a longing to connect to another soul on a level that words can't touch.
nana/lina she/her twenty writer into rdr at the moment infj february 27 i love arthur morgan dutch van der linde sadie adler molly o'shea john price joel miller sylus lara croft charlie emily lana del rey sabrina carpenter ariana grande chappell roan moroccan tea winter the color green ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ
masterlists :
arthur morgan masterlist
john price masterlist
more characters to come!
tags to navigate my blog : nana writes ᯓ★ for my writings , nana reads ₊⊹ for fic recommendations, nana chats ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ for inbox & reblog replies , & nana rambles ⭑.ᐟ for literally anything else
check the tags below and click on the one you want to see ꩜ .ᐟ (tags not working yet!)
angel startin a reblog game on a saturday?! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ reblog with nine of your f/os/faves !! let's see if there is a trending type hehehe
very shyly tagging some mooties :3 no pressure !! @heiayen @sincerelyhunnybee @carminechrollo @yaminohimeyume @dewberrydusk @hikentomori n whoever wants to join !!
thank you so much for thinking of me sarah!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ here are a few of my all time faves :
no pressure tags ♡ : @dolliecowboys @stupidgaynerd @hlukaaaa @thundermartini @morganbelles (literally anybody who comes across this and wants to do it ♡)
is it just me or does my brain develop a sudden, urgent commitment to writing exactly when exams are near and work needs more shifts, like yes perfect, let’s add “create a masterpiece” to the already collapsing schedule
this must be sorcery because why the hell did my brain only pick rn as midterms are coming to get obsessed with a fic idea???? where were you before when i had nothing urgent to do????
summary : it felt like sadness was an inherent part of you; a sickness that would poison you forever. and in times where that burden felt too suffocating to bear, only one person could be your remedy; his name was charles smith.
tags : hurt/comfort, angst, allusion to reader having depression, (metaphorical) allusion to suic!de, charles comforts reader, overflowery prose but english isn't my first language
wc : ~1k
a/n : well hello! (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝* i know, i have been on and off, here and there, i thought of leaving forever and disappearing (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟) but ... i still have stories to write and share, and i don't want this to end just yet no matter how much my mind screams for me to do! anyway, i couldn't resist not writing for charles, i love him sooooo ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) i did let my inner shakespeare out with this one hehe and after months of ruminating on it, i finally feel like it's perfect. it's everything i wanted it to be, and i'm super proud of it!!! so i hope my fellow charles enjoyers will like it just as much as i liked writing it (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
it had happened again.
it was one of those days where you dreaded getting out of the comfort of your bed— however uncomfortable it actually is.
it was one of those days where the sun just felt too damn bright, and the world was too damn loud, but not loud enough to quell the pandemonium within you— tangled thoughts, a commotion of complete confusion, yet never blurry enough not to keep feeding you poison, an opium your mind was helplessly intoxicated to; thriving on it as if it wouldn't ultimately be the cause of your undoing.
and how you wish you could come undone and put an end to it all: your suffering, and that of others because of you. yet, you never felt the audacity, the courage, the bravery to stop; you had gotten too used to the continuous chaos, so much so, that it felt perplexing to admit that eternal silence terrified you even more.
and when days like these occured— which happened more often than not—, only one person managed to soothe your unrest and quiet your mind, without making the absence of thoughts feel just as uncomfortable as the abundant presence of them.
charles smith.
it often puzzled you; that simply being in the man's vicinity managed to appease you, no words uttered, plunging you in that kind of stillness that mollified your nerves, instead of heightening them.
a beacon of light amidst the fog, that's what he was. guiding you through the maze without even doing anything grand. his simple gestures managed to reach you far more than any extravagant display.
because, in times like these, you didn't need sugar-coated words filled with optimism that, even though coming from good intentions, only served to exacerbate your state even more. you didn't want to be pitied— you did it enough for yourself— and at this point, wanting to be understood felt like asking for the moon.
you just wanted to be seen. to feel like you mattered. for someone to ackowledge you were a person, despite the cruel thoughts that swarmed every bit of your mind, and the ever-present sorrow that ran in your veins.
