Fireside

pull up a log, stay awhile

[firesidehaven]

Welcome to the fireside.

Pull up a log, stay awhile.

I don’t know what brought you here, but I’m glad you found your way. Whatever kind of day you’ve had, you don’t need to carry it alone here.

This is a gentle place — for stories, for laughter, for quiet moments in between. There’s no pressure to keep up and no expectation to stay.

Take what you need. Leave what you don’t. The fire will still be here.

I’m glad you’re here.

— 🔥

[firesidehaven]

My Hat

(Arthur Morgan x Reader.)

Pull up a log.

I disappeared for months.

Came back obsessed with a hat.

Some things never change.

— 🔥

"Arthur."

"No."

The answer comes so fast you nearly trip over your own feet.

You stare at him from across camp. "I ain't even asked nothin' yet."

Arthur looks up from cleaning his revolver. "Didn't need to."

"Arthur."

"Mm."

"I need it."

"You do not."

You point dramatically toward the small trader's wagon parked near the edge of camp.

Specifically, toward the hat hanging from the side.

The hat.

The most beautiful hat ever crafted by human hands.

Arthur glances at it once.

Then back at you.

Then at the hat.

Then at you again.

"It's a hat."

"It's not just a hat."

"It's exactly a hat."

You place a hand over your heart. "You're bein' real disrespectful toward my future."

Arthur lets out a long sigh through his nose.

Across camp, Charles is already smiling.

"How much?"

You name the price.

Arthur's eyebrows climb halfway up his forehead.

"For a hat?"

"It has character."

"It's got dust."

"It has history."

"It's got dust and history."

You cross your arms.

Arthur returns to cleaning his revolver.

Thirty seconds pass.

Then a minute.

Then two.

You continue staring.

Arthur continues pretending not to notice.

Finally he mutters, "Stop lookin' at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like a sad dog outside a butcher shop."

"I ain't."

"You are."

Another pause.

You look at the hat.

Arthur watches you look at the hat.

The trader watches you look at the hat.

Half the camp watches you look at the hat.

Arthur groans.

"Fine."

Your head snaps around.

"Fine?"

"Fine."

You nearly tackle him.

Arthur catches you by the shoulders before you can launch yourself completely into his lap.

"This is a mistake."

"No, this is love."

"This is robbery."

You beam.

Ten minutes later you're wearing the hat.

Three sizes too big.

The brim droops over one eye.

You couldn't possibly look happier.

Arthur stares at you for a long moment before shaking his head.

"Lord help me."

You grin.

Arthur's mouth twitches despite himself.

Truth was, he'd have bought the damn thing the moment he saw the look on your face.

The hat never stood a chance.

[firesidehaven]

Hey, Nice Hat

(RDR2 / Reader - Arthur Morgan x Reader intended, but not obvious.)

pull up a log

Tonight’s story is about power.

The kind you get by accident.

About laughter that spreads faster than orders, and a camp that humors you just long enough for the joke to feel real.

Sometimes leadership looks like strategy.

Sometimes it looks like a borrowed hat and a very patient cowboy.

— 🔥

It starts as a joke.

At least that’s what everyone thinks.

The hat shows up first — too nice, too clean, too not camp. Somebody found it in a supply crate that definitely didn’t belong to anyone currently breathing dirt and bad decisions. You pick it up, turn it over once, then set it on your head just to keep your hands free.

It fits.

Which is already a problem.

Arthur notices the second you settle it. He doesn’t say anything at first — just watches the way your posture shifts without you realizing. Chin a little higher. Shoulders squared like you’re testing how it feels to occupy more space.

Hosea looks up from his book, takes in the hat, then the stance, and his mouth quirks.

“Well,” he says mildly, “seems we’ve got ourselves a change in management.”

You glance at him. “Temporary oversight.”

Arthur snorts softly, propping himself up on his elbow. “Mm. What’s my position?”

You consider him like you’re reading a file.

“Probationary.”

Camp immediately perks up.

“Probationary?” Javier echoes, grinning.

Arthur’s brows lift. “That right.”

You nod once, calm. “Pending performance review.”

He leans back like this is the most entertaining thing that’s happened all week. “Reckon I better impress you then.”

You pivot, scanning camp like you’re taking inventory of a ship that might sink if you blink wrong.

“Status reports.”

Bill looks around. “You serious?”

Hosea answers for you. “You heard the boss.”

Laughter ripples, but people play along because it’s more fun than not.

Lenny raises a hand. “Camp morale: acceptable. Spoon count: suspiciously low.”

“Still missing?” you ask.

“Always.”

You nod gravely, as if this is a systemic failure.

You turn toward the horse line next.

“Inspection.” you say.

Someone groans. “Oh come on.”

You point to Sean. “You’re up.”

“Why me?”

“Because you complained yesterday.”

Camp laughs again as Sean trudges off, muttering, and starts actually checking tack like he’s proving a point. It’s ridiculous — and somehow completely effective. Within minutes, three more people wander over to help just because they’ve been assigned something.

Arthur watches the whole thing with a quiet, crooked smile, like he’s witnessing a perfectly executed con and he’s not even mad about it.

You step closer to him.

“Security.”

He looks up, amused. “Promotion?”

“Temporary.”

He nods solemnly. “I accept the responsibility.”

“Primary duties,” you continue, ticking them off on your fingers, “watch perimeter, deter nonsense, and refrain from starting fights unless absolutely necessary.”

Arthur huffs a laugh. “That last one’s tricky.”

“Probationary.” you remind him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Hosea nearly chokes on his coffee.

For a while, camp leans into it fully — people giving half-serious updates, pointing out tiny “issues” like crooked bedrolls or a pot that’s been boiling too long. The energy shifts from restless to playful, the kind of shared joke that makes everyone feel like they’re in on something.

You move through it like you belong at the center of it, the hat shadowing your eyes just enough to make your expression unreadable.

Arthur falls in step beside you eventually, close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours.

“You always this organized?” he murmurs, low so only you hear.

“Only when unsupervised.”

He smiles, slow and warm. “Reckon we been runnin’ this place wrong.”

Across camp, Sean calls out, “Horse line cleared! No mutiny detected!”

You nod approvingly. “Good work.”

“Do I get a raise?”

“Try again next quarter.”

Arthur laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

That’s when Dutch arrives.

Drawn by the sound of a camp that’s suspiciously coordinated.

He takes in the scene — Sean reporting, Bill actually stacking crates, Lenny scribbling something like he’s documenting it — and finally you, standing there with that ridiculous, perfect hat.

“Well now,” Dutch says, voice edged with curiosity, “what’s all this?”

Hosea gestures loosely. “Operational restructuring.”

Dutch’s brows lift.

You meet his gaze evenly. “Morale initiative.”

There’s a beat — the kind where everyone waits to see if the joke ends or becomes something else.

Dutch smiles slowly.

“Carry on.” he says.

And just like that, it’s sanctioned.

Arthur leans closer as Dutch walks off, voice low and fond. “Looks like you got executive approval.”

You glance sideways. “Probationary.”

“Of course.”

By late afternoon the reports taper off, the joke softening back into normal camp noise. But the effect lingers — things are a little tidier, people a little lighter, like the structure gave everyone permission to breathe.

You finally pull the hat off, turning it in your hands.

Arthur watches, expression soft.

“You done bein’ boss?” he asks.

You set it down beside you. “For now.”

He nods, then after a moment nudges it back toward you with two fingers.

“Keep it,” he says. “Camp runs smoother.”

Hosea lifts his cup from across the fire. “Best leadership we’ve had in months.”

Arthur glances at you again, smile quiet but certain.

“Yeah,” he says. “Security’s real motivated too.”

[firesidehaven]

Beans it is, then.

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This story is about small attachments and the way they linger.

About noticing what hurts, even when no one says it out loud.

Sometimes care looks like silence.

Sometimes it looks like choosing beans instead.

— 🔥

fireside content warnings

This story includes:

quiet grief / loss of an animal

implied hunting and animal death (non-graphic)

emotional hurt that goes unspoken

Nothing graphic or explicit, but it may tug at tender places.

Please take care of yourself while reading.

— 🔥

Beans It Is, Then.

The rabbit starts coming around in the mornings.

At first, you think it’s coincidence — a flicker of brown near the edge of camp, ears twitching, gone the moment someone shifts their weight. But then it comes back. Again. And again. Always when things are calm. Always when you’re alone.

