail where some of it fell over my shoulder. "What do you want, Capital darling. You should know better than to sneak up on someone."

"Well yes I do know that. Now we should talk about what your skills are in the arena." He nodded where my eyes drifted down to the ways he was moving the rope into a knot. "Let me show you the best knot to know in the games."

"Why do you think I want your help. For all I know the second we get in the games I am the first person you go after." I scoffed under my breath glaring at him trying to remember that my father said there is no trust in the games. You had to look out for yourself and that's it.

Finnick stepped closer to me pausing his actions on the knot where we were almost pressing up against each other. "If I wanted you to be the first one dead I wouldn't be willing to help you. It may be hard for you to believe right now but not all the carriers are assholes..not really anyway."

"I....I'm sorry Finnick." I couldn't form a sentence because I was too focused on his eyes. I could see that they were watering meaning that he was telling the truth.

He sniffed changing his demeanor when he saw that Katniss was watching us from affair. Turning my head back to focus on him he sent me a smile and a chuckle. "Alright now this is where it can get quite complicated..don't look at me. Look at the knot."

"Sorry." I apologized softly seeing that he had finished the knot.

He then put it over his neck like he was hanging himself holding the rope out to me. "You want to take me down for a walk, blossom?"

"I'm good...why do you call me blossom exactly?" I questioned meeting his gaze when he removed the rope from around his neck.

He stepped up where he dropped his hands down at his sides, sending me a smile walking away. "Cause you came out as a surprise to everyone in the districts.” He slowly began walking away towards the elevators.

"I wouldn't trust him if I were you. He is very skilled at tricking people." I closely watched him walk away until Katniss walked up to me, arms crossed over her chest, sending me a look I couldn't read.

Shaking my head at her I turned back towards the knot that he had done and attempted to repeat what he had shown me. "The only secret that I had is known by the whole country now. I am gonna need any help I can get." She walked away where I huffed feeling more nervous of the days leading up to the games.

Standing there for a few after she had walked away I noticed that Finnick had hit the elevator button about to leave. “Finnick, wait a second! I - um - could you try and find out why Snow wants me here. If not I understand with the games things are different-”

“I'll do my best, Ariyne.” He flashed me a grin and I hated to admit that I enjoyed the way he said my name with that tone of voice.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[wizardofvamp]

My notes and research doc ever grows while my draft docs remain the saaaame.

[swiftlark]

commenters on ao3 when someone in the enemies to lovers trope isn’t that nice to their love interest

[conjectureand-gloom]

probably cheating by choosing two but i need to read them from you so bad so GO WORK ON THEM (lmao jk) I WISH I COULD PICK ALL OF THEM BUT LAMS AND JUDAS’ DEATH PLS PLS PLS

I CHOSE TWO FROM YOU TOO, SO IF YOU CHEATED THEN SO DID I

lams (taylor’s version)

Bold was the waitress on our three year trip

Getting lunch down by the lakes

She said I looked like an American singer

Alexander was known for being Washington’s youngest and most public aide, so naturally he was recognised a lot, especially when he’s out on missions for Washington.

During the heat of June, Alexander and John went out for a raid together, and Alexander was recognised by a British soldier. Thankfully, they made it out together.

Time, mystical time

Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine

Were there clues I didn't see?

And isn't it just so pretty to think

All along there was some

Invisible string

Tying you to me?

Ooh

A string that pulled me

Out of all the wrong arms right into that dive bar

Alexander and John were both caught up in relationship and marriage, neither of them feeling true emotion for their wives.

They didn’t know what unconditional love felt like until they met each other.

judas’ death

Soon later, Mary came in. Judas took a while to warm up to having a third in their relationship.

But when he learnt to accept it, he learnt to love her, just as he loved Jesus.

He can’t be dead. He can’t be. He can’t be. He can’t be.

“No-”

“I’m so sorry,” Mary cries.

Jesus blinks, as if that can shield him from feeling or showing any emotions. He knows that he can’t show any weakness around the guards, and Mary can recognise that, so she grasps his hand desperately. Jesus grabs her hand, his grip twice as strong as Mary’s, betraying just how scared and panicked he is.

[moonstruckme]

spencer reid holding hands 4 the first time : ( 've been rewatching cm and i miss my boy sm : (( you're most recent peter fic is so sweet btw im absolutely obssessed!!!!! love you bunches

Thank you sweetheart <3

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 665 words

You and Spencer have had a very…tentative beginning to your relationship. Normally, when you think of a first date, you’re worried about how much the other person expects. (Will they want to kiss you? Will they want more? What if you don’t want to? How do you say no without making it awkward?) With Spencer, there’s been none of that. You’re on date three, and he’s kept completely to himself the entire time. When you met up earlier in the week he’d let a hand hover near your elbow when you nearly tripped over a curb, but you’d barely felt the whisper of his skin against yours before he was putting it back in his pocket, the danger having passed. 

You’ve always thought that you’d prefer to take things slow, and Spencer seems that way too, but now you’re itching for something more. Just something tangible to show that you like him, that he likes you too, that you’re not just going on these dates for no reason at all. 

So, bold thing that you are, you let your hand hang in the empty space between you as you walk. An offering. 

The first time Spencer’s knuckles brush across yours, knobby and skimming, he almost stops talking. He’s been saying something about Alexander Pope and Eliza Haywood (and you’re doing your best to follow along, honest), but he falters mid-sentence, his hand stuttering in its movement. 

“And, uh, actually,” Spencer goes on, getting his verbal feet back under him, “it was only in the late twentieth century that her works started surfacing in academia…” 

You nod along but don’t move your hand, letting Spencer’s graze past it again. This time, you lean into the touch, pushing your knuckles into his almost imperceptibly. And this time, Spencer’s hand doesn’t continue along its trajectory. He lets it rest alongside yours, your skin brushing up against each other’s with the movement of your walking. After a few seconds, his pinkie teases yours. 

You bite back a smile, crooking your pinkie so it hooks around his. Spencer moves his hand, and for a second your heart drops, but he’s only bringing it to the inside of yours, interlacing your fingers loosely. 

“Is this okay with you?” he asks, careful and to-the-point. 

“Yeah.” You look up at him sheepishly, wriggling your fingers in his to get them closer. “I’ve been wanting to do this.” 

“Me too,” Spencer says quietly. Your heart balloons until you’re sure it’s about to float off and take you with it. 

His palm is rougher than you’d expected. Spencer comes off as such an academic, sometimes you can forget that he’s in the literal FBI. He handles guns and had to go through training, and you can feel it in the light scratch of his calluses against your palm. Slender fingers stretch over your knuckles, deft and capable. His touch sends a pleasant tingling all the way up from your hand into your buzzing brain. 

“Sorry,” you say softly. 

Spencer looks confused. His thumb runs the length of yours, a thoughtless movement or a soothing touch, it doesn’t matter. If he does it again, you’ll puddle down onto the pavement for sure. 

“What are you sorry for?” he asks. 

“I sort of interrupted you.” 

A little smile teases the dimple in his cheek. “I don’t mind.” 

You give his hand a gentle tug, feeling brazen. It cracks something open in him, and his smile comes out for real, the familiarity between you suddenly so natural. 

“Tell me about Eliza Haywood,” you urge. “Did Pope just hate her because she was a woman?” 

“That was definitely a big part of it,” Spencer allows, and his voice seems to go back into the conversation while his face stays somewhere else. He’s still wearing that smile, eyes squinted just slightly like he’s having some trouble figuring you out and it might be his new favorite game. “But also it had a lot to do with the perception of novels…”

[notsosaucystuff]

Some important phannie vocabulary and phrases (in alphabetical order):

Words:

Babuse

Bub/Bubby

Bob

Capital£ester

Crafties

Craft/Crafting

Dab

Dad

Dalien

Danosaur

Delia Smith

Dil

Doot

Eliza

Emo

Erica

Evan

Fetus

Glabella

Gloryhole

Glue

Gnu

Golden pig

Hiatus

Lad/Lads

Ladydoor

Lesbian

Lexicon

Lion

Literally

Llama

Maltesers

Melapples

Microwave

Muse

Norman

Nuki

Onomatopoeia

Pancakes

Phan

Phandom

Phass

Pheal

Phivorce

Phol

Phouse

Placenta

Protip

Ranch

Ribena

Sim/Sims

Slit

Soulmates

Susan

Tabitha

Tit

Tour

Twink

Twunk

Uma Thurman

Whisk

Whiskers

Yap/Yapping

Yee

Phrases:

All or nothing

Art is important

Breaking the sound barrier

Companions through life

Dip and Pip

Don't cry, craft

Do you know what a genre is?