and he somehow managed to do just that.
most said you were being too dramatic; the world was harsh on everyone and there was no reason for it to be harsher on you specifically.
but he never judged, he never complained. he simply obliged everytime you needed solace, never doing more than what you ask of him.
charles was that pile of hard rocks on shore that would keep the crashing waves of the tempestuous sea of your thoughts from pulling you again into that all-too familiar gloomy abyss, a dreaded place he has also found himself dragged into countless times. and yet, it doesn't scare him to stand by your side. at least, it doesn't seem like it. he felt strong, and sturdy. reliable, and completely unphazed, like the surface of a water body that would only ripple graciously when disturbed, no matter what you throw at it. and maybe that's enough for you to believe you can make it out.
so when he comes back from hunting at night, and sees your exhausted form stumble inside his tent... he just knows, wordlessly. you didn't have to explain; not like you would know how. one look on you and he had it figured out, beckoning you closer with a wave of his hand.
one moment you were on the verge of crying and the next, you felt a warmth so wonderful surround you, akin to the sun embracing your shivering form on a cold winter day.
he held you like one would an antique— with utmost delicacy, afraid to break you in half if he held on too tight, or to accidentally drop you if he held on too light. and you remembered it had pleasantly surprised you in the beginning; that hands which begrudgingly grew numb from labor and violence could still be fluent in the language of tender acts at all.
you allow yourself to fall down the cliff of sadness to sink into a sea of self-pity and something worse, something profoundly more than fleeting sadness, something wretched and utterly cursed about you. you've always felt it, you've always known; that somebody drawn to sadder things had little hope to caress even the slightest hints of felicity.
but the moment you brace yourself for the descent, tripping, expecting the coldness of the ocean of blues to engulf you, something holds you back, keeps you safe and out of reach. a safety net, protecting you, allowing you to peer at the abyss underneath but never to come in contact.
it's him, and it could only be him.
he doesn't rush you, he never does. he doesn't string words of comfort together in a haste, as so many do because they deem the display of emotions so intense to be a disconcerting inconvenience they must avoid and cover up with awkward phrasings of how 'it will get better someday' and that 'this happens to everyone'.
it almost seems like he's effectively with you, navigating the storm alongside you, and not a simple bystander affected by your state out of mere sympathy.
he isn't scared of dipping his toes in the water, he isn't scared of getting dirty in the process of calming the maelstrom and its merciless attempts to pull you in. he was your bravery when yours lacked, your resilience when yours wavered.
and when the storm calms and the clouds subside, you feel gentle fingers wipe away the remainders of it on your face.
a soft whisper reaches you.
i've got you.
your smile was wobbly.
your heart, already so overwhelmed, feels even fuller now... but in a good way. in all the right ways.
and for some reason, his words, his acts... he was the closest thing you've ever got to salvation.
a/n 2 : i also recently turned 20! man i feel old (ᵕ—ᴗ—) anyway, thank you so much for reading and until next time!!! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
summary : it felt like sadness was an inherent part of you; a sickness that would poison you forever. and in times where that burden felt too suffocating to bear, only one person could be your remedy; his name was charles smith.
tags : hurt/comfort, angst, allusion to reader having depression, (metaphorical) allusion to suic!de, charles comforts reader, overflowery prose but english isn't my first language
wc : ~1k
a/n : well hello! (๑'ᵕ'๑)⸝* i know, i have been on and off, here and there, i thought of leaving forever and disappearing (｡ᵕ ◞ _◟) but ... i still have stories to write and share, and i don't want this to end just yet no matter how much my mind screams for me to do! anyway, i couldn't resist not writing for charles, i love him sooooo ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡) i did let my inner shakespeare out with this one hehe and after months of ruminating on it, i finally feel like it's perfect. it's everything i wanted it to be, and i'm super proud of it!!! so i hope my fellow charles enjoyers will like it just as much as i liked writing it (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
it had happened again.