You start saving bits of food without really meaning to. A crust of bread. A scrap of apple. You crouch low, slow, and hold it out like an offering.

The rabbit watches you for a long moment before hopping closer.

You smile despite yourself.

“Well,” you murmur, voice barely there. “Aren’t you brave.”

It doesn’t let you touch it at first. That comes later. Weeks later. One morning when the camp is still half-asleep and the fire is nothing but embers, it nudges closer than usual, nose twitching, warm and alive.

You name it quietly, like a secret.

Arthur notices before anyone else does.

Not the rabbit — the way you soften when you see it. The way you linger near the edge of camp longer than necessary. The way you talk under your breath like you’re not as alone as you look.

One morning, he leans against a crate and watches as the rabbit hops up, bold as anything, and lets you scratch behind its ears.

“You name that thing?” Arthur asks, amused.

You glance back at him, startled. “It’s not a thing.”

He snorts. “Figures.”

You hesitate, then say the name anyway. It feels silly out loud. Real.

Arthur hums. “Well. Ain’t never seen a rabbit look that pleased.”

You scowl at him, but there’s no heat in it. He’s smiling — not teasing, just entertained. Like it’s nice to see you caring about something small and harmless in a life that rarely allows for either.

The rabbit keeps coming back.

Until it doesn’t.

The day someone rides in with a bundle of rabbits slung over their horse, you know before you see it properly. There’s a wrongness to the shape. A stillness that doesn’t belong to something that used to breathe.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t accuse anyone. You don’t cry. You don’t storm off. You just nod along when stew is mentioned later, then quietly take a can of beans instead.

Arthur notices.

He notices because you always liked stew. Because you don’t even look at the pot. Because when someone jokes about how good the hunt went, your hands curl tight around the tin like you’re holding yourself together.

That night, Arthur sits across from you with his own bowl untouched.

“You ain’t hungry?” you ask softly.

Arthur sets the bowl aside and opens a can of beans instead. “Reckon I am,” he says. “Just… not for that.”

You look at him then. Really look.

He doesn’t explain. Doesn’t say the rabbit’s name. Doesn’t make a show of it. Just eats beans beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

After a moment, you whisper, “He wasn’t supposed to be food.”

Arthur nods once. “I know.”

The camp carries on. It always does. The fire crackles. Laughter drifts. Life keeps moving forward whether you’re ready or not.

But for a few days, Arthur eats beans with you.

And when you sit near the edge of camp out of habit, still watching the space where the rabbit used to appear, Arthur stands nearby — not crowding, not hovering.

Just keeping watch.

Like he understands that sometimes, the smallest losses are the ones that hurt the quietest.

And that they still matter.

[firesidehaven]

Night watch — Part Nine (fin)

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This is where Nightwatch comes to rest.

Not with answers to everything — but with trust, and the choice to stay.

Thank you for keeping watch this long.

It mattered.

— 🔥

This chapter brings the emotional arc to a close.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

emotional vulnerability and release

honesty after restraint

intimacy rooted in safety and choice

the quiet ache of things finally settling

Nothing graphic or explicit.

This ending is meant to feel earned and gentle — read when you have space to breathe.

— 🔥

Night watch — Part Nine (fin)

Arthur doesn’t move when the silence settles.

Neither do you.

The truth you shared still hangs between you — fragile, real, too important to rush past. His hand is still over yours, warm and steady, like it’s anchoring both of you now.

You draw a slow breath. Then another.

“I missed you.” you say again, quieter this time. Not because he didn’t hear it before — because you need him to know it wasn’t just fear talking.

Arthur’s thumb shifts over your knuckles. “I know.”

He stands first, offering you his hand. When you take it, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls you in gently, arms coming around you in a way that feels instinctive — unguarded.

You lean into his chest without hesitation.

It isn’t a desperate hug. It isn’t something to be hidden. His chin rests against your hair, one hand firm at your back, holding you like he’s allowed to now.

Like he’s choosing to.

People move around you. Camp carries on. Someone could see — and neither of you cares.

Arthur exhales, long and slow. “I don’t want to keep doin’ this half-way.”

Your voice is soft against him. “Me neither.”

He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

Night comes easily after that.

The camp quiets, the fire burns low, and Arthur doesn’t wait for an excuse this time. His fingers brush yours — deliberate.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Stay with me.”

You nod immediately. “Yeah.”

Inside the cabin, the lantern is turned down low, the space bathed in warm shadow. Arthur closes the door behind you and turns, hands finding your waist like he knows exactly where they belong.

You don’t step back.

You step closer.

His arm comes around you — familiar — but instead of settling, it stays firm at your back, holding you there. You feel the difference immediately. Not grounding. Not habit.

Intent.

His breath hitches against your cheek. His thumb presses into your side, steady and deliberate, like he’s reminding both of you where you are.

“…Christ,” he murmurs under his breath.

You lift your head slowly. Arthur doesn’t move away — he lets you come to him, eyes dark and focused. When your lips brush, barely there, the contact pulls a soft gasp from you before you can stop it.

Arthur stills you with a subtle shift of his hand.

“Easy.” he murmurs — not a warning. A promise.

You exhale, breath trembling just slightly, and he takes that as permission. He closes the distance and kisses you — deeper, firmer, his mouth moving with intention instead of restraint.

You melt into it.

His hand slides up your back, fingers splayed, holding you close like he’s decided this is where you belong. When you gasp into the kiss, his grip tightens just enough to let you feel it.

Arthur pulls back briefly, forehead dropping to yours, breath heavy.

“Look at me.” he says quietly.

His thumb brushes your jaw, tilting your face up, making sure you’re still with him — still choosing this.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yes.” you breathe.

That’s all he needs.

He kisses you again — slower now, deeper, controlled. He sets the pace, and you follow without thinking, hands resting where he keeps them, trusting him to guide you through the heat building between you.

When he draws you closer, pressing your body fully against his, it isn’t rushed or rough — it’s decisive. You feel his want in the way he holds you, the way he doesn’t let you drift away.

Your fingers curl into his shirt, grounding him instinctively, and Arthur exhales hard like the touch goes straight through him.

“Stay with me.” he murmurs.

“I am.” you answer without hesitation.

The intensity crests, then eases — not fading, but settling into something steady and full. Arthur’s arm stays around you, firm and protective, his hand moving slow at your back, grounding both of you now.

In bed, the familiarity returns — warmer, closer.

You face each other this time, Arthur pulling you in until your head rests against his chest. His arm wraps around you, solid and sure, holding you because he wants to — not because you need saving.

The lantern is turned down until the room is all quiet shadow and warmth.

Sleep comes easily.

Not perfect. Not dreamless.

But safe.

The panic doesn’t disappear completely after that.

Some nights still carry a sharp edge. Some breaths still catch when they shouldn’t. Some memories still rise uninvited.

But they come less often.

And when they do, neither of you faces them alone.

Sometimes Arthur feels it first — a tightening, a restlessness he can’t shake. You’re there, steady and warm, pulling him close, reminding him where he is.

Sometimes it’s you — the old fear stirring, the night pressing in. Arthur’s arm tightens around you, his voice low and sure, grounding you back into the moment.

You don’t fix each other.

You don’t cure anything.

You stay.

By morning, the fire outside has burned low. Arthur is still there when you wake, breathing slow, holding you like it’s nothing he has to think about anymore.

Outside, the world waits.

Inside, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Together.

(fin)

Thank you for visiting the fireside.

— 🔥

[firesidehaven]

Night Watch – Part Eight

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This part leans back toward each other.

We don't close the distance all at once — it just lets it be seen.

Some things don’t break.

They bend.

— 🔥

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9 (fin)

This chapter holds emotional tension alongside quiet care.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

unresolved feelings

restrained longing

emotional vulnerability

closeness that doesn’t fully arrive yet

Nothing graphic or explicit.

This part may ache, but it carries intention.

— 🔥

Night Watch – Part Eight

It doesn’t happen all at once.

That’s the cruel part.

The job goes wrong in small ways first — a door that takes longer to open, a voice raised when it shouldn’t be, a hesitation that costs you seconds you can’t afford. By the time the shot rings out, it’s almost expected.

You run.

Not blindly — not panicked — just fast and focused, heart hammering as you cut through cover and shadows until the danger falls behind you. You don’t get hit. You don’t even stumble. But when it’s over, your hands won’t stop shaking.

Not from fear.

