⸝⸝꙳𓂃˖♪ — f!reader、fluff、slight angst ( if you know you know )、suggestive ( ? )、mentions of death / killing、established relationship ++ not proofread !
Arthur Morgan was a mean man. Rough around the edges, short spoken and to the point and if he needed to get his hands dirty– he did. At the end of the day it’s kill or be killed, eat or be eaten. Survive or be washed away with the rest of the wild west that’s being tamed by blood soaked money and strings pulled across states and growing cities that polluted the skies with their toxic fumes. Arthur Morgan survived many things in his life, walked away from situations he shouldn’t have been able to walk away from and breathed air that should’ve been stolen from his lungs when weapons have been pointed at him. Arthur Morgan was a ruthless man, death followed him like a shadow and he was a cruel man you never messed with unless you wished to smell gunsmoke as your body went limp and a clean shot went right through your skull.
And yet, this was the same Arthur Morgan you welcomed into your home— time and time again.
The door swings open and startles you. A quiet gasp followed by a loud clank! As the metal cooking tray in your hands clammers against the wooden counter. You whip your head around, eyes on the front door where a man tall in stature and broad stands in the doorway. Your heart drops to your stomach where a sudden nauseating knot twists in your gut. Your pupils shrink, then dilate as you take in the familiarity of the hat sitting atop the man’s head and you sigh a breath of relief and shake your head as you collect yourself. A hand on your chest, where your heart still hammers against your ribs in a painful rhythm and you take a moment to let your eyes flutter shut, turning your head down with another quiet breath. You pick up on the sound of spurs clinking against the wooden floorboards, hefty footsteps that slowly draw closer– entering your quaint abode.
The footsteps grow quiet somewhere in the room. You smooth a hand over your hair, loosely tied up in a bun to keep it out of your face when you were in the process of cooking a couple moments ago. Free strands around your face dangle and sway with the movement of you lifting your head. “Arthur.” You breathe out and you’re unsure if you’re addressing him or reaffirming to yourself that it is him after all.
“Ma’am.” Ah, that roughened up voice speaking in a softer tone as he replied back. Your shoulders visibly relax and it’s now you take your eyes off the floor and cast them up towards his direction. He looks… different. The same outfit, same cowboy hat, same charmingly handsome face and yet– something felt off to say the least.
You notice the blood staining his hands, the bruised skin of his knuckles as he thumbs over his digits and stands in the middle of your rather small living space and the tiniest hints of a frown graces your lips as you take in the sight of him and every unspoken detail there was to offer. You round the small dinner table, hand ghosting over a wooden chair seated there as you stare up at him and you can’t quite tell what he’s hiding in those blue eyes of his when he stares back with an awkward half smile back. Your brows furrow together, lips turned downward as you take another step towards him, “Did you do something?” the wooden board beneath your sock-clad feet groans quietly.
He tilts his head with a raised brow before shaking his head. He reaches up and takes his hat off his head, “No… At least I don’t think so,” He steps forward, glancing at the floor before shooting you a wary look, “why?”
“Well,” You take another step forward, closing the distance between you two as your hands come up and grab ahold of the black bandana tied loosely around his neck and he lightly tosses his hat onto the small rocking chair to his right, the same rocking chair he usually finds you seated in while gazing at the fireplace and reading a book. Your fingers curl around the knot keeping his bandana around his throat as dust gathers on the pads of your fingers at the contact against the material. “you look guilty.”
His eyes widen, just the slightest, and then he laughs. It’s dry, airy almost as he pulls back with a step backwards. Your hands remain idle in the air for a moment before dropping by your sides with a quiet sigh. He shakes his head and gives you a grin, “Me? Guilty? I mean, there is a bounty on my head–” “You and I both know that’s not what I meant.”
The room grows quiet, and the grin on his face slowly falls as he glances between you and the floor. The fireplace crackles softly, wood kindling soft flickering flames and it crosses your mind to go stir up the burning wood to keep the fire going but you don’t move. You straighten up, an air of confidence about yourself and the smallest hints of genuine concern pinched between your brows, “I know you, Arthur.”
He sighs, heavy and deep as he glances up at you, “No,” He takes a step towards you once more and a roughened up hand comes up to twirl a loose strand of hair by your face between two digits, “y’don’t really know me, sweetheart.” There’s another beat of silence and something burns in your chest that wasn’t there before but now it's present, loud in an unspoken way and you try to ignore how blue his eyes look suddenly when he gazes down at you. There’s an invisible smoke in the air, charged and ready to spark but he won’t create the flame. You don’t know if it’s because he truly doesn’t want to or if it stems from fear but there’s a sudden urgency in the way your hands come up to rest against his chest and you make a mental note to clean his clothes for him when he goes to rest later.
He leans down and you lift up, toes pushing into the floorboards and heels lifting off in the same beat to gain a bit of height in an attempt to assist in closing the distance. Your lashes flutter and your tongue slides against your bottom lip without much thought, a flutter in the rhythm of your heartbeat that’s welcomed and pleasant. His breath mingles with your own, nose ghosting yours as his eyes cast downward and he pauses just shy of your lips and you’re left on the edge of a metaphorical cliff again. “I hurt some people today,” He starts and you don’t know if you want to listen to him now confess to what’s weighing on him or kiss him senseless and then let him continue speaking. “One of them, in particular, was a man, weak… looked deathly t’say the least.” Your brows knit together with more questions in your head now than answers, but you don’t speak. Your eyes glance at his lips and you notice the red adorning the left side of his mouth and instinctively you pull back and tug the cuff of your sleeve over your fingers to rub and smudge it off.