Editing tips

"Embrace the void and have the courage to exist"

Forever home/Phorever home

Girl in Prague

Glory hole

Heart eyes Howell

Hello, my name is [Dan]

Help me Dad

Hey buddy, you in London?

Hobbit hair

It hits different

Love eyes Lester

Lying makes you go to hell

Mirror Butt

No but seriously imagine it

Passenger Princess

Phil trash #1

Ranch metaphor

Reasons why Dan's a fail (yay)

Red Hot Phil

Right in the Florida

"Open wide for Captain Lester!"

Soft and neat

Something something night changes

Square hair

The builders

"This guy"

"This is the most fun I've ever had"

Tops only bar

Try new things

Twink Death

Twunk Birth

We're here, we're queer, and we're filled with existential fear

"What can I say?"

Abbreviations:

BWAGFEO (Basically We Are Gay For Each Other)

NBSII (No But Seriously Imagine It)

PINOF (Phil Is Not On Fire)

TIT (Terrible Influence Tour)

WAD (We're All Doomed)

WDAPTEO (What Dan And Phil Text Each Other)

Inserts:

Get the [Insert noun] out for the lads

"Here's the thing about [Insert noun]"

I'm at the cluuuuub, I need [Insert noun], but in a sexy way

Ph-[Insert almost anything]

The [Insert noun] fic

[Insert literally anything]-ussy

We saw you from across the [insert noun] and liked your vibe

You will get through this [Insert noun]

Other:

2009

2012

2019

2022

2023

🧡 (orange heart emoji)

Please leave additional words and/or phrases in the notes or tags and I will have them to the list! <3

Last updated: February 1, 2025

[corroded-hellfire]

Continuing on with my baby fever I came across videos of parents "laying" (softly hovering) on their babies lap to see their reaction. Some babies are gentle with one parent and push of the other parent. But I wanna see how Eliza would react to the entire Munson family doing this. Thank you!

Baby fever you say? 👀 Step into my office…

Honestly, looking up reference videos for this fic was the most heart melting thing ever and I thank you for bringing that into my life. I hope I have done this justice for you!

Words: 3.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Ugh,” Luke groans as he flops down on the floor of Eliza’s nursery. The Minnie Mouse shirt and pair of toddler jeans he’s holding smack him in the face as his dramatics bring him down.

Eliza sits on her miniature butterfly couch and watches her brother, face stoic as the two-year-old is used to the theatrics he’s inherited from their father. 

“What is taking so long?” Ryan strolls into the room and leans against the door jamb. He crosses his arms over his chest and arches an eyebrow as he clocks his brother on the ground. 

Flinging the articles of clothing behind him, Luke huffs and turns his head to meet Ryan’s questioning look.

“Every outfit I pick out she doesn’t like!”

Heaving a loud sigh, Ryan saunters over to the closet tucked into the corner of the pink room. Curious as to what he’s doing, Eliza cranes her neck in an attempt to see past her oldest brother. Try as she might though, she doesn’t have x-ray vision and has to wait for Ryan to turn around to see the black and white striped dress and pastel green sweater.

“Eh?” Ryan raises his eyebrows as he holds the items out towards the toddler.

Keeping her chin high, little Eliza looks over the proposed outfit before nodding her affirmation once. 

“What?” Luke shouts as he bolts upright. “The Minnie Mouse shirt is way better!”

Ryan throws a smirk over his shoulder at his younger brother as he helps Eliza get changed into the winning look of the day. 

“She must love me more.”

“Uh, no,” Eliza hums as her head pops free from the confines of the dress. “Better clothes.”

Luke cackles with laughter, arms crossing against his stomach as he falls on his back once more.

“Oh, that’s too good! Please, we all know I’m her favorite,” Luke says.  

At only two-years-old Eliza is already used to her brothers competing in almost every aspect of life. She rolls her doe brown eyes and allows Ryan to help her into the green sweater before leaving the two boys alone in her room. 

“I seem to recall us having this argument before and Grandpa somehow coming out the winner,” Ryan says, following the little girl’s lead and heading towards the door. 

“Well,” Luke says, stretching out the word as he scrambles to push himself up into a standing position, “then this time we don’t allow him to be part of our bet.”

The older Munson brother shakes his head in amusement as he walks out into the hall and to the right, towards the rest of the house. Luke is right behind him though, practically nipping at his heels as he waits for some kind of response. 

“What bet?” Ryan asks, stepping into the kitchen.

“Yeah, what bet?” Eddie echoes, eyeing his two sons over his “#1 Dad” coffee mug where he leans against the counter. 

“Seeing who Eliza’s favorite is. And not Grandpa this time,” Luke informs his dad as he slides into a chair at the table. 

“I believe that would be me,” you say with a proud smirk, traipsing in from the living room with an empty sippy cup. “I just turned on Rolie Polie Olie for her.” 

“No one can compete with the Rol,” Eddie jokes, giving you a playful wink and a smile. 

“She definitely loves that show more than she loves any of us,” Ryan says. He yanks the refrigerator door open and stares inside as if something new is magically going to appear before his eyes. 

“I bet I could interrupt it and she’d be okay with it,” your husband says. “And will you either grab something out of the fridge or close the damn door?”

“So, you’re saying you’re the favorite, Dad?” Luke asks, eyebrows disappearing into the curls that are getting too long for his liking. 

“Isn’t that old news?” Eddie asks with a smirk as he walks over to grab Luke’s box of Lucky Charms. 

“Everything about you is old,” Ryan says.

The joke has your hand slipping, causing the apple juice you were refilling Eliza’s sippy cup with to spill all over the counter. Avoiding Eddie’s eyes, you try to hide your snort of laughter as you grab a towel to mop up the mess. Once the sippy cup is successfully filled up, you turn back towards the living room—Eddie’s eyes still firmly burning your back—and go to give your daughter her drink. 

“Didn’t we already do this? I feel like we played this game before,” you say. “Eliza picked Wayne over all of us.”

Eddie shrugs and takes another sip of his coffee. “No beating the old man. The actual old man.” Eddie narrows his eyes at Ryan, who just chuckles in return. 

“No,” Luke says. He shakes his head as he lets the marshmallow cereal fall into his bowl. “We have to know who her favorite in the house is.” 

“Any ideas?” Ryan asks, plopping down in the seat across the table from his little brother. 

“Hmm,” Luke hums as he chews on a bite of his breakfast. “I’ll brainstorm at school today.”

In the end, it’s you who comes up with the idea that sets the competition into motion. Once Eddie heads out to work and the boys to school, you realize how much you’re able to get done around the house because Eliza is thoroughly hypnotized by her favorite show. It’s not until the hour of Rolie Polie Olie is done that Eliza is running around the house, wanting to play with every toy under the roof. 

After dinner that night, and once Eliza is in bed, you bring your idea up to the boys.

“So, like, we take turns? One person a day?” Luke asks.

You nod in confirmation.

“Right. Because if we all did it one after the other on the same day, she’d get cranky and it wouldn’t be fair for whoever goes last.”

“What, we like, pick straws?” Ryan asks. “Then someone goes Tuesday, then Wednesday...?”

“I’m game,” Eddie says. He lifts one flannel-clad arm and rests it behind you on the couch, giving you the perfect opportunity to snuggle into his side. 

“So…” Luke muses as he walks over to the couch and takes a seat next to you, on the opposite side of Eddie. “We just put our heads in her lap like this?” The younger Munson boy demonstrates by laying his curly head on your thighs, staring up at you with wide blue eyes. 

“Exactly,” you say, reaching down to boop the tip of his nose. “See if she cuddles you or pushes you off. And then we’ll see who she has the best reaction to.”

“I like it,” Ryan says.

“Me too,” Luke agrees. “Ryan, go get straws. Cut one short!”

With an irritated eye roll, Ryan does as his little brother says, feet shuffling along the carpet as he goes. 

The plan springs into action the next day. According to the laws of the straws, Ryan was up first. Followed by Luke, you, and then Eddie rounds it out. 

Tuesday morning starts off like every other weekday, everyone running through their routines to get ready for whatever lies ahead for them that day. Once Eliza is dressed in her purple long sleeve shirt, pink overalls, and her morning apple juice is finished, it’s time for the games to begin. 

You, Eddie, and Luke watch as inconspicuously as you can from the kitchen entryway as Ryan approaches the couch. Your daughter’s eyes never leave the little yellow robots, even as her oldest brother kneels on the dusty-brown cushion next to her and keeps scooting closer. 