From the thought that it almost ended before you could fix things with him.

That realization hits harder than the gunshot ever could.

By the time you return to camp, dusk has settled in. The fire’s been lit. Voices carry low and normal, like the world never tilted on its axis at all.

You drift to the edge of camp and sit, elbows on your knees, staring at the dirt. You breathe slow, the way Arthur taught you. It helps — a little.

What it doesn’t do, is fill the space he’s been leaving lately.

You don’t look for him, that’s how he knows something’s wrong.

Arthur spots you from across camp — folded in on yourself, too still, not pacing, not shaking. He starts toward you out of habit, then stops.

You’ve been keeping your distance.

So has he.

He tells himself not to interfere. That you’ve been steady lately. That whatever happened out there, you’ll handle it like you always do.

Still… he watches.

You lift your head eventually and meet his gaze. Just for a second. Long enough for something fragile to pass between you — uncertainty, maybe. Or relief.

Arthur exhales and crosses the distance anyway.

He crouches in front of you, careful with his movements. “You hurt?”

You shake your head. “No.”

His shoulders drop slightly. He waits.

You don’t speak right away. The words feel too big, like they might change something if you let them out.

“I had a close call,” you say finally. “Closer than I’d like.”

Arthur nods, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

Another pause.

You pick at the dirt with your fingers. “I almost came to find you.”

His eyes flick up. “Almost?”

You nod. “Didn’t want to make things… confusing.”

Arthur lets out a quiet breath. “Funny. I been doin’ the same thing.”

You look at him then. Really look at him.

“You didn’t come find me.” you say softly.

He shakes his head. “Didn’t think it was my place.”

That stings more than you expect.

You swallow. “I missed you.”

The words are barely above a whisper, but they land heavy between you.

Arthur stills.

For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then, quieter than you’ve ever heard him, “I missed you too.”

The admission feels like stepping onto unstable ground — terrifying and relieving all at once.

Arthur shifts closer, forearms resting on his knees. “I thought keepin’ my distance was doin’ you a favor.”

You huff a weak, humorless breath. “I thought the same.”

He glances at you. “You think the other night was just… circumstance?”

You shake your head slowly. “No. I think it scared me how much it mattered.”

Arthur nods, like that confirms something he’s been wrestling with. “I don’t just worry about you ‘cause it’s my job,” he says. “I worry ‘cause when you ain’t around, somethin’ feels off.”

Your chest tightens. “I don’t need you just when I’m falling apart.”

“I know.” he says. “I figured that out when you stopped comin’ to the fire.”

Silence stretches — not awkward, just full.

Arthur finally reaches out, slow and deliberate, resting his hand over yours. Not grounding. Not urgent.

Present.

“When I thought you might’ve been hurt today,” he admits, “I realized I don’t want space if it means losin’ you.”

Your throat burns. “I don’t want space either. I just didn’t know how to come back.”

Arthur’s thumb brushes once over your knuckles. “Seems like we’re both here now.”

You nod.

He doesn’t pull you in yet. He just stays close, like he’s letting the truth settle before moving forward.

For the first time since the distance started, it feels like you’re facing the same direction again.

Not fixed.

Found.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 9 (fin)

[risingtripletaurus]

risingtripletaurus’ arthur morgan fic recs

~~~

personal faves - 🍎

thats^^ more of a personal indicator for me <3 i love all these fics SO much

some didn’t have titles, so i just gave them one !

~~~

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caught you by @punctatum 🍎

i can let you down, i can make you hurt 🍎

country girl shake it for me by @arthursdoll

seething by @twola

ain't his by @kieranduffysgirl

menace on purpose by @firesidehaven

little treat by @red-doll-face 🍎

hunting wildflowers by @arthxrcentral

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drunk words are sober thoughts by @shadesoflsk

confide in me by @aleenuhs

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dreams by @hihomeghere

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split three ways by @pressgforgoodgirl 🍎