it was one of those days where you dreaded getting out of the comfort of your bed— however uncomfortable it actually is.
it was one of those days where the sun just felt too damn bright, and the world was too damn loud, but not loud enough to quell the pandemonium within you— tangled thoughts, a commotion of complete confusion, yet never blurry enough not to keep feeding you poison, an opium your mind was helplessly intoxicated to; thriving on it as if it wouldn't ultimately be the cause of your undoing.
and how you wish you could come undone and put an end to it all: your suffering, and that of others because of you. yet, you never felt the audacity, the courage, the bravery to stop; you had gotten too used to the continuous chaos, so much so, that it felt perplexing to admit that eternal silence terrified you even more.
and when days like these occured— which happened more often than not—, only one person managed to soothe your unrest and quiet your mind, without making the absence of thoughts feel just as uncomfortable as the abundant presence of them.
charles smith.
it often puzzled you; that simply being in the man's vicinity managed to appease you, no words uttered, plunging you in that kind of stillness that mollified your nerves, instead of heightening them.
a beacon of light amidst the fog, that's what he was. guiding you through the maze without even doing anything grand. his simple gestures managed to reach you far more than any extravagant display.
because, in times like these, you didn't need sugar-coated words filled with optimism that, even though coming from good intentions, only served to exacerbate your state even more. you didn't want to be pitied— you did it enough for yourself— and at this point, wanting to be understood felt like asking for the moon.
you just wanted to be seen. to feel like you mattered. for someone to acknowledge you were a person, despite the cruel thoughts that swarmed every bit of your mind, and the ever-present sorrow that ran in your veins.
and he somehow managed to do just that.
most said you were being too dramatic; the world was harsh on everyone and there was no reason for it to be harsher on you specifically.
but he never judged, he never complained. he simply obliged everytime you needed solace, never doing more than what you ask of him.
charles was that pile of hard rocks on shore that would keep the crashing waves of the tempestuous sea of your thoughts from pulling you again into that all-too familiar gloomy abyss, a dreaded place he has also found himself dragged into countless times. and yet, it doesn't scare him to stand by your side. at least, it doesn't seem like it. he felt strong, and sturdy. reliable, and completely unphazed, like the surface of a water body that would only ripple graciously when disturbed, no matter what you throw at it. and maybe that's enough for you to believe you can make it out.
so when he comes back from hunting at night, and sees your exhausted form stumble inside his tent... he just knows, wordlessly. you didn't have to explain; not like you would know how. one look on you and he had it figured out, beckoning you closer with a wave of his hand.
one moment you were on the verge of crying and the next, you felt a warmth so wonderful surround you, akin to the sun embracing your shivering form on a cold winter day.
he held you like one would an antique— with utmost delicacy, afraid to break you in half if he held on too tight, or to accidentally drop you if he held on too light. and you remembered it had pleasantly surprised you in the beginning; that hands which begrudgingly grew numb from labor and violence could still be fluent in the language of tender acts at all.
you allow yourself to fall down the cliff of sadness to sink into a sea of self-pity and something worse, something profoundly more than fleeting sadness, something wretched and utterly cursed about you. you've always felt it, you've always known; that somebody drawn to sadder things had little hope to caress even the slightest hints of felicity.
but the moment you brace yourself for the descent, tripping, expecting the coldness of the ocean of blues to engulf you, something holds you back, keeps you safe and out of reach. a safety net, protecting you, allowing you to peer at the abyss underneath but never to come in contact.
it's him, and it could only be him.
he doesn't rush you, he never does. he doesn't string words of comfort together in a haste, as so many do because they deem the display of emotions so intense to be a disconcerting inconvenience they must avoid and cover up with awkward phrasings of how 'it will get better someday' and that 'this happens to everyone'.
it almost seems like he's effectively with you, navigating the storm alongside you, and not a simple bystander affected by your state out of mere sympathy.
he isn't scared of dipping his toes in the water, he isn't scared of getting dirty in the process of calming the maelstrom and its merciless attempts to pull you in. he was your bravery when yours lacked, your resilience when yours wavered.