Eliza’s leaning back, her legs out straight in front of her, and Ryan takes advantage of the open space to lay his head right down on her little knees. The two-year-old just seems confused at first. She looks down at Ryan, back up to Rolie, down to Ryan, up to Rolie, then back down to Ryan again. After staring down at her big brother for a little while, Eliza reaches for his head and begins to card her tiny fingers through his golden-brown locks. Her hands continue the movements even as she turns her attention back to the television screen. Ryan can’t help but smile; it actually feels really nice. She keeps up the motions until there’s a commercial. Then Ryan rolls on his back to look up at her and she giggles down at him in return, not sure what he’s doing, but happy to have his attention. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Ryan asks.

Instead of answering verbally, Eliza wraps her arms around her big brother’s neck and settles back against the cushions. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ryan says with a chuckle, before adding under his breath, “and as a win.”

Wednesday, it’s Luke’s turn. Once Eliza’s got her favorite show on and a cup of apple juice in her, he makes his move. It’s clear from the moment Luke’s head hits her lap that Eliza is in a feistier mood today. Whether she woke up like that or Luke brings it out of her is anyone’s guess. 

“Ow,” Luke groans as two small hands beat down on the side of his head as if it’s a drum. The boy winces, face scrunching up, but as you watch him alongside Eddie and Ryan from around the corner, you can tell Luke is trying to stick it out and see if he can somehow salvage a win. There’s a brief glimmer of hope when Eliza stops percussing on her brother’s head. However, it’s short-lived. 

Short, stubby fingers make their way up to Luke’s curls and the youngest Munson boy breathes a sigh of relief, seeing as how gentle the toddler was with Ryan’s hair the day before. The problem, they discover, is that since Luke’s curls are far tighter than his older brother’s, Eliza’s fingers quickly get caught in them. 

“Oh, please no,” Luke murmurs, but it’s too late.

Eliza tries to yank her hands free, frustrated that her fingers can’t run smoothly through his locks like she did for their eldest sibling. She pulls Luke’s hair while letting out her own whine.

“Ouch! Why are you whining? I’m the one who’s about to be bald!”

Next to you, Eddie lets out a snort of laughter. 

“Bald?” Eddie says. “Wayne? That you?”

Giving a roll of your eyes, you gently swat at his stomach. Luke also hears his dad’s remark and gives him a glare from the couch as he tries to wrestle himself free from the toddler’s grip. 

Finally, Eliza is able to slip her hands free from the rat’s nest that’s become of Luke’s hair—thanks to her. She’s thoroughly annoyed now and grumbles a few low groans, giving up on words completely. If she were old enough to know swear words, she’d definitely be using those.

Luke breathes a sigh of relief and raises a hand to rub at his sore scalp. Before he can make contact though, both of Eliza’s hands splay flat on the back of his skull and she gives a hard shove. The implication is clear: get off my lap.

Not willing to risk any more of her tiny wrath, Luke rolls off her and off the couch altogether. He lands with a thud on the carpet and gets the chance to rub at his head at last. His eyes narrow as he looks up at Eliza, who is no longer paying him any mind. She’s immersed in Rolie Polie Olie once again, the rest of the world forgotten. 

Your youngest son pushes himself to his feet with a huff. He shuffles back towards the kitchen, back towards the rest of you.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he mumbles as he passes, heading straight for the fridge. 

To Eddie and Ryan’s credit, they do both stay silent as the three of you turn to watch Luke yank a Yoo-Hoo out of the refrigerator and pop the top. He chugs down half the bottle before wiping his mouth off on the back of his hand. 

“Ugh,” Luke says with a sigh as he heads toward the hallway. “It’s not even 8 am yet.”

With both of the boys’ attempts out of the way, you’re up. You debate going in straight for the lap when you give her the purple sippy cup of apple juice, but something tells you that you’d end up with a wet and sticky face though. Instead, you wait until most of the beverage is gone and she’s let the bottle roll out of her hand onto the cushion next to her. 

“Good luck, babe,” Eddie says, giving your ass a pat before you walk out into the living room. 

As soon as your knee touches the couch, the television show your daughter is so transfixed on goes to commercial. She turns her head to look at you, large brown eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

You freeze, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. It’s odd to be struck still and silent by your two-year-old, but here you are. Rolie Polie Olie being on a commercial break could either make or break this for you. 

“Mama!” Eliza chirps.

A breath loses from your chest, and you give her a grin as you move to lay your head on her little legs. The moment your body makes contact with hers, Eliza’s arms encircle you as much as they possibly can, and she leans down to rest her head against yours. Her cheek smooshes against yours, her chin bumping into the corner of your eye. 

Warmth floods through you, your heart growing three sizes as she lays all her body weight against yours.

“Hold on,” you hear Luke mutter from the kitchen, “wait to see what happens when the show comes back.”

There are only about forty-five seconds until just that happens. 

Eliza’s skin brushes against your cheek as she adjusts her head to get a better view of the television, but otherwise stays where she is. In fact, it feels as if she cuddles into you even further as she settles in to watch her favorite show. 

“Oh, come on,” you hear Luke complain. The twelve-year-old is clearly not happy that he is losing this competition so far. It’s not as if Eliza could be bribed, though. Luckily, toddlers haven’t been corrupted by life yet. 

Luke walks into the room and stands at the side of the couch, hands resting on his hips. 

“Comfy, are we?” he asks. 

It’s evident your daughter is quite cozy as she doesn’t look up at her brother or move for the rest of the episode. 

“All right,” Eddie says, rubbing his hands together. “Saved the best for last.”

“Debatable,” Ryan says as he chomps on a granola bar. 

Your husband flicks Ryan’s black-rimmed glasses so they slide down his nose. With a huff that sounds far more sophisticated than one coming from a fourteen-year-old, your son shakes it off. 

“Ready?” you ask, slipping your arms around Eddie’s waist. 

“Always up for snuggles with my girls.” 

A wet, smacking kiss is placed on your cheek, and you let out a soft giggle.

“Gross,” Luke groans.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Eddie taunts, proving he’s as mature as his adolescent sons. 

You let your arms drop from around his middle and you cup Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Go get her,” you say.

He pecks your lips before heading out into the living room.

Eliza is as entranced as always in her cartoon and Eddie takes advantage of that by silently sidling up to her. She doesn’t even realize he’s there until the couch dips next to her and her empty sippy cup rolls until it meets Eddie’s jean-clad knee.  

He moves the cup aside and slowly lowers himself until he’s able to rest his head in his daughter’s lap. 

At first, it’s as if Eliza doesn’t even notice. She’s watching her show, letting her dad just lay down on her. But after a few seconds, her stare breaks from the television and her brown eyes meet matching larger ones. Her head tilts to the side, inspecting him, and her curls bob with the motion. Eddie smiles up at her and a slow grin grows on her face in return. 

One of Eliza’s tiny hands splays across Eddie’s forehead, some of his bangs getting pushed to the side, and some getting caught under her warm palm. Her other hand lands on his chin, delicate fingers curving around his jaw and rubbing against some stubble. 

Eliza stays like that, looking down at her father, not moving. It takes everything in Eddie not to laugh as he just stares back at the inquisitive little face that reminds him so much of you. 

Quickly, Eliza leans in and presses a kiss to the tip of Eddie’s nose. Gone is his urge to laugh, replaced by the most adoring grin as he revels in her affection. He’s about to thank her for the kiss when she leans in to do it again. This time, however, her mouth is open, and she ends up enveloping his nose in her small mouth.

There’s no way Eddie can hold in his laughter this time as he feels her drool dribble up his nose onto his face. The giddiness is infectious because Eliza pulls her mouth off only to begin laughing alongside of him. 

“You might just be as weird as I am,” he tells her, which makes her laugh even harder. 

That night at dinner, the results are discussed.

“So, who wins?” Ryan asks as he spears some green beans with his fork.

“Not me,” Luke grumbles, slouching down in his chair. 

“Oh, relax,” Eddie says, reaching over and clapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “It’s not like this was scored or anything.”

Luke drops his fork onto the plate with a clang and raises his hands up in front of him.

“My hair ruined it for me! That’s not fair!”

“You know, she can talk now,” you point out, looking at Eliza happily eating in her highchair next to you.

“Good point,” Ryan says. He clears his throat and leans across the table towards her. “Eliza, which of us is your favorite?”

The little girl pops a grape in her mouth and chews, looking like she’s thoughtfully thinking over the question.

“Me,” she finally says.

“No,” Luke says with a shake of his head. “Which of us?” He emphasizes his point by gesturing to the four of you around the table. 

Eliza nods her head once, with finality. “Me.”