precious journal by @mishmasho

unrequited by @cherryblossom-enthusiast

persiflage by @zae-heeyyy 🍎

i only want you by @wobblesthecowgirl

our dear, green little friend by @serawritesthings

teaching arthur how to dance by @call-me-kat-astrophe 🍎

~~~

[firesidehaven]

Thank you for the mention. ❤ - 🔥

[firesidehaven]

Night Watch — Part Seven

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This part holds steady with the quiet work of care — the kind that doesn’t announce itself, but matters all the same.

Just a peaceful night with your favorite cowboy, and confused feelings after.

— 🔥

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

This chapter continues with mutual caretaking and emotional vulnerability. This is probably my favorite chapters I have written.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

emotional openness

lingering fatigue or strain

caretaking dynamics

quiet intimacy without urgency

emotional withdrawal

unresolved tension

quiet hurt and unspoken feelings

care expressed through distance

Nothing graphic or explicit.

— 🔥

Night Watch — Part 7

The fire is almost out when Arthur notices you.

Just embers and a faint lick of flame, enough to keep the cold off but not enough to warm much else. You’re sitting close to it, knees pulled in, arms looped around them. Not restless. Not panicked.

Just awake.

Arthur slows without meaning to. He watches you for a second, checking for signs he’s learned to look for — the tight shoulders, the shallow breathing.

You don’t have them.

“You ain’t sleepin’?” he asks quietly.

You glance back at him. “Tried.”

Arthur nods like that makes sense and steps around the fire, lowering himself behind you with care. He leaves a careful inch of space at first. Habit, more than intention.

The night settles again.

After a moment, he shifts closer. Heat at your back. His knee brushes yours. He stills, like he’s about to say something.

You lean back into him before he can.

Arthur exhales softly, surprised, and then his arms come around you — familiar, loose, practiced. Not grounding this time. Not necessary.

Still wanted.

“This okay?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” you say. “I just… don’t want to be alone tonight.”

That feels heavier than it should.

Arthur’s hold firms, just slightly. His chin rests against the side of your head, breath warm against your hair. You sit there listening to the fire crackle, to the sound of him breathing behind you, steady and real.

“You don’t feel like you’re spinnin’.” he says after a while.

You smile faintly. “I know.”

“…Just habit, then.”

“Mm.”

His thumb shifts where it rests against your arm. A small movement. Thoughtless. The kind that becomes something only because neither of you stops it.

You turn your head just enough to look at him.

Arthur looks back.

There’s no rush in it. No urgency. Just the quiet understanding that this has been heading somewhere for a long time.

He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You don’t.

His mouth brushes yours — light, tentative. A question more than a kiss.

Arthur stills immediately.

“You good?” he asks, barely audible.

You nod. “Don’t stop.”

So he doesn’t.

The kiss deepens, unhurried, like he’s afraid of startling something fragile. His hand comes up to your jaw, thumb resting there like he’s grounding himself now.

You turn fully toward him, one hand finding his collar.

The fire pops softly behind you.

Arthur pulls back just long enough to breathe, forehead resting against yours.

“Hell." he mutters, almost to himself.

You smile. “Yeah.”

He kisses you again — slower, deeper, more sure. No testing left in it now. Just choice.

When you finally part, neither of you moves away.

Arthur’s arms stay around you, solid and warm. Yours stay where they are, fingers curled into his shirt like you’re not ready to let go yet.

After a moment, Arthur exhales and glances toward the cabins. “It’s cold.” he says, casual in a way that isn’t. “You… wanna come inside?”

You don’t answer right away.

Then you nod. “Yeah.”

You walk together, close enough that your hands brush more than once. Arthur opens the cabin door and steps aside to let you in, lowering the lantern until the light is soft and low.

Inside, it’s quiet and simple. Familiar.

Arthur hesitates, then sits on the edge of the bed, looking at you like he’s making sure this is still what you want.

You sit beside him.

He lies back first, giving you space. When you settle in next to him, he turns instinctively, arm coming around you — not pulling, not demanding.

You fit against him easily, familiar now in a way that doesn’t need explaining. His breathing evens out slowly, warmth steady at your back. He adjusts the blanket around you both without comment.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

Then, quietly, Arthur says, “You alright?”

You nod softly. “Yeah.”

He hums, satisfied, and rests his chin lightly against your hair.

Sleep doesn’t come right away — but when it does, it comes easy.

~

You wake before the light.

Arthur’s still asleep behind you, breath slow and even. You lie there for a moment, staring at the wall, letting the weight of the night settle without touching it too closely.

Nothing needs naming yet.

Carefully, you slip from the bed and gather your things. Boots in hand, you ease toward the back door and step outside before the cabin can creak too loud.

The air is cold and quiet. Camp sits half-asleep, fog clinging low to the ground.

You return to your bedroll and sit, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like the night never quite let go.

When the cabin door opens later, you don’t look right away.

Arthur steps out, stretching once, eyes scanning the clearing out of habit. They land on you briefly.

Just a glance.

Nothing in it that anyone else would notice.

Then someone calls his name and the moment passes.

The day moves on.

You help where you’re needed. Sort supplies. Ride when asked. Keep your hands busy and your thoughts quieter than they want to be.

~

Arthur notices it the moment the fire’s lit.

Not because he’s looking for you.

Because you’ve always been there.

Same place, same quiet way of sitting just close enough to the warmth. Even on nights you don’t sleep, you come out eventually. You sit. You breathe. You wait for the world to settle.

Tonight, the space is empty.

He tells himself that’s good.

Last night shouldn’t be something either of you build habits around. It happened because you were tired. Because the night was quiet. Because lines blur when you let yourself feel safe for too long.

He rubs a hand over his jaw and stares into the fire.

You deserve better than a man who only knows how to offer comfort when things are dark. Better than someone who might mistake need for want.

So he doesn’t go looking for you.

He tells himself he’s doing you a favor.

You’re awake in your bedroll, staring up at the canvas overhead, replaying the night whether you want to or not.

The kiss felt real. That’s what scares you.

Real things don’t usually happen to you without consequences. Real things don’t come without an explanation, or a cost, or a reason you later regret believing in them.

Arthur hadn’t said anything this morning. Not really. No promises. No change in tone.

Maybe it was just… comfort. A moment stretched too thin by exhaustion and proximity. A mistake neither of you meant to make.

You don’t want to put him in a position where he has to explain that to you.

So you don’t go to the fire.

Arthur glances up without meaning to — once, then again.

Still nothing.

He swallows and looks back into the coals. You’d be there if you needed him. You always come when you need grounding.

The fact that you don’t tells him enough.

Good, he thinks. She’s givin’ herself space.

The thought settles heavy in his chest.

You shift onto your side, listening to the sounds of camp. Arthur’s voice carries faintly from the fire — low, steady, like nothing’s wrong.

That hurts more than you expect.

You almost sit up. Almost swing your legs out of the bedroll and go to him, just to see if the way he looks at you has changed.

But if it hasn’t — if he looks the same — you don’t know what you’ll do with that.

So you stay still.

Arthur waits longer than he means to.

He feeds the fire. He checks the perimeter. He does everything except walk toward you. Because if he does, and you pull away, he’ll know he misread something that mattered.

And Arthur Morgan doesn’t risk people lightly.

He sits down hard on the log, elbows braced on his knees, staring into the coals.

This is better, he tells himself.

Safer.

For you.

You press your fingers into the blanket, grounding yourself the way he taught you. You breathe slow. You don’t panic. You don’t need him.

That’s what you tell yourself.

But the absence aches anyway.

Neither of you sleeps easily that night.

Both of you wake knowing the distance wasn’t rejection.

It was restraint.

And that somehow hurts worse.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

[firesidehaven]

Night Watch — Part Six

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This part is quieter, but not passive.

This is about care being returned — about staying present when it’s Arthur who needs watching, too.

Nothing dramatic here, just shared steadiness.

— 🔥

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

This chapter focuses on mutual care and emotional vulnerability.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

emotional openness

caretaking dynamics

quiet intimacy and reassurance

Nothing graphic or explicit. This part is meant to feel grounding and warm.

— 🔥

Night Watch — Part Six

The night is already deep when you realize Arthur hasn’t come back to the fire.

That’s what tips you off.

Not worry — not at first — just the quiet knowledge that something is out of place. You’ve learned to trust that feeling. It’s the same one that used to wake you gasping, the same one Arthur taught you to listen to without letting it swallow you whole.

You roll onto your side and listen.

The fire crackles, unattended but steady. Someone else should be nearby. Someone else is nearby — you hear distant boots, low conversation farther down camp.

Arthur’s not there.

You sit up.

You spot him beyond the wagons, half-hidden in shadow near the edge of the light. He’s seated on the ground with his back against a tree, knees drawn up slightly, forearms resting on them. His hat is off. His head is bowed.

Not watching.

Waiting.

Your chest tightens — not panic, not yet — recognition.

You don’t call out. You walk to him quietly, stopping a few feet away so he has time to notice.

He doesn’t.