and when the storm calms and the clouds subside, you feel gentle fingers wipe away the remainders of it on your face.
a soft whisper reaches you.
i've got you.
your smile was wobbly.
your heart, already so overwhelmed, feels even fuller now... but in a good way. in all the right ways.
and for some reason, his words, his acts... he was the closest thing you've ever got to salvation.
a/n 2 : i also recently turned 20! man i feel old (ᵕ—ᴗ—) anyway, thank you so much for reading and until next time!!! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧
man and here i thought this was over, turns out it can get even worse... why can't this be a silly little hobby that i do for fun, why does my stupidly insecure self have to make me feel like i don't belong wherever i go, that i don't have a place anywhere i try to be in, why do i feel the soul-crushing urge to vanish without leaving a single trace, why why why
★ SLIP N ❜ SLIDE
note ➴ more modern morgan filth 🫧♡ piv sex warning, dom / sub dynamics. smut under the cut
arthur only gets one day off a week. his favourite, and yours, a dedicated 24 hours to spend alongside his sweet little wife. sunday happens to be the spot in the calendar most often encircled with pink glitter gel pen, i's dotted with love hearts. mostly, he prefers the lazier ones. the sundays encompassed of all your endearing habits; how you wake first, always with a mug of piping black coffee cradled in your clasp for him, rounding the corner of the bed to kiss his cheek.
when you ask him if he slept alright, if he had good dreams? nuzzling his temple, all kittenish, cushioned over his firm lap like you always belonged there. not quite the same to a tango or a waltz, softer and slowed, but routine all the same. he's sure he must have lumbered into that old, shabby diner you used to work at on a sunday, the luckiest day. a serendipitous stumbling into you, skipping into his life with a spring in your step, so sweet you could put an overripe peach to shame.
you've ruined him. if arthur shifts the water pressure down a notch, he can faintly hear you tinkering about in the two-tone kitchen. heard the mumble of your wedding song beneath your breath before he bounded up to the bathroom. lathered up your scented soap bar, only to be assaulted with aroma of his wife; how you smell when you slip into the sheets at night, fresh out of the bath, and interlace your fingers with his. perfumed up like a damn flower field.
something so insignificant but so intimate, the washcloth long discarded at the bottom of the shower in favour of fisting his aching cock. and shit, it's wrong, he thinks — he a little feels gross, getting off while you labour downstairs, all oblivious to it. his eyebrows furrow, the thought of you devotedly whipping up breakfast for him only intensifying his impending orgasm. his clipped grunts swirl with steam, pre-cum oozing over his knuckles.
the soft click of the latch snaps arthur's misty reverie in two. honeyed sunlight spills through the crack in the door, your melodic tone ricocheting off rows of humid tile. “honey, did you want pancakes or —”
arthur stills for a second, your frame shedding a faint tenebrosity over the bathmat. he hears you choke over your sentence, startled, sending a sharp jerk straight to his dick.
your tummy twists at the sight before you, plump lips parting in a pitchy gasp. he stands, one hand braced against the shower screen, the other still lazily pumping his shaft in slow strokes. droplets trickling off the tawny tresses near his forehead, cheeks flushed hotter than the regular roseate from balmy steam.
almost casually, he simply asks. “you busy?”
his sightline shifts to watch your fidgety digits curl over the apron hem, accidentally hiking it up your thighs further and further. a couple inches from your cunt. it's cruel. you don't even know what you do to him.
“i-” you stammer, shy and shrinking, brains swapped out for cotton candy. “i was making you breakfast.” lashes fluttering as you struggle between looking, or not looking. ironic, considering the telltale ring of his teeth marks peeking out from above your nightdress.
he shudders a heavy groan, squeezing the base of his cock. “can it wait, sweetheart?”
a twinge of arousal blooms between your thighs as soon the shame from stumbling in subsides. you could have knocked, but now you're glad you didn't.
you breathe back a needy, one-word reply. “yeah.”
fumbling with apron strings and bunched-up satin, arthur gapes