Eddie huffs a laugh and shrugs his shoulders.

“Her Majesty has spoken.”

“I don’t think it counts,” Luke laments, looking back down to his plate.

“Yeah, her vote doesn’t count,” Ryan agrees.

You and Eddie share a look of amusement across the table. With these three around, life will never be boring.

[albertasunrise]

Work Wife - Two

Masterlist

Summary: Working as a Secretary and Miller & Sons Construction, you fall hopelessly in love with the eldest son Joel. What you don’t realise is that Joel’s completely in love with you too. What will it take for the two of you to realise whats’s right in front of you?

Pairing: Young Joel Miller x Reader

Warnings: Like AO3, I choose not to give any so the plot isn’t spoiled. This fic is 18+ (So here’s the first chapter as promised! I hope you all enjoy. Let me know what y’all think ♥️… I wrote half of this on my iPad so sorry for mistakes 😅)

Series Masterlist - One

After two days of you being frosty towards Joel and Joel desperately trying to make up for whatever he had done to upset you, you decided that it was pointless to be upset with him. He hadn't known your reasoning for going to his house so the fact he had a girl there wasn't really a valid reason to be angry at him.

If you were being honest you were more angry at yourself. Your pride had been wounded and that was something that you needed to work through on your own. So by Wednesday, you were somewhat back to being smiley and sweet but there was still a tension there that you knew would take time to dissipate. You just hoped that your date with Simon would take your mind off what had happened.

Your second date with Simon went even better than the first. He was sweet, taking you to a restaurant he remembered you mentioning you loved, and after, he took you for a few drinks at a new gin bar that had opened up. So inevitably, two dates turned into three.

It felt like with each interaction you shared with Simon, the less seeing Joel every day, and knowing that he didn't return your feelings, hurt you. What you didn't realise was that your budding new relationship with Simon was tearing Joel apart. Simon couldn't help but gush to the other contractors about how special you were or how amazingly things were going.

How he was starting to think that you might be the one.

That statement made Joel want to find a remote canyon so that he could lob Simon into it. Yet he knew he had no right to feel jealous. It's not like he'd ever had the guts to go for it. It was his own fault that he was suffering now. Yet that didn't make him hate Simon any less. What he hated more was you talking to him about the dates that his 'so-called' friend was taking you on.

It was killing him.

"Oh Joel, you would have loved the walk Simon and I went on over the weekend." You gushed as you sipped at your coffee "I would show you some pictures but I'm still waiting for them to come back from the developers so…"

"That's fine." Joel replied, trying to keep his tone from sounding as pained as he felt.

"Perhaps you could take Eliza there sometime." You continued, completely oblivious to his torment "It's so romantic and-"

"Eliza and I are just casual." Joel interrupted and you couldn't help but snort.

"Please." You rasped "She's practically living with you now. Fuck buddies don't spend most nights together."

"We're just hanging out."

"And I'm the Queen of England." You rolled your eyes and how oblivious he was to what was going on straight in front of him "If you're just looking for casual then perhaps you need to tell her that."

"I did! I have…" He argued, his hip cocking to one side as he rested his on it.

"Well, perhaps you need to have that conversation with her again because from an outsider's point of view. You and her seem pretty serious."

Joel's stomach twisted at the thought that he was leading Eliza on. She was sweet and he liked her but he wasn't looking to settle down. Not yet.

"Talk to her Joel." you said sweetly as you placed your hand on his "Don't lead her on."

So talk to her he did.

…

Eliza was in the kitchen when he returned that evening. There was already a tense atmosphere hanging over the house as he entered but he didn't have time to ponder why. Not when he needed to get things out in the open.

"Hey." He said gingerly as he stepped into the kitchen and Eliza turned to greet him.

"You're back late." She stated as she placed a plate of food down in front of him before sitting on the chair across from him, her arms crossed.

"Meeting with the wood supplier ran late." He replied and Eliza nodded.

"Eat up." She said, watching him then as he nervously pushed his food around his plate, little appetite when he had an anvil hanging over his head.

"What's the matter with you this evening?"

"I don't think we should do this anymore?" He stated simply, eyes drifting from his plate to Eliza.

"Can I ask why?"

"When we started 'this' up, I told you that I wasn't looking for anything serious and well… it's been brought to my attention that it kinda has and that I need to be honest with you… Make sure I'm not stringing you along."

"And who said that you are?" She demanded and Joel shook his head.

"It doesn't matter… what matters is that I don't want to-"

"Was Pip wasn't it?" Eliza growled "You know she has feelings for you right? Only reason she's seeing shit that's not there."

"Eliza… Pip, doesn't have feelings for me. This is just about us and I-"

"You really are blind aren't you." Eliza cackled and Joel stopped in his tracks.

"Blind to what?"

"Pip is head over heels for you… She told me so herself back when we went for those work drinks and I-"

"She told you that?" Joel interrupted and Eliza huffed before nodding "She told you she was in love with me?"

"Well, her exact words were that she was crazy about you but she knew you didn't feel the same and so she's never told you." Eliza waved off the statement like she wasn't telling Joel everything he'd ever wanted to hear.

Were you crazy about him?

"Look, I told you that I didn't want anything serious either and I still don't." Eliza stated as she shrugged "If this has gotten a little too cosy then we can cool it."

Joel wasn't really sure what to say. The information that you possibly feel the same way for him is running laps around his head.

"Joel?"

"Right… yeah… sorry." He said and he shook his head and returned to reality "Look I still think it's best that we just call it quits." He stated plainly, wincing at the growl it pulled from Eliza.

"Fine." She practically spat at him, getting up abruptly and grabbing her stuff as she went "I'll see myself out."

Joel didn't even get a chance to speak before she was slamming the door behind her. Leaving him to ponder over the events that had just transpired. What should he do?

Should he talk to you about it?

Is that what you had come here to talk to him about all those weeks ago?

It would explain your reaction to Eliza being there.

He knew he couldn't, not, talk to you about this. He needed to know whether or not you still felt something for him, because if you did he wanted to fight for you. For with you, he wanted something real.

…

Months went by before Joel plucked up the courage to talk to you. Each time he decided it was time, he talked himself out of it. Whether it was a story that you or Simon had told him about your latest adventures as the world's most perfect couple or just him watching the two of you together. But, finally, he had decided that enough was enough… He needed to be honest with you and lay his cards out on the table. He had thought long and hard about what it was he wanted to say and so had arranged for the two of you to meet up for a coffee on Saturday. This wasn't a conversation that he wanted to have with you in the office.

He still had to labour through an afternoon of Simon gushing to the guys about how things were going with the two of you and up until now it had been fairly easy to drone it out.

"So you two finally did the deed huh?" Piped up a voice, grabbing Joel's attention.

Joel had known that you and Simon hadn't been intimate yet. You had confided in him about how you had never been with anyone and that you wanted to save yourself for the right guy. Obviously, you had decided that Simon was that guy.

"Fuck did we." Simon practically growled "Was so worth the wait… Girl's so hot… we-"

"Let's not discuss such personal matters at work, hey chaps?" Joel tried to sound calm but his stomach was twisting in knots.

The knowledge that you and Simon had been intimate was tearing him up inside. Had Eliza been wrong about your feelings for him? Had she lied? Either way, he wasn't sure what to do with the knowledge that you and Simon were now sleeping together.

"Come on boss…" Teased Rick, one of Joel's youngest employees "Just 'cus ya jealous."

"What?" Joel growled as he turned to face the younger man.

"Well, the guys all told me how you're sweet on Si's girl. It's not his fault you missed your shot."

Joel felt his anger start to boil over as he said "Keep it professional Rick or you'll be looking for new employment." Walking away then to cool down.

…

You were just clearing the dishes away whilst Simon wiped down the sides, always the gentleman. 8 months had shot by in the blink of an eye and it felt like he'd blended so perfectly into your home life. It was like the two of you had always done this. Things were so seamless.

"So Joel threatened to fire Rick today." He stated as he wiped his hands dry with a dishcloth.

"Really?" You asked and your brows shot up in surprise "Why?"

"We were talking about you and me and Rick kinda ribbed Joel a bit." Simon replied, shrugging.

"Ribbed him how?"

"We were just talking about how you and I had… well you know and Joel got pissed. Rick kinda teased him about how he's sweet on you and how he missed out on his chance with you."

"One, I'd rather you didn't discuss our sex life with my colleagues… Two, Joel's not sweet on me he's with Eliza and three… even if he was, that's a pretty dickish thing to do." You admonished and Simon chuckled as he replied.

"Joel is still very much sweet on you and he and Eliza broke up."