“Arthur?” you say gently.

His head lifts immediately. Too fast.

“I’m good.” he says, already defensive.

You don’t answer that.

You step closer and lower yourself in front of him, settling onto your knees so you’re level with his line of sight. Close enough now that you can see the tension held in his jaw, the way his breath catches shallow in his chest.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” he asks.

You tilt your head, studying him. His breathing is controlled, but wrong. His hands are clenched tight enough to whiten the scars across his knuckles.

“You’re not breathin’.” you say softly. “Not all the way.”

His jaw tightens. “I don’t—”

“I know,” you interrupt gently. “You don’t like sayin’ it.”

You reach for his wrists then — slow, deliberate — and guide his hands away from his knees. You don’t pull. You don’t rush. You just move closer, shifting your weight until you’re sitting between his legs instead, your back naturally finding his chest as you settle there.

Arthur stiffens — then stills.

Your movement leaves him a choice.

After a brief pause, his arms follow the path you’ve set, coming around your middle and resting there, uncertain at first.

You lean back into him deliberately.

That’s all it takes.

Arthur’s arms close fully this time, crossing over your ribs and pulling you in until your back is solid against his chest. Not tight. Not desperate. Just enough to feel real.

He exhales sharply, like the breath’s been waiting.

You settle fully between his legs, grounded by the weight of him behind you. His grip firms, more secure now. His chin lowers until it rests against the crown of your head — unthinking, instinctive.

You place your hands over his forearms, steady and sure.

“You’re here,” you say softly.

“Camp’s quiet.”

“Fire’s goin’.”

“Ground’s solid under you.”

Arthur’s breath shudders.

You don’t rush. You keep your own breathing slow, measured, letting him fall into rhythm with it.

“Nobody’s shootin’.” you add. “Nobody’s dyin’. You made it back.”

His grip tightens briefly — not around you, but around the moment.

The tension drains out of him in pieces you can feel — shoulders lowering, breath deepening, weight settling into you like he’s finally stopped holding himself upright by force alone.

For a long while, neither of you speaks.

Then his arms squeeze lightly, instinctive.

A grounding check.

“I got you,” you murmur. “Easy, cowboy.”

There’s a pause, then he lets out a quiet breath against your hair — warm, almost amused.

“…Yeah,” he says softly. “Guess your cowboy needed that.”

The words land slow and heavy.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

His head shifts, resting more fully against yours now. His voice comes quieter, stripped of its edge.

“Funny,” he adds, “how it only works when it’s you sayin’ it.”

You smile faintly.

“You ain’t hard to read,” you tell him. “You just don’t let people try.”

His arms stay around you, solid and careful, like he’s choosing to keep you there — just for now.

Eventually, the moment loosens its grip. Arthur lifts his head, hands sliding down your arms before he lets go.

“You alright?” he asks.

You nod. “Yeah.”

He squeezes your wrist once before releasing it completely. You stand slowly and dust yourself off, glancing back at him.

Arthur looks steadier now. Tired, but present. There’s the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth — one he doesn’t bother hiding.

“Go on,” he says. “Get some sleep.”

You hesitate just long enough to matter.

“Don’t stay out here pretendin’ you don’t need rest too.” you say.

He huffs quietly. “Reckon I’ll manage.”

You head back toward camp, heart steady, steps light.

Behind you, Arthur remains where he is.

Breathing easy.

Smiling just a little.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

[firesidehaven]

Five More Minutes

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This one’s for the mornings you swear you’ll never agree to again.

For bad sleep, strong coffee, and the people who drag us upright anyway.

If you’re reading this tired — you’re not alone. Get the rest you need, for Arthurs sake.

— 🔥

Five More Minutes

Arthur knows he’s in trouble the moment you don’t move.

The sun’s barely crested the treeline, camp still wrapped in that quiet hour where the world feels like it’s holding its breath. Horses shift softly. Someone coughs in the distance. Morning, whether anyone’s ready for it or not.

Arthur nudges the cabin door open and peers inside.

You’re still in bed.

Not resting. Not dozing. Out cold. Curled around the pillow like it personally wronged you sometime during the night. Hair everywhere. Blanket pulled up to your chin in clear defiance of the day.

Arthur sighs.

He steps closer, boots soft on the floor, and clears his throat. “Mornin’.”

Nothing.

He leans over slightly. “We gotta get movin’. Job’s waitin’.”

You shift just enough to pull the blanket higher.

Arthur squints. “…Did you hear me?”

“Mmh,” you mumble, face buried. “No.”

That’s a lie and you both know it.

Arthur tries again, softer this time. “Sun’s up.”

“Tell it to go back down,” you mutter.

He rubs a hand over his face. “You said you’d be ready.”

“I was,” you say thickly. “Last night.”

Arthur pauses. “How late did you stay up?”

You don’t answer.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “How. Late.”

“…Time’s fake.”

He exhales through his nose. “You sleep at all?”

“Technically.”

He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning down so his voice carries closer. “How much?”

You groan into the pillow. “Like… three. Maybe three and a half. But it was bad sleep. Doesn’t count.”

Arthur closes his eyes briefly like he’s praying for patience. “You got a job to do.”

“I know,” you whine. “That’s future me’s problem.”

Arthur presses his thumb into the mattress, steadying himself. “Future you is gonna be real mad at past you.”

You roll onto your back, squinting up at him with bleary, unfocused eyes. “Future me should’ve gone to bed earlier.”

“Past you’s the one who didn’t.”

“Well,” you say solemnly, “past me was makin’ poor choices.”

Arthur snorts despite himself. “Clearly.”

He reaches over and nudges your shoulder. “C’mon. Up.”

You make a noise somewhere between a protest and a wounded animal.

“No.”

Arthur blinks. “…No?”

“I physically cannot,” you say. “My bones are heavy.”

“Your bones are fine.”

“They are not. They are tired.”

Arthur shakes his head, amused and exasperated. “You promised.”

“I was delusional.”

He leans closer, lowering his voice. “I made coffee.”

Your eye cracks open.

“…You did?”

“Yes.”

“Strong?”

Arthur nods. “Strong.”

You consider this deeply, then roll back onto your side. “Bring it here.”

Arthur laughs quietly. “Nice try.”

You groan again. “Arthur, please. I am so tired.”

He studies you for a moment — really looks. The dark smudges under your eyes. The way you’re barely holding yourself together. The way your stubbornness has softened into something closer to exhaustion.

His tone changes.

“Alright,” he says gently. “Sit up.”

You shake your head. “Can’t.”

Arthur sighs, then reaches for you — one arm slipping under your shoulders, the other bracing your back as he helps you upright slowly. You slump immediately, forehead dropping against his chest.

“See?” you mumble. “Broken.”

Arthur steadies you without comment, one hand warm at your back. “You’re just tired.”

“Mhm. Dangerously.”

He chuckles under his breath and holds you there for a second longer than necessary. Then he presses a kiss into your hair.

“Drink the coffee,” he murmurs. “Then we’ll talk.”

You sigh but don’t pull away.

Arthur hands you the cup once you’re semi-conscious, watching closely as you take a careful sip.

“…Okay,” you admit. “That helps.”

“Told you.”

You rest your head back against his shoulder. “I hate mornings.”

“I know.”

“I hate early mornings more.”

“I know that too.”

“And I hate that I agreed to this job.”

Arthur smirks. “I noticed.”

You sigh, draining the cup slowly. When you finally hand it back, you sit there for a second, gathering yourself.

“…Okay,” you say. “I’m up.”

Arthur raises a brow. “You sure?”

“No,” you reply honestly. “But I’m vertical. That’s progress.”

He laughs, standing and offering you his hand. “C’mon, then.”

You take it, letting him pull you to your feet — wobbling slightly but upright all the same.

“Next time,” you mutter, “remind me to go to bed.”

Arthur grins. “I tried.”

You squint at him. “Did you?”

He shrugs. “You said ‘five more minutes’ about six times.”

You sigh dramatically. “I can’t be held accountable for sleepy lies.”

Arthur laughs again, squeezing your hand once. “You’re somethin’ else.”

You lean into him briefly, eyes half-closed. “You love me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately.”

But the way he steadies you as you stumble toward the door — the way he slows his steps to match yours — tells a different story.

And even on three and a half hours of sleep…

You’ll make it.

Mostly because Arthur won’t let you fall back into bed.

Even if you try.

[firesidehaven]

Night Watch — Part Five

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

He wont tell you, but he needs you.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for trusting the quiet.

— 🔥

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

This chapter comes after emotional intensity and focuses on settling rather than escalation.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

emotional aftermath

vulnerability and exhaustion

trauma responses easing (non-graphic)

comfort without immediate answers

Nothing graphic or explicit.

This part is meant to be steady — read when you feel ready to breathe again.

— 🔥

Night Watch — Part Five

Arthur’s on watch.

You know it before you open your eyes. The fire’s steady, the night settled into that careful quiet that only comes when he’s the one keeping it. Nothing feels wrong.

That’s what wakes you.

Not panic. Not fear.

Awareness.

You lie still for a moment, listening. Arthur sits near the fire, rifle resting against a log, elbows braced on his knees. He hasn’t shifted in a while. His silhouette is rigid in a way that doesn’t match rest.

Arthur doesn’t sit like that unless something’s wrong.

You sit up slowly.

He doesn’t notice.

That’s enough.

You move quietly across camp, bare feet finding the familiar ground. The fire pops softly as you near him. Arthur’s gaze flicks your way only when you’re close enough that he can’t ignore you.

“You shouldn’t be up,” he says, voice even. Normal.

You stop in front of him. “Neither should you.”

He exhales through his nose. “I’m fine.”

You don’t argue. You’ve learned better than that.