He hums gruffly in response to your action, eyes failing to meet yours as he ponders for a moment. Arthur had a problem of thinking far too hard on things, delving way too deep on subjects or topics that were too heavy to bear on the forefront of one’s mind and yet— all Arthur ever seemed to do was think, ponder, contemplate and never come to any conclusions he was content with. A repetitive cycle, one he fell victim to time and time again and you could see it all over his face. Arthur was terrible at hiding himself from you, perhaps this was a weakness in of itself to him, but to you it was a strength that you admired. You reach a gentle hand up to cup his cheek and he doesn’t pull away, sighing deeply as he blinks down at you, “I’m a bad man… You shouldn’t be welcomin’ me into your home like this.”
You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Oh, Arthur, we’ve been over this a billion times—” You stop yourself to tug him down, closer until his lips smush against your own. It isn’t graceful in the slightest, and your giggles are muffled against his lips as he grumbles into the lopsided kiss before gripping your jaw, firm but soft and tilting you properly into a kiss that melts you into putty in his hands. You pull away to steal a breath and when he leans down to meet your lips against you press a soft, delicate finger to his chin with a playful smile that turns softer as you continue, “— I love you. I always will, so, for as long as I do,” You pause again to press a quick kiss to his lips and his hands find home on your waist, tugging you closer to his front. “you’ll always be welcomed in my home, Arthur.”
He shakes his head, “You are g’na be the death of me.” the sound of your giggles that follow soon after makes his heart flutter in a way it hasn’t in quite a while and he wonders why he doesn’t leave his outlaw life behind for a quiet, peaceful life in this homey space with you and you alone. You pull away from him, grinning ear to ear as you walk back towards the small kitchen counter where you were previously working on dinner for yourself and the reality settles in his bones once again for God knows how many times now. The reality that you both live different lives, carry different burdens, different skeletons in your closets.
There’s a foolish part of him that wishes to whisk you away and hide deep in the woods in the west, living the rest of his days out accompanied by you and maybe a kid or two if he could ever consider himself worthy of being a father one day. And then there’s the realistic, cold, harsh part of him that feels that this is his punishment for his crimes. To have a freedom so sweet and inviting dangled in front of him yet just out of reach. Just visiting you like this is enough danger put on you that you aren’t even quite aware of. He wonders when you’ll stop letting him in despite your words, wonders when you’ll realize he’s a bad man and nothing more and leave him for someone better, more deserving and able to give you the life you wish for.
“You’re thinking hard again,” You call out, turning to look over your shoulder at him. You nod your head toward him with a reassuring smile, “C’mere, you can help me make us dinner.” Us. He thinks he likes the sweet tune of the words you string along that make it easier to breathe and his shoulders feel a little lighter. Heavy footsteps move with quiet haste, until his chin rests on the top of your head— messing up your already disheveled bun —and big hands grip at your waist again as he lets out a heavy sigh and relaxes in the space you provide.
You grumble under your breath, “This isn’t really the help I meant.” To which his fingers poke at your sides until the skin beneath your shirt tingles in a ticklish manner and you yelp, swatting his hands away. “Arthur Morgan.”
He chuckles, a smile evident in his voice, “Ma’am.”
It’s quiet for a couple seconds before he moves to be by your side and you shoot him a soft glare to which he raises his hands in surrender. Your eyes fix on the sight of his hands and you grimace, “Wash your hands first— then you can assist me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” There’s a bite of a smile in his voice still and your brow twitches at the tease in his voice as he moves around you towards the sink. You grumble to yourself, something along the lines of is this really an outlaw and he can’t help but grin, cheeks sore from smiling as much as he has by now and he thinks he can let himself soak up this moment for a while longer, no thinking, no gunning people down, no robbing or stealing— just you. You and him in your small abode. You and him in your own little shared corner of the world.
Here at Kady’s Not-so-secret hideout, we strive to be a warm and welcoming lil’ corner for those who it catches the eye of to feel comfortable in ! And it is also my mission to spread a lil’ bit of joy across the space and that my stories reach your hearts in any time of need you may be in ! So it is only natural that I have some rules in place to both protect me and you ! Please do give these a read over before coming into the hideout because if you are within violation I will have to make you leave and you will not be welcomed back.
Rule Number One — Here at my little hideout we only welcome those that are 18 or older ! That means you have to be an adult ! Do not fake your age and please make it clear and visible on your blog ! Ageless people aren’t allowed.
Rule Number Two — If you are any of the following ; pedophile, homophobic, transphobic, bigot, ableist, cannot separate fiction from reality, dark content dislikers, ed/thinspo blogs, racist — You are not welcomed here and will be escorted out immediately if we see you here.
Rule Number Three — If you have a dislike for the following; noncon/dubcon, yandere themes, gore/blood, monster fucking, incest/stepcest, selfship fics and posts, hyper feminine!readers or s/i, older guy x younger girl, — or anything else I may post from time to time that isn’t listed here. If any of this triggers you, block tags/keywords, block blogs and curate your own experience ! I am not responsible for the media you choose to expose yourself too when visiting my hideout ! !
Rule Number Four — Whether you’re just passin’ through or here to stay, you are more than welcome to make requests for themed, topics or scenarios you’d love to read ! You are also able to discuss with me about your thirsts and hear my responses or additional comments ! But please be aware I only write/post about Arthur Morgan ! !
Rule Number Five — I am my own person, I have a full-time job as well as other interests that may occupy my mind at times and keep me away from posting actively here. This is just a hobby, something I do for fun, to destress and to make friends along the way ! Whether you want to stick around through thick n’ thin with me here or not is up to you ! ! If for any reason you don’t vibe with me anymore you are free to block me and move on ! Mutuals please hardblock so I don’t reach out by accident !¡ I hope you all enjoy the content I create and share with you all !