"What?" You were shocked to learn this information and hurt that Joel hadn't told you.

"Yeah, been like 6 or 7 months now… guys probably got blue balls." Simon chuckled as he tossed the dishcloth in his hands onto the counter.

You'd always talked about everything Joel and so to learn that he had broken things off with Eliza and he hadn't talked to you about it stung a little. Had things between you really become that strained? They hadn't been the same since you'd gone to his house to talk to him about how you felt. They certainly hadn't been since you had started dating Simon.

"You're not sweet on him are you?" Asked Simon, pulling you from your thoughts.

"Hmm?" You hummed as you looked at your boyfriend who was watching you closely, analysing every expression that crossed your face.

"Joel, you aren't sweet on him too are you?"

The colour drained from your face as your mouth moved to answer him but no words left your lips. The longer you took to respond, the more frustrated Simon grew.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Simon…"

"No, don't try and spin me any bullshit." He growled out and you flinched at his tone "Are you in love with Joel… Yes or no?"

"Yes… but-"

"I need to leave." Simon choked as he threw his hands up when you tried to reach for him "I can't be around you right now."

"Simon please…" You pleaded but he was having none of it.

He just grabbed his stuff and left.

Leaving you sobbing in his wake. \

…

You sat in the cafe you and Joel had arranged to meet at, your eyes red raw from crying all night and most of this morning. You were sipping on an overly sweet latte. Needing the sugar to try and boost your mood. Joel was already ten minutes late but that wasn't unusual for them man. No doubt he'd be stumbling through the cafe doors in a few moments, huffing and puffing whilst he rambled on about what it was that had delayed him.

Only after half an hour… he still wasn't there.

You were on your second sugary coffee and coming to the painful realisation that Joel had stood you up. Who gets stood up by their best friend? Well, it would seem that you do and you wondered if it was because of what Simon had told you yesterday. How Rick had teased Joel about missing out with you when he'd learned you'd lost your virginity to the man you'd been going steady with for almost 9 months. That thought made you go from sad to plain pissed.

Was he seriously going to stand you up because he was jealous that you had slept with Simon?

Finishing your coffee you stomped out the door and towards your car. You weren't going to let him get away with this. Not after everything you had been through in the last 12 hours.

You don't recall the drive to Joel's house but you feel your anger flare when you see his truck on his drive. You pull up behind him, get out of the car, then make a point of slamming the door in the hope that he'll hear you coming.

You were pounding on the door, not caring if you were attracting attention. You wanted answers and you wanted them now. An exhausted Joel opened the door and you felt anger flare at the thought that he'd stood you up because he'd slept it.

"Pip this isn't-"

"A good time?" You growled, "It never is Joel."

"Please, I'm sorry I stood you up but-"

"No, I'm going to speak." Venom dropped from your words as you poked his chest "Simon told me what happened yesterday and I just can't believe that you would stand me up because I slept with the man I had been dating for over half a year!"

"That's not… I didn't stand you up on purpose I-"

"You what? You overslept? Your latest conquest only just left?" You barged past him with a strength you didn't know you possessed as you started to look around the house.

"Pip-"

"Where is she… where is the reason you decided to stand me up the morning after Simon broke up with me." You choked as your hurt started to slip through the cracks.

"Simon dumped you?" Joel asked and you nodded "Why?"

"Because I'm in love with you Joel… and I-"

"Do you want to scream any louder?" Growled Joel's mother as she walked down the stairs with a bundle in her arms "You're lucky she's so milk drunk. Not even the apocalypse would wake her right now." She said as she handed Joel what you could now see was a newborn with a gorgeous caramel complexion.

"Oh, Pip sweetheart, so lovely to see you." Said Mrs Miller as she pulled your stunned body into an awkward hug "It's been a bit of a mad house for the past 12 hours." She chuckled as she walked over to Joel to give him a kiss on the cheek before pecking the baby's brow. "I'll let Joel catch you up, I need to get diapers and formula. Will be as quick as I can sweetheart."

"Thanks, Mum." He said, smiling at her as she waved at you all and left.

Finally leaving you and Joel alone with this tiny baby you had just learned about.

"You… You have a baby." It wasn't a question.

Joel nodded as he looked down at the tiny person in his arms, a sweet smile gracing his lips as he brought her brow to his lips.

"I have a baby." He confirmed and you let out a shaky breath as you continued to stare at her.

"Is she…?"

"Eliza's?" He finished for you and you nodded "Yeah." He replied as he walked towards his couch and carefully sat himself down, watching as you followed him and sat down beside him "She came by last night. Dumped her in my arms and said she was mine and that she wanted nothing to do with being a mother."

Your eyes snapped to his at this statement and found him looking at you with a tearful expression "Left me enough formula to last me till tonight. No cot, clothes, nothing."

"How could she just leave her?" You sobbed as you looked at the perfect little girl in his arms and Joel just shook his head.

"She said she didn't want to be a mum." He replied "After we broke up she moved back to Austin. Had no idea she was pregnant. Not even Gloria did… then last night she just turned up at my door with her."

"Oh, Joel."

"I'm not ready to be a dad am I?" He asked as he looked at you again, his expression indicating just how scared he was.

"You're going to be the best father to this little girl." You said as you cupped his cheek and moved his face so that he looked you in the eye "You aren't going to be alone in this." You promised him "I will be here whenever you need me to be… day or night I will be here."

Joel nodded. Knocking a few tears loose and you watched as they rolled down his slightly stubbled cheek.

"Thank you, Pip." He breathed, giving you a small smile before he looked down at his little girl again "Her name's Sarah." He said after a short pause and you smiled sweetly at her.

"Hi, Sarah." You said softly as you leaned in to look at her better "Well aren't you just perfect."

"Would you like to hold her?" He asked and you nodded eagerly before carefully taking her off of him and settling into the plush cushions at your back.

You gazed at her sleeping form for what felt like an age. Her perfect little button nose and long black lashes making you swooning.

"I'll let you off." You piped up after a while and Joel hummed he as looked at you in confusion "For standing me up… She's a pretty good excuse."

Joel chuckled as he rested his head on your shoulder, you both continuing to gaze at her.

"We'll get through this…" He said and you nodded.

"Together."

Next

For updates follow @albertasunrise-ficsblog

[juanabaloo]

you know how you set a goal for yourself, but it's a fun goal? and then you get closer and closer to meeting it? and it's so fucking exciting?

i am pretty sure i will finish watching all the Eliza Dushku movies and shows by the end of June. maybe even sooner.

*fist pumping whistling cheering chair dancing*

[farfromstrange]

The Matt Murdock Anthology

Find Me On AO3!

⤹ NAVIGATION.

🫀 -> comfort for the aching hearts

🔥 -> Smut/explicit sexual content (18+ MINORS DNI)

🌻 -> Fluff

💧 -> Angst

🪐 -> All fics set in the universe of my longest and ongoing work Foreigner's God

⤹ ONE SHOTS:

☽ Sleep [matt murdock x reader] 🫀

✑ she can’t sleep and he’s there to make sure she’s alright.

☽ Costumer Service [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥🫀

✑ after a rough day at work, you lash out at your boyfriend. matt being matt, he makes it his mission to give you what you need to relax.

☽ Late Night Talking [matt murdock x fem!oc] 🌻🪐

✑ eliza has the weirdest questions on her mind in the middle of the night. three times she wakes up matt to answer her questions and the one time matt wakes her with an important question.

☽ Spiders [matt murdock x fem!reader] 🌻

✑ matt finds a spider in the house and he refuses to kill it so his girlfriend has to step up to do the job. she hates it as much as he does.

☽ Long-distance [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥 🌻

✑ Matt buys you a long-distance remote vibrator so he can play with you while he’s away – but there is a twist! He has one too, and he wants you to play with him while he plays with you. All over the phone, no touching. You can’t say no to that offer.

☽ Gifted Kid Burnout [matt murdock x f!reader] 💧🫀

✑ she’s exhausted, burned out and he wants nothing more than to help her.

☽ Stay Quiet [matt Murdock x f!reader] 🔥

✑ porn without plot in which Matty fucks you in the office (and Foggy gets traumatized for life)

☽ For You [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥

✑ request: prompt 78 — loss of virginity (exactly what the prompt says it’s gonna be)

☽ Pointless [matt murdock x female!oc / matt x reader] 🌻 🪐

✑ song fic based on Pointless by Lewis Capaldi — a glimpse into how Matt views their relationship. (Part of the FG series, but no names are used)

☽ Ease The Pain [matt murdock x reader] 🔥🌻 🫀

✑ Matt helps to ease your period pains.