Instead, you crouch down and look at him properly. The tight line of his jaw. The way his shoulders are held too high. His hands rest loosely between his knees—but his fingers keep flexing, like they’re searching for something solid.

“You’re holdin’ it,” you say quietly.

Arthur frowns. “Holdin’ what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away toward the trees. “Someone’s gotta.”

You nod once, accepting that. Then you shift closer and sit on the ground between his knees, facing the fire. Close enough that your back brushes his chest.

Arthur stiffens immediately.

You don’t rush it.

“Just sit,” you murmur. “You don’t gotta do anything.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then—slowly—Arthur’s arms come forward, hesitating before settling across your middle. Not tight. Not possessive. Just there. His hands rest where they land, unsure.

You lean back into him without thinking.

Arthur’s breath catches.

He adjusts, pulling you a little closer, his forearms crossing more securely over you. The contact is grounding, deliberate. His chin dips, resting lightly on the top of your head like his body found the answer before his mind did.

Neither of you speaks.

The fire crackles. The night presses in, then eases.

You feel it before you see it—the way his grip tightens just slightly. Not enough to trap you. Enough to anchor himself. His breathing is shallow at first, then slows as your back rises and falls against his chest.

You stay still on purpose.

After a moment, you reach up and rest your hands over his arms, giving him something to feel, something solid to stay with.

“That’s it,” you say softly. “You’re alright.”

Arthur exhales, long and tired. His forehead presses more firmly into your hair.

“…Close call,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you answer. “I saw.”

His arms tighten again, just for a second.

He doesn’t apologize.

He doesn’t pull away.

You sit there like that for a long while—Arthur using you as a tether, you letting him. The closeness isn’t rushed or questioned. It just exists, warm and steady and quiet.

Eventually, his breathing evens out completely.

The tension drains from his shoulders in small increments.

Arthur lifts his head, just slightly, enough to speak. “You alright?”

You smile faintly, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“…Thank you,” he adds.

You tilt your head back just enough that it brushes his chin. “Anytime, cowboy.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then you feel it—barely there—a soft huff of a laugh against your hair. His arms loosen, not letting go, just easing.

That’s all you needed.

You shift forward carefully, giving him space again. Arthur lets you go without hesitation this time.

You stand, brushing the dirt from your hands, and glance back at him.

Arthur’s watching you now, expression lighter than it was when you came over. Tired, but steadier. The firelight catches the corner of his mouth—still tipped up just slightly.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

You nod. “Try not to brood too hard.”

He scoffs quietly. “No promises.”

You head back to your bedroll without looking over your shoulder again.

Behind you, Arthur remains by the fire.

Sitting easier.

Smiling just a little.

~

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

[firesidehaven]

Look At Me

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This one knows how close it got.

For the pauses that felt deliberate.

For the hands that stopped right where they did—on purpose.

If you’re annoyed it didn’t go further…

good.

— 🔥

Look At Me

Arthur doesn’t raise his voice.

He doesn’t have to.

The moment you push him—half teasing, half daring—his hand comes out, firm on your wrist, stopping you mid-step. Not rough. Not gentle either. Just decisive.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

You look up at him. You’re close enough now to feel the heat of his body, the way his chest rises with a breath he’s very clearly controlling. His thumb shifts, pressing into the inside of your wrist—right where your pulse jumps.

His eyes darken when he feels it.

“Careful,” he murmurs. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna forget where we are.”

You swallow. Say nothing.

Arthur steps in anyway.

Your back meets the tree behind you—solid, unavoidable—and he cages you there without touching you again. One arm braced above your head, the other resting at his side like he’s proving a point: you’re here because I let you be.

He leans in, slow enough to be deliberate.

“You know exactly what you’re doin’,” he says under his breath. “And I know you like when I notice.”

His knuckles brush your jaw—not a caress, more like a promise. He tips your chin up just enough that you have to meet his eyes.

“Look at me.”

You do.

That’s his mistake.

Arthur’s mouth hovers a breath away from yours, close enough that his words warm your lips when he speaks.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

He kisses you then—deep, unhurried, claiming. Not rushed. Not desperate. The kind of kiss that makes your knees go weak because he’s in control of the pace, breaking it only when he decides you’ve had enough.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours.

“You alright?” he asks softly, like he hasn’t just wrecked your ability to think.

You nod, breathless.

A corner of his mouth lifts. Satisfied. Dangerous.

“Thought so.”

He steps back—finally—leaving you pressed to the tree, heart racing, knowing damn well he could’ve kept going… and chose not to.

And that might be the worst part.

[firesidehaven]

Night Watch — Part Four

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

It's okay to not be okay in the daytime. Don't worry though, Arthur is here to keep you grounded.

Take breaks if you need to.

You’re welcome to stay, and welcome to step away.

— 🔥

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part9(fin)

This chapter holds the heaviest emotional themes in the series so far.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

heightened emotional distress

trauma responses and emotional overwhelm

fear, vulnerability, and loss of control

hurt with steady, present comfort

Nothing graphic or explicit, but this section may feel intense.

Please be kind to yourself while reading.

— 🔥

Night Watch — Part Four

You sleep in your bedroll again. You wake up sore instead of panicked. Your heart still jumps sometimes, but it settles quicker. You don’t have to sit up and count breaths anymore. Most nights, you don’t even fully wake.

Arthur never mentions it.

But when he’s on watch, he lingers.

He doesn’t sit right beside you. That would be noticed. Instead, he chooses posts that happen to keep you in his line of sight. He feeds the fire a little longer than necessary. He takes slower rounds. If you shift in your sleep, he notices.

You notice too—on the nights you wake just enough to register his shape near the fire, his presence like a quiet guardrail keeping you from tipping too far.

Neither of you names it.

Then the job goes bad.

It’s supposed to be quick. In and out. Simple intimidation. No one’s meant to fire a shot.

Someone does anyway.

The crack of the gun splits the air sharp and close. You don’t realize how close until Arthur stumbles, cursing, hand flying to his shoulder as splinters explode from the post beside him.

Missed.

Barely.

The world snaps into motion. Shouting. Return fire. You move on instinct, covering, pushing, finishing what needs finishing. It’s over fast—but fast doesn’t mean clean.

When it’s done, Arthur’s still standing.

That’s what everyone focuses on.

Jokes follow. Nervous laughter. Someone slaps him on the back like it’s all already a story worth telling. Arthur waves it off, scowling, insisting he’s fine.

You don’t laugh.

You can’t stop seeing how close it was. How different it could’ve been. How his body had reacted before his mind did—how easily it could’ve gone wrong.

By the time you’re back in camp, your hands won’t stop shaking.

It’s broad daylight. Too bright. Too exposed. People are everywhere, unloading gear, arguing, moving on like the danger stayed behind.

You try to follow.

You busy yourself. You check equipment that doesn’t need checking. You rinse blood from your hands even though it’s already gone. You tell yourself you’re fine.

Your body disagrees.

Your chest tightens. Your breath comes too shallow, too fast. The sounds around you blur together, too loud and too close. Every crack of movement sends your pulse jumping.

You keep your head down.

You cannot let this happen here.

Someone laughs nearby and it snaps something loose in you. Not anger. Fear. Sharp and sudden.

You turn away quickly, meaning to put distance between yourself and the noise—but your legs falter. Just for a second.

Arthur sees it.

He’s halfway through arguing with someone when his attention snaps to you like a wire pulled too tight. He takes you in at a glance—the way your shoulders are hunched, the way your hands are clenched so hard your knuckles have gone white.

He leaves the conversation mid-sentence.

You don’t notice until he’s already close.

“Hey,” he says quietly, but not too quietly. Normal. Casual. For anyone watching.

You try to answer. Nothing comes out.

Arthur’s eyes sharpen. “Come with me.”

It’s not a request.

He steers you away from the center of camp with a hand at your elbow, firm enough to guide, light enough not to draw attention. Anyone watching would think he was just asking for help with something.

Your heart is pounding now. Hard enough it feels like it’s climbing up your throat.

“I’m fine,” you manage, desperate.

Arthur leans closer, voice low. “I know. Just humor me.”

He leads you behind the supply wagon, out of the worst of the noise. The shade helps. A little.

You press your hands into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but it’s not working. The panic is rising fast, faster than at night. There’s nowhere to hide from it.

Arthur steps closer, blocking your view of the camp without boxing you in.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

You force your eyes up.

“There you are,” he says. “Breathe.”

You try. Fail.

Arthur doesn’t hesitate.

He shifts in close, one hand settling at your lower back, solid and steady. His body shields you from the rest of the world, just enough.

“Stay with me,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

You grip his sleeve without thinking.The contact grounds you immediately—and the realization that it worked hits just as hard.

Arthur stiffens for half a second.

Then he stays.

He leans his forehead closer to yours, not touching, just enough that his presence fills your vision.