☽ Daddy Issues [matt murdock x reader] 💧🫀

✑ you flinch when Matt raises his voice for the first time and he learns about your daddy issues. Not the sexy kind.

☽ Angel On The Roof [matt murdock x reader] 💧 -> TW: SUICIDE

✑ Mental illness is silent until it isn’t, but then it’s often too late. Or, Matt accompanies a troubled stranger home on a couple of occasions, not realizing what he’s truly feeling until she’s already lost the battle against her own mind.

☽ Angel On The Roof (Your Version) -> Request; TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDE AND SELF-HARM but with a happy ending!

✑ What if Matt’s word did manage to talk you off the edge and you find a way out of the dark hole that is depression? This is ‘Angel On The Roof’ from your POV with a happy ending.

☽ Useless [matt murdock x reader]

✑ Matt finds you during a depressive episode and he takes care of you. 💧🫀

☽ Promise Me [matt murdock x ofc] 🪐

✑ Foreigner’s God One-Shot — tender moments shared at night

☽ Good Boys Deserve To Be Taken Care Of [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥

✑ Matt looks good in the mornings. He always looks good, but the object of your attraction lies a bit lower this time, and you want to worship him like he deserves. (Or, an ode to Matt’s beautiful ass and the attention it deserves.)

✑ Part 2 to this can now be read here.

☽ Are You Okay? [matt murdock x reader] 🫀

✑ Sometimes it takes just one question or one person to make your shitty day less shitty.

☽ Back To December [matt murdock x reader] -> Request 💧 TW: DEATH

✑ Everything and everyone eventually slips through Matt Murdock’s fingers, and he doesn’t manage to save you in this one. (Hurt/ no comfort)

☽ Narcissist [matt murdock x reader] -> Request 💧🫀 TW: DOMESTIC ABUSE

✑ Trying to catch a break from your abusive boyfriend, you find yourself seeking refuge and a drink at Josie's in the middle of the night. It's where you bump into Matt Murdock, a charming stranger with the promise of a night of fun. After taking you home with him, it doesn't take him long to discover the dark nature of your need to escape.

☽ Honest Mistake [matt murdock x reader] -> Request 🌻

✑ After a night at Josie's, Foggy spends the night. When Matt wakes up the next day to kiss you good morning, he soon realizes that it's not you who is lying next to him but rather Foggy himself.

☽ Tupperware [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥

✑ A conversation about kitchen supplies takes an unexpected turn…

☽ Matilda [matt murdock x f!reader] 💧🫀

✑ You tried moving on from your past, but some things still haunt you. Matt is there to comfort you and tell you that sometimes, it’s okay to just let it go, even if it’s your family.

☽ Brother [matt murdock x sister!reader] l -> Request 💧

✑ After an argument with Matt about something that seems so stupid now, you get kidnapped by a human trafficking ring and he has to save you, his sister, before something worse happens. He finds you battered and bruises, but at least you’re alive. (This is solely x sister!reader, nothing more)

☽ WORDLE [matt murdock x ofc] 🌻 🪐

✑ Eliza and Foggy play Wordle, and it soon turns into a very competitive game.

☽ Please, Be Okay [matt murdock x reader] 🫀💧

✑ When Matt doesn’t answer your texts or calls like he usually does, you start to expect the worst…

☽ You’re Losing Me [matt murdock x reader] 💧 -> Request

✑ Based on “You’re Losing Me” by Taylor Swift. You and Matt have a fight and you throw him out of the bedroom with a decision to make. The question is just, is he going to give up on you and prompt you to leave or will you two manage to fix what’s broken?

☽ Feisty [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥 -> Request

✑ Matt decides he has to show you your place after you two have an argument.

☽ Sub Space [matt murdock x f!reader] 🌻🔥 -> Request

✑ After particularly rough sex with Matt, you find yourself lost in sub space and he takes care of you.

☽ Slipping Through My Fingers [matt murdock x teen!vigilante!reader] 💧 -> Request (Not a ship fic!) TW: Death.

✑ You get caught by yours and Matt’s enemies and he can’t save you.

☽ Naughty Girl [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥 -> Request

✑ Messing around with Matt at work leads to an unwelcome interruption and your naughty side coming out, which Matt is not happy with…

☽ Cruel Revenge [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥 -> Request

✑ Matt decides to mess with you at work this time when Foggy and Karen come to visit… (kind of a part 2 to Naughty Girl)

☽ Sweeter Than Fiction [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥 -> Request

✑ You decide to learn Braille and buy a rather… unconventional book to put your knowledge to the test, and Matt gets suspicious about why a book gets more attention than he does (and gets you wet)

☽ Just Let Me Love You [matt murdock x f!reader] 💧🫀

✑ You're struggling with your body image. Matt comforts you.

☽ Focus [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥 -> Request

✑ Matt blindfolds you after you ask him to show you what it feels like to experience an orgasm blind.

☽ Is It Over Now? [matt murdock x neutral!reader] 💧

✑ inspired by “is it over now?” by Taylor Swift. Matt cheats on you and you deal with your thoughts. Slight Frank Castle x Reader and Elektra x Matt. (Warning: Matt slander. This is from the POV of someone who had their heart broken. Beware.)

☽ New Year’s Day [matt murdock x neutral!reader] 🌻

✑ Inspired by many Taylor Swift’s discography. You recount your relationship with Matt as he asks you an important question on New Year’s Eve.

☽ Sensory Deprivation [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥 -> Request

✑ You help Matt focus after the world gets just a little too much.

☽ Up Against The Wall [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥

✑ PWP. You and Matt do it against the window after you pissed him off. That's it.

☽ Unicorns Need Love Too [matt murdock x f!reader] 🌶️ (semi-spice)🌻

✑ You’re ovulating, and your hormones are not taking it easy on you. Matt is there to help. Kind of. He’s a little shit.

☽ S.M.S [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥

✑ Soft Morning Sex with Matt Murdock.

☽ Interview With The Vampire [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥🧛💧

✑ You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. (…) As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

☽ Tumb v Printer [matt murdock x reader] 🌻

✑ You’re clumsy, and Matt is worried about you. Especially when you cut your thumb on the inside of a printer.

☽ Burden Me [matt murdock x reader] 💧🫀 TW: suicidal thoughts & depression

✑ You’ve been having a very hard time lately, but when Matt walks in on you breaking down and crying, he’s there to comfort you and urge you to finally talk about the thoughts that sometimes come to haunt you.

☽ What if the way you hold me is actually what’s holy? [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥

✑ you fantasize about Matt in the shower while he’s still at work only to find him suddenly right in front of you, ready to help you take care of your little problem.

☽ Pink Eye [matt murdock x gen!neutral reader] 🌻

✑ sickfic; you catch a bad case of pink eye and the common cold after New Year’s, and Matt takes care of you.

☽ One Soul [matt murdock x reader]

✑ Matt gets hurt, badly, and you have to break the promise you made him: not to take him to the hospital.

⤹ ON-GOING SERIES:

☽ Foreigner’s God [matt murdock x fem!oc] 🪐 🌻 💧 🔥 ⇛ official tag is #foreigner’s god, if you want to search my profile! you should find all the chapters, previews, snippets, thoughts, etc. listed in chronological order.

☽ Total Eclipse Of The Heart [matt murdock x f!vampire!reader] 🔥🩸 ⇛ Part 1, 2, 3… ⇛ DARK FANTASY (dead dove do not eat) so you know what you’ll sign up for when you click the link. this shit filthy as hell. read at your own risk.

☽ Do No Harm [matt murdock x f!reader] 🌻 💧 🔥 ⇛ Doctor!Reader, slow-burn series

☽ Carpe Noctem [vampire!matt murdock x f!nun!reader] 💧🔥🩸 ⇛ Dead dove don’t eat, dark fantasy, no happy ending and a little bit of insanity…

⤹ HEADCANONS:

☽ Going on vacation with Matt Murdock [matt Murdock x afab!reader] 🔥 🌻

✑ what it would be like to go on vacation with our dear Matthew and his heightened senses (he really loves us in this one)

☽ Totally random Matt Murdock headcanons that keep me up at night [matt murdock x reader] 🔥 🌻

✑ some headcanons (6, to be exact) that keep me up at night

⤹ THOTS & BLURBS:

☽ Going to Fogwell’s with Matt… [matt murdock x f!reader] 🔥

☽ Switch!Matt thots [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥

☽ False God By Taylor Swift Thot [matt murdock x reader] 🔥

☽ Sub!Matt thot [matt murdock x reader] 🔥

⤹ EVENTS:

☽ Kinktober 2023 (Matt's Version) [matt murdock x afab!reader] 🔥

☽ Lizzi’s Valentine’s Special & Follower Celebration -> Introducing: The Vault 🔥 🌻 💧

☽ Fictober 2024 (Matt’s Version) [matt murdock x reader] 🔥

☽ Lizzi’s Birthday Bouquets (still being updated)

[bbieangel]

Love the Joel fic!!! plsssss do an Arthur cramps one!!!

Moon Cycle — Arthur Morgan x F!Reader

A/N: I loved writing this! It's my first time writing anything that's not set in the present world so please bare with me <3 And yes, the title is a reference to Melanie Martinez's song :) As always, thank you for your requests and I hope you love it!

Summary: Even when you try to act tough, Arthur Morgan always sees right through you. And, the day you finally allow yourself to feel weak, he's there to help you with your cramps.

Tags: Fluff! A LOT OF FLUFF. High honor Arthur. Self-deprecating Arthur, we all know how he talks to himself. Mentions of his past (Eliza and Mary Linn), reader has a uterus and is menstruating, she doesn't wear the typical clothes that women used in the 1800's (think of it more like Sadie, she dresses like her). This is set before Arthur even knows he's sick.

Word count: 7.8k

Divider by @/peony chance on Pinterest!

Since day one, you had never failed to amaze the whole Van Der Linde gang with your dirty mouth and ways of pissing off Miss Grimshaw. To say the least, they had grown fond of you. And even if you could look after yourself just fine, you laid awake in your cot endless nights just wishing someone was there for you in times where you felt the most vulnerable, needing attention like the dog the gang had adopted. He always ran around, sniffing everyone and looking for any hand that would give him back scratches.

One particular day you had gone out to rob a stagecoach that a guy in Rhodes had told you about. Dutch assigned you to go along with Arthur, the gruff looking, almost giant man. But you knew he hid something else behind his blue-green eyes that often held a hint of tenderness whenever he looked your way.

"Now, stay right behind me, princess."

He muttered as he covered his face behind the rock you were prompted at, making sure the drivers didn't see you.

You groaned. Of course that, out of all of the women in camp, he would call you princess. But he didn't do it for the reasons you thought.

"Call me by my name, Morgan."

You muttered and he let out a deep chuckle, rumbling through his chest and sending butterflies to your stomach. But you wouldn't let your face show that, after all, you kinda liked being called princess by him.

The stagecoach robbery was a success, feeling like a breath of fresh air after what seemed like the gang had been cursed or just ran out of good luck.

Arthur counted the money effortlessly, the flicking of his fingers looking elegant. It was ridiculous, you thought as he you waited for your part.

"Don't forget to give some to camp, princess."

He said, pointing a finger at you. But he knew not to worry about you contributing to the little box Dutch had beside his tent, he had seen you do it more times than anyone else in the gang.

"You don't need to worry about me contributing, Arthur."

You said with a soft smile as you both rode back to camp, side by side, enjoying the nice weather and the views.

—

Later that day, you were sitting up against a log in front of the campfire. A bead of sweat fell down the side of your face and into your shirt. Arthur was going to tease you about it, but he held himself back when he saw the slight frown on your face and your knees being held against your chest.

He sighed, knowing that caring about you wasn't the best decision. He couldn't bring himself to like anyone else, not after Eliza and Mary. But that soft, empathetic part of him was stronger than any of his insecurities, and it needed to know if you were okay. Which you clearly weren't.

He slowly sat down beside you with a look of concern on his face, and placed his calloused hand on your shoulder.

"You alright, princess? Did you get hurt? You should've told me—"

"I didn't get hurt."

You interrupted him. You were about to snap at him for teasing you, but when you looked into his eyes, glowing by the fire crackling in front of you, you noticed he was being genuine. So your expression softened, and he saw it, making his heart flutter and long to open up to you more.

"I'm.. I have cramps. It's that time of the month.."

You spoke quietly. You had grown to know it wasn't okay to talk about it, let alone tell a man about it. They found it disgusting, a woman bleeding monthly was seen almost as a sin, something you couldn't talk about.

But Arthur couldn't care less. He had killed people and had seen countless bodies, massacred by some fool. Hell, he'd seen his son be born. He could handle speaking about a monthly small amount of blood coming out of a woman's body naturally.

"I understand. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He asked, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise. Why wasn't he acting disgusted by what you just said? Why didn't he tell you to just suck it up?

It took you a few seconds to answer.

"I—Uhm.. I don't know, actually. Can you help me get to my tent? I think I might've stained my clothes and I don't wanna get teased about it."

You spoke, your eyes darted towards the fire once again. It was fine if he declined, you would understand. But, once again, he surprised you.

"Yeah, let's go."

He said and wrapped his arm around your shoulder, helping you up. He looked behind his shoulder to make sure no one was paying attention to see the small stain in your pants, and led you to your tent.

"I've heard.."

He cleared his throat before speaking, the slight pink tint on his cheeks gave away the soft embarrassment he felt.

"I've heard that peppermint or chamomile tea helps, the ladies were talking about it the other day."

He said and you couldn't help but smile softly.

"Yeah, it does. I just ran out of both herbes."

At that, he raised an eyebrow. Why didn't you tell him? He would've gone looking for some if it brought you comfort. And, against his better judgement, he chose to speak.

"You should've told me. I'll make sure to bring you some."

He spoke gruffly, but unable to hide his growing softness and tenderness for you.

When he helped you into your cot, he made sure to cover you with a blanket before turning on his heels to go away. He figured you might want to be left alone.

"Wait."

You called out to him. You knew better than to call over a man who wouldn't hesitate to put a bullet between anyone's eyes, but a part of you knew he only did it when absolutely necessary. And that he would never, ever touch a hair on your body.

"Can you.. stay a little while?"

You asked, your cheeks turning a cute rosey shade. At that, he gave you a light chuckle.

"Yeah, 'course."

He sat down on the edge of your cot. You could see the sympathetic look in his eyes when your face would scrunch up every time a cramp hit harder.

"I'm not usually like this, I can take the pain—"

"No need to explain to me. I know it hurts and I don't need you to act tough all the time."

He cut you off, easing some of the embarrassment you felt. Maybe it was stress, maybe your hormones were fighting against you, but this cycle felt different. It hurt a lot more, making you sweat as you tried to deal with the pain.

The tension between the both of you only continued to grow, hidden desires behind your eyelids that none of you could speak about. Heartbreaks and loss were two things you were too familiar with, and couldn't bring yourself to experience once again.

So he didn't speak as he laid beside you, carefully, treating you as if you were made out of porcelain and he didn't want to hurt you. His hand went to your lower stomach and began moving it gently, massaging the zone.

You let out a sigh of relief—how did he know exactly what to do? As if reading your thoughts, he spoke:

"Mary told me this works. I didn't figure it out on my own."

He spoke quietly, and you felt kinda bad. How could she be such a fool to break up with such a kind man?

"Even if you didn't figure it out on your own, I'm grateful you know about it."

You spoke softly.

"Can I tell you something, Arthur?"

You asked, you heart pounding in your chest as if it wanted out just to be gifted to Arthur.

"'Course, princess."

He responded, his hand never stopped moving as he saw the look of relief in your face. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips when he noticed it was working.

"You're a good man. And anyone who doesn't see that, is a fool. A damn, blind fool."

You spoke and his eyes widened at that, letting you take in more of the particular color they had. You were so close to him yet none of you could move.

"I ain't much of a good person, princess. I've done things I'm not proud of, killed folks just because.. There's a price on my head."

He said, looking at you with that self-deprecating look he gave anyone who even dared to call him good. He wasn't good, he was a fool who didn't know how to be kind, how to be good. Or at least, that was what he thought of himself.

But on the contrary, you didn't see him that way, and he knew. So you doubled down, going along with your stubborn nature.

"Well, to me you are good. And nothing will change my mind about that."

You spoke in a firmer tone, placing a hand on top of his shoulder and rubbing it softly. He swore you could feel the way his heart jumped at your small gesture.

After a few minutes of just contemplating each other's faces, trying to read each other's minds, he spoke.

"You deserve someone better than me."

At that, you frowned. He couldn't tell you what you deserved and what you didn't, who you could or couldn't like.

"No one has ever cared about my cramps before. No one... No man has taken the time to try and make me feel better."

His expression softened. How could anyone treat you badly about something that wasn't your fault? But again, he reminded himself, it was 1899. You didn't live in a fair world.

"I couldn't just let you be in pain."

"Exactly."

You said. Everything he did or said was just another reason as to why you considered him a good man. After fighting against your fears, your mind, your insecurities, you leaned slightly closer. What were you doing? You didn't know. But the sight of his lips covered by his always perfectly trimmed moustache was something almost magnetic that pulled at your heartstrings right when you were the most vulnerable and needy.

"Princess..."

He tried to protest. His breathing hitched as he felt you slightly closer, his eyes kept darting towards your plush lips without even thinking. His heart thumped against his chest in a way that almost hurt.

"Do you trust me?"

His eyes shot up at yours. Of course he trusted you, even if a part of his brain begged him not to, he wasn't doing what his brain wanted. He was following his heart at this point, and his heart wanted you. Only you.

"I do."

He responded, his deep voice was now soft.

"Then.. Let me."

You whispered and pressed your lips against his, without giving your brain the possibility to make you think about it twice. You stayed still as you waited for him to pull away, to shut you down and never talk to you again.

But he kissed you back. He kissed you back, and his hand tangled on your hair as he did. Every move, every action was so gentle, so careful. And you couldn't be more grateful for that.

His other hand never left your lower stomach. He was determined to end with your cramps, even if his own hand ended up cramping after massaging your skin for so long.

He didn't leave your side that night. If anything, the whole situation only brought the two of you closer, to the point where he would look for excuses to sleep with you all curled up against him. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding your frame up against his chest. All while keeping a soft smile on his face even when he slept.

Because what started with the two of you being scared of letting anyone else in, ended up with Arthur going out of his way to look for anything that would relieve your pain. He would even ride his horse for hours until he found peppermint.

But in the end: all you wanted was the warmth his body provided you with and his hand pressed against your skin.

[countrymusiclover]

2 - The Capitol Darling

Part 3

Are You District or Capitol?

Pretty please leave your thoughts in the comments 🙏 😁 ❤️ Tag list ( send an ask in my ask box to be added ) @lemonluvgirl @virtualsweetsdreamer @emma-andrea1 @voiddylanobrosey @kmc1989

@agentxx92

A set of doors opened on the train where I saw that Effie or my now declared mother had changed into a red dress and a bright yellow wig. Slumping down in the chair beside Katniss she sent me a weak look. "All right. Before we begin I've had a thought. Katniss has her gold Mockingjay pin. I have my hair. I'm gonna get you two boys something gold."

"Err..why is that?" My father asked, looking at Peeta.

She sighed before the young girl grabbed her hand smiling. "A token. Show them we are a team. And they cant just...Alright now. Everything will be different because it's a Quarter Quell. The Capitol has spared no expense. A new training center a new tribute living quarters and of course a very special arena. But this year you'll be facing other victors Capitol favorites. Smart cunning skilled. And they all know one another. You two are the outsiders."

"Make that three outsiders. The capital will probably kill me the second I enter the building." I huffed twirling a piece of my hair in between my fingers.

"That isn't going to happen!" My father and Effie both responded back immediately. They glanced at one another with an instance of silent glare.

Peeta and Katniss sent me a look. Neither of them knew what to say and I had no clue either. If Effie was my mother I had capital and district blood running through my veins. My father looked between the pair. "Can you two give us a moment alone? The three of us need to talk alone." They left the room before I sat upright in my chair.

"What is the matter with you, Abernathy? I knew I was right about this. You were a bad father with your drinking problems. I shouldn't have let you jump on a train and run off with her!" Effie began to go off on a rant shouting down at my father.

He sat his glass down on the table rising to his feet getting in her face. "I got my drinking under control when it came to her. Oh and tell me how you would have raised her. You would have dressed her up like the perfect capital daughter and never come visit and let me see her because it wouldn't look good on your reputation. But go right ahead and tell me how you would keep her safe from Snow!"

"Why you annoying man!" She stomped forward until I shoved my chair backwards, shoving myself in between the two heading towards my room. "Ariyne, where are you going?"

Flipping my hair around I throw my hands up stomping through a set of doors leaving the pair alone. "Away from the two of you!" It was the next morning by the time I came out of my room on the train. It had stopped where we all ended up heading into the living quarters. Shutting the door to my room I sighed sliding down onto the floor.

I keep replaying the reasons why he wouldn't tell me who my mother was and I can't find a reason I liked. The only thing that's certain is that I am more than likely going into the arena or something like that. Getting to my feet I grabbed a jacket deciding to go for a walk through this place. My father wouldn't be going over the tributes until later tonight. Glancing around the open room I was in awe seeing that there were twelve different floors and there was a bunch of nice furniture on the ground floor. Slowly walking I kept looking around until I suddenly collided with someone. "Woah watch where you're going, blossom."

"Hey watch out. You jerk..." I rubbed my head blinking my eyes seeing that it was one of the career tributes. My gaze trained on the guy in front of me where I was met with deep sea green eyes and messy bronze hair.

He chuckled flashing me a bright smile, getting to his feet offering me his right hand to help me stand on my feet again. "I wouldn't have thought the mystery girl for district twelve would have a temper on her. Piece of advice, watch your mouth around here."

"Thanks for the advice but I'm good. Now who the heck are you?" I asked, placing my hand in his allowing him to tug me up to stand.

He smirked down at me since I wasn't as tall as my father. My gaze locked onto the green orbs focused on me. "I would have thought your father would have told you about the famous Finnick Odair."

"Well he didn't so hi Finnick. I am Ariyne Abernathy and you can drop the capital charm. It ain't gonna work on me." Crossing my arms over my chest I sent him a snarky comment back. From what my father had told me about the careers he said that they were trained until they turned eighteen then they volunteered for the games. They were also very arrogant compared to the rest of us.

Finnick stepped closer moving his right hand up twirling some strands of my hair in between his fingers. I sucked in a breath hating to admit to myself that he was obviously attractive. "If you want to live the victor's life we could form an alliance in the arena. If you're interested you know where to find me." He walked away towards the elevator heading back down to the fourth level.

When I went back into our living area I saw Peeta and Katniss waiting on me with my father. "There you are, Ari. Where have you been?" He asked me to sip on a drink.

"Just on a walk. Honestly I am surprised that I haven't gotten lost in this place yet." I shrugged my shoulders sitting down on the couch beside Katniss.

My father rose to his feet with his alcohol glass. "I want you guys to forget everything you think you knew about the games. Last year was child's play. This year you're all dealing with all experienced killers."

"Alright. What's that mean for us?" Peeta asked their mentor.

My father added on. "That means you're gonna have to have some allies."

"Okay. I think that if we... " Peeta got cut off.

"You're not the problem." My father shifted his gaze downward to Katniss who gave him a glare where he sat down in front of the three of us. "Look you're starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years."

She fought back. "That just put us higher in their kill list."

He sat his glass down waving his index finger at the pair. "Do it your own way but I know these people. You're going alone their first move is to gonna be to hunt you down. Both of you....including you sweetheart."

"Katniss, come on." Peeta encouraged her.

"How could any of us trust each other?" Lifting my head up I heard her ask. I doubt trust was an option. They were forcing other people to kill each other and claimed it was the right thing to do.

Dad and I shared the same look before he got to his feet grabbing a remote turning on the tv screen. He started going through the tributes where I laid my chin in the palm of my hand. "It's not about trust. It's about staying alive."

"Finnick Odair right?" Katniss declared breaking me from my trance where I was about asleep on the couch. My eyes focused on the tv screen seeing the video footage of the district four reaping. The guy that I had bumped into was truly Finnick where he smiled a fake grin towards the camera.

"Yes. He won his game at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble." My father started talking again.

Leaning forward on the couch with my arms resting on my elbows I scoffed under my breath not buying what he was claiming of him. "You can't be serious. I just met him and I don't buy that for one second."

"Yes I'm kidding. He's a peacock. A total prainer. But he's the Capitol darling they love him here. Charming smart and very skilled in combat especially in water."

"What about weaknesses?" Peeta asks leaning forward after he scoots to the edge of the couch.

My father clicked a button on the remote he had in his hand switching to another part of the reading. "One. Mags. She volunteered for Annie. Mags was his mentor and basically raise him and he's trying to protect her in any way it exposes him." The video showed a young girl with light brown hair who was laughing before an older lady raised her hand in the air.

"A guy like that has to know she's not gonna make it. And what it really comes down to protect her?" Katniss responded back leaning back on the couch.

My father glanced in my direction where we all watched Finnick hug the woman where she pointed at the screen like she was giving him a warning to not show the capital that he cared about her. "Well Katniss I just hope when she goes she goes quickly. She's actually umm... a wonderful lady." Tilting my head to the side I felt sorry for him a little that maybe there was to him then what I had first seen.

Comments really appreciated ❤️