“You’re here,” he says calmly. “I’m here. Nobody’s shootin’. Nobody’s dyin’.”

Your breathing stutters, then slows.

It takes longer than you want. Long enough that someone passing might notice. Long enough that Arthur shifts again, angling his body so it looks like a private conversation instead of something else.

When the panic finally loosens its grip, it leaves you drained and shaky.

You pull back first, mortified.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice rough. “I didn’t mean to—”

Arthur cuts you off gently. “Don’t.”

You stare at the ground, ashamed now in a different way. “I don’t usually—during the day—”

“I know,” he says.

You look up, startled.

He meets your eyes, steady. “I saw how close it was. Today.”

That’s what breaks it.

Not the fear—but the understanding.

You nod once, swallowing hard.

Arthur steps back just enough to give you space, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary before he drops it.

“You go sit for a bit,” he says, voice easy again. “I’ll make sure nobody bugs you.”

You hesitate. “Arthur—”

“I’m fine,” he adds, firm. “Promise.”

You don’t believe him, but you nod.

As you walk away, you feel his eyes on your back the entire time.

And for the first time, you realize something quietly terrifying.

You don’t just panic when you’re in danger.

You panic when he is.

~

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

[firesidehaven]

Unfinished

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This one’s for the moments that almost go too far… hands that linger, breath that stutters, and the kind of restraint that makes your chest ache worse than giving in ever could.

This is a complete one-shot. It's not... unfinished. Or is it?

If it left you warm, flustered, or staring at the screen a little too long…

Yeah. Me too.

Not sorry.

— 🔥

Unfinished

It isn’t supposed to happen like this.

You’re meant to be checking tack behind the old barn — quick, quiet, in and out. Arthur follows you in with a muttered comment about the door hanging crooked, and then the door shuts behind him with a dull, final thud.

Too loud.

You turn at the same time he does.

The space is narrow — dust motes floating in the lamplight, the smell of leather and hay thick in the air. Arthur’s close. Close enough that you can feel the warmth of him without touching.

“You do that on purpose?” he asks, low.

“Do what?”

“End up alone with me,” he says.

You swallow. “You followed me.”

He steps closer — slow, deliberate — until your back meets a wooden post. Not slammed. Just… there. His hands come up, bracketing you against the beam without touching you yet, palms flat, arms caging the space.

“You could’ve told me to stop.”

Your breath stutters. “You wouldn’t have.”

Arthur exhales, something dark and amused in it. “No.”

The kiss isn’t gentle.

It’s controlled — firm, immediate — like he’s been holding it back too long. His mouth moves against yours with intent, not rushing, not softening. You respond without thinking, hands sliding up his chest, fingers curling into his shirt like you need the anchor.

He deepens the kiss gradually — not all at once — tilting his head until your mouths fit together perfectly. Your lips part, breaths mingling, and the sound that slips from you makes his jaw tighten.

His hands finally leave the beam.

One settles at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. The other comes up to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he kisses you again — slower now, deeper, mouths moving together in a way that makes your knees weak.

You press closer. He lets you.

The world narrows to heat and breath and the scrape of his beard against your skin. His mouth trails from your lips to your jaw, lingering there, then back again — teasing, deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He makes you feel every second of it.

“Arthur” you murmur — not a warning, not a plea. Just his name.

He presses in fully, body solid against yours, one hand sliding up your back, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His mouth finds yours again, deeper than before, and for a moment it feels like if either of you moves wrong, this will tip into something neither of you is ready to stop.

His forehead drops to yours, breath rough.

“We’re… gettin’ real close.” he mutters.

You smile faintly, breathless. “You noticed.”

He huffs a quiet laugh — then kisses you again anyway.

Slower. Heavier. The kind of kiss that promises things without saying them.

And then—

“Arthur?”

The voice is just outside the door.

You freeze.

Arthur goes still instantly, breath catching as reality snaps back into place. He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he’s physically forcing himself to stop.

“Damn it.” he murmurs.

You laugh — soft, embarrassed — and duck your face against his chest, hands still fisted in his shirt. “We are terrible at timing.”

Arthur’s arms come around you automatically, holding you there like it’s instinct now. “Yeah.” he mutters. “But I ain’t sorry.”

The door creaks.

You pull back just enough to breathe, cheeks flushed, heart still racing — and Arthur gives you one last look that promises this isn’t finished.

Not even close.

[firesidehaven]

Seconds Matter

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

This one’s for playful rivalry, bruised pride, and loving someone enough to lose to them — and complain about it forever.

Sometimes the best wins don’t come with bragging rights.

— 🔥

Seconds Matter

The argument starts the way most things in camp do.

By accident.

Sean’s voice carries across the clearing, loud and confident. “I’m just sayin’, if we’re talkin’ best rider in camp, there’s a clear answer.”

Arthur doesn’t even look up from where he’s checking his saddle. “Yeah,” he says easily. “There is.”

You glance over at him, amused. “Oh?”

He smirks. “Experience counts for somethin’.”

That’s when Hosea looks up from his book.

“Funny,” he says mildly. “We were just debating that very thing.”

Arthur sighs. “I don’t like that tone.”

Hosea smiles — the kind that means trouble. “The question came down to this: Arthur Morgan… or your better half.”

The camp goes quiet for exactly two seconds.

Then Javier laughs. Sean slaps a hand on a crate. Coins start appearing like magic.

Arthur blinks, then looks at you. “They can’t be serious.”

You meet his gaze, one brow lifting. “You sound nervous.”

That earns him.

Arthur laughs. “Please.”

Sean grins wide. “Ten says Arthur wins.”

“Twenty on her,” Javier counters immediately.

Charles doesn’t say a word. Just places a coin down — heavier than most — right in front of you.

Arthur notices. “Oh, come on.”

Hosea clears his throat. “Friendly race. Short route. Through the trees, down by the creek, and back.”

Arthur mounts up beside you, leaning over with a grin that’s all confidence. “You sure you wanna do this?”

You settle into your saddle, reins loose. “You taught me not to back down.”

Hosea lifts his hand. “Ready?”

Arthur glances at you. “Try not to cry when you lose.”

You smile sweetly. “Don’t blink.”

Hosea drops his hand.

You take off clean. Arthur keeps pace easily at first, laughing when you steal a glance at him mid-run. “You ridin’ or sightseein’?”

“Watch your line,” you call back.

The trail narrows fast. Trees crowd in. You take a tighter turn at the creek — slower, smarter — and Arthur realizes a heartbeat too late what you’re doing.

He swears, delighted and annoyed all at once, pushing harder to make up the ground.

The final stretch is dust and breath and shouting. You hit the edge of camp first, pulling up with a sharp laugh just as the cheer erupts around you.

Arthur comes in seconds later.

Seconds.

He swings down and just stares at you for a moment, chest heaving, eyes bright.

“Well,” he says finally. “I’ll be damned.”

Sean howls. “Pay up!”

Arthur groans. “This is a conspiracy.”

Hosea chuckles. “Instinct over experience.”

Arthur scowls. “I taught her those instincts.”

“Which makes it poetic,” Hosea replies.

Later — much later — when the camp settles back into itself, Arthur is sulking.

Not dramatically. Not storming off. Just… pointedly occupied.

You find him by the hitching post, brushing down his horse with more force than necessary, jaw set, hat tipped low like it personally betrayed him.

You lean against the fence beside him. “You alright there, cowboy?”

Arthur grunts. “Mm.”

That’s never a good sign.

“You’re awful quiet for someone who was real confident earlier,” you tease.

He snorts without looking at you. “Ain’t got much to say.”

“Funny,” you add. “You had plenty before.”

Arthur straightens and turns to face you, expression a mix of mock offense and very real wounded pride.

“I don’t appreciate bein’ publicly embarrassed,” he says. “In front of my own camp.”

You laugh. “Embarrassed? You lost by seconds.”

“Seconds matter,” Arthur mutters. “Especially when Sean’s already rehearsin’ his version of events.”

As if summoned, Sean yells from across camp, “Best race I’ve ever seen!”

Arthur points at him. “See? Never gonna hear the end of it.”

You step closer, amused. “You’re takin’ this pretty hard.”

“I am takin’ it appropriately,” Arthur says. “Which is to say: poorly.”

You grin. “You rode well. You kept up the whole way.”

“That’s not the point.”

You tilt your head. “Then what is?”

Arthur exhales. “I don’t like losin’. Especially not at somethin’ I’m good at.”

“Fair.”

“And,” he adds, quieter now, unmistakably fond, “I really don’t like losin’ to you.”

You raise a brow. “Why’s that?”

“Because now everyone knows,” he says, gesturing vaguely at camp, “that I ain’t the best rider here.”

You smile. “You’re handling it with grace.”

He huffs. “Give me time.”

Arthur hooks a finger into your belt loop, tugging you closer. “Just so you know,” he murmurs, “there will be a rematch.”

“Oh?” you say. “Feeling confident again?”

“Different route,” Arthur says. “My choice.”

“And if you lose again?”

He smiles despite himself. “Then I’ll complain about it just as much.”

You laugh, and he does too, shaking his head like he can’t believe this happened to him.

“…I am proud of you,” Arthur admits. “Even if I gotta hear about it forever.”

You lean into him. “You love me.”

Arthur sighs, arm slipping around your shoulders. “Unfortunately.”

But the way he holds you — close, easy, unbothered by the camp around you — makes it clear he wouldn’t trade that loss for anything.

Even if he never hears the end of it.

[firesidehaven]

Night Watch — Part Three

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

Night watch, Part Three stays quiet, but something begins to give — not all at once, just enough to let a little air in.

As always, move at your own pace.

You’re welcome here.

— 🔥

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

This chapter continues with emotional weight, though the tone begins to soften.

Please take care if you’re sensitive to:

trauma responses and hypervigilance (non-graphic)

lingering fear and emotional strain

hurt with growing reassurance

vulnerability and emotional release

Nothing explicit or graphic, but emotions surface more fully here.

Be gentle with yourself.

— 🔥

Night Watch — Part Three

Arthur isn’t on watch that night.

You know that before you even open your eyes. There’s a different rhythm to the camp when he isn’t out there. Different footsteps. Different pauses between sounds. The fire burns lower, less carefully tended. It shouldn’t matter.

But it does.

You wake with your heart already racing. Not gradual this time. Not something you can sit with and breathe through. It hits hard and sharp, like your body skipped the warning signs and went straight to panic.

Your chest tightens. Your thoughts scatter. Every sound feels too close, too loud. You swear you hear movement beyond the treeline—footsteps that don’t belong to the camp. You sit up, hands shaking, trying to ground yourself.

Doesn’t work.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That someone else is on watch. That you’re safe. That you’ve handled worse.

Your body doesn’t care.

Minutes pass. Or seconds. It’s hard to tell. Your breathing won’t slow. Your skin feels wrong—too tight, too aware. You’re suddenly certain that if you stay where you are, something bad will happen. Not logically. Just… certainly.

You don’t want to do this.

You don’t want to need anyone.

But the thought of Arthur—solid, steady, familiar—cuts through the noise like nothing else.

You’re on your feet before you can talk yourself out of it.

You keep your head down as you move through camp, avoiding the firelight. The paranoia makes everything feel exposed. You half-expect someone to stop you, to ask questions.

No one does.

Arthur’s cabin is dark. You hesitate outside the door, breath shallow, pulse loud in your ears. For one awful second, you consider turning back.

Another sound carries from the trees.

Fuck it.

You knock twice. Soft, light taps.

It takes a moment.

Then the door opens.

Arthur stands there, shirt rumpled, hair loose like he’s already been asleep. The lantern light catches his face, and the concern hits immediately—sharp and unguarded.

“Hey,” he says quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Your composure breaks—not outwardly, not dramatically—but enough that your shoulders sag and your breath stutters.

“It won’t stop,” you manage. “I tried.”

Arthur doesn’t ask what. He doesn’t ask why now. He steps aside immediately. “Come in.”

The door closes behind you, shutting out the night. The cabin is simple—bed, table, chair, faint smell of leather and smoke. Safe.

Arthur sets the lantern lower, dimming the light. He turns back to you, already moving closer.

“You wanna sit?” he asks.

You shake your head. “I— I don’t think I can.”

He nods once. “Alright.”

He reaches for you carefully, giving you time to pull away.

You don’t.

Arthur draws you back against his chest, just like before—but closer now, more enclosed. One arm wraps around your middle, the other bracing you firmly, hand splayed flat against your side.

“You’re here,” he murmurs. “You’re inside. Door’s shut.”

Your breathing is still fast, but the contact helps. You cling to it, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt without thinking.

Arthur guides you backward until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Easy,” he says. “Sit with me.”

You do.

He sits behind you on the bed, pulling you back against him immediately, no hesitation now. His legs bracket yours. His arms stay wrapped around you, solid and sure.

You press your head into his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.

Your heart keeps racing.

Arthur shifts, adjusting until you’re fully supported by him, like he’s built himself into something you can lean on.

“Stay with me,” he says quietly. “Don’t fight it. I got you.”

You breathe when he breathes. You focus on the rise and fall of his chest, the steady pressure of his arms, the warmth of him through your back.

It takes a long time.

Long enough that you stop counting.

Long enough that the paranoia dulls and the fear loses its edge.

At some point, your breathing evens out. Exhaustion replaces panic, heavy and sudden.

You sag fully into him.

Arthur tightens his hold, instinctive. “That better?” he asks softly.

You nod. “Yeah.”

You sit there like that for a moment longer, neither of you moving, neither of you acknowledging how close this is.

Finally, Arthur speaks, low and careful. “You can stay.”

You lift your head slightly. “I don’t want to—”

“I know,” he interrupts gently. “But you ain’t walkin’ back out there tonight.”

You hesitate.

Not because you don’t want to.

Because you do.

“…Okay,” you say.

Arthur shifts again, easing you down onto the bed without breaking contact. He lies back, pulling you with him so you’re resting against his chest, his arm firm around you.

He stays fully clothed. Keeps his touch steady, respectful. Protective.

Your head fits under his chin like it belongs there.

Neither of you comments on that.

The silence between you is thick—not awkward, just heavy with things neither of you are ready to name.

Arthur’s thumb moves slowly against your arm, grounding, familiar. His breathing stays even, deliberate.

You don’t sleep right away.

Neither does he.

At some point, you realize how aware you are of him—of the way his hand rests on you, of the way his body curves around yours. Not desire. Not exactly.

Something quieter.

Something dangerous.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. Not reassurance. A statement.

You nod against his chest, and fall asleep like that.

~

Morning comes slow and gray as you wake before Arthur does.

The light creeping in through the narrow window is thin and pale, barely enough to outline the room. His breathing is steady behind you, deep and even, like he hasn’t stirred once all night.

You stay still for a moment.

Not because you’re afraid to wake him — but because you’re suddenly very aware of where you are.

Arthur’s arm is still around you, heavy and warm. Protective even in sleep. Your back rests against his chest like it did all night, familiar enough now that your body doesn’t tense at the contact.

You ease his arm away carefully, inch by inch, slow enough not to disturb him. He shifts once, a low sound in his throat, but doesn’t wake.

You sit up quietly and swing your legs off the bed, pausing when the floor creaks under your weight. You glance back at him instinctively.

He doesn’t move.

You let out a slow breath and gather your things, moving with the same practiced care you use when slipping out of camp early. Boots in hand. Jacket folded over your arm.

Before you leave, you hesitate.

Arthur lies on his back now, face turned toward where you’d been. His expression is relaxed in a way you’ve never seen it during the day — unguarded, almost soft.

You don’t touch him.

You don’t say anything.

You just take one last look, then cross the cabin quietly and slip out the back door instead of the front.

The morning air is cold against your skin. Camp is already stirring — distant voices, the clink of metal, the low sound of horses being fed. You keep to the edge of things, moving around the back of the cabins where fewer eyes wander.

No one stops you.

No one notices where you came from.

By the time Arthur wakes, you’re already back at your bedroll, boots on, hands busy like nothing unusual happened.

He steps out of his cabin a little later than usual, stretching his shoulders, scanning camp without meaning to. His eyes find you almost immediately.

Just for a second.

That’s all it takes.

There’s no look exchanged. No acknowledgment. Just a quiet understanding that sits between you like something carefully placed and deliberately left untouched.

Arthur looks away first.

You do the same.

The day goes on.

But when night comes again, the quiet feels different.

And both of you notice.

~

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9(fin)

[firesidehaven]

Don't Touch

(Arthur Morgan x Reader)

pull up a log

Wanted to post something sweet after having a rough day.

A little flower crown shenanigans with Arthur seems like the perfect escape.

— 🔥

Don't Touch

Arthur knows something’s up the moment Jack runs past him laughing like he’s stolen something.

“Jack—” Arthur starts.

Too late.

You’re sitting in the grass a little ways from camp, legs folded, hands full of wildflowers. Jack drops down beside you, already reaching for another handful, tongue poking out in concentration.

“What’re you two up to?” Arthur asks, wary.

Jack beams. “Flower crowns!”

Arthur stops short. “…Flower crowns.”

You glance up at him, smiling far too innocently. “You wanna help?”

“No,” Arthur says immediately. “I do not.”

Jack giggles.

You and Jack Marston work quietly for a while, weaving flowers together with careful hands. Jack makes his lopsided and proud, holding it up like a treasure. You finish yours next — neat, soft, a little crooked in a way that feels charming rather than wrong.

Then you start on the third.

Arthur watches from where he’s leaned against a wagon, arms crossed. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t interrupt. Just… watches.

When you stand and approach him, crown in hand, he raises a brow. “Now hold on.”

You grin. “It’s not goin’ on your head.”

“That’s not reassurin’.”

You step closer anyway. Arthur sighs dramatically but stays put. You lift his hat just enough to settle the crown around the base, tucking the flowers neatly against the brim before setting the hat back down.

“There,” you say, satisfied. “Matches mine.”

Arthur looks down, then up at you. “You're not serious.”

Jack laughs. “You look nice, Uncle Arthur!”

Arthur groans. “I do not.”

You tilt your head, admiring your work. “You kinda do.”

He reaches up like he’s about to pull the hat off — then stops. Hesitates. Slowly lowers his hand.

“…This better come off before anyone sees me,” he mutters.

But he doesn’t remove it.

Later, when Javier whistles and Sean reaches out with extended fingers, Arthur scowls at them both.

“Touch my hat,” he warns, deadly calm, “and I’ll break your fingers.”

Sean blinks. “I didn’t even—”

Arthur adjusts his hat, careful not to disturb the flowers. He doesn’t look at you when he says, “Mind your business.”

But when you catch his eye, he’s smiling.

And he doesn’t take the crown off all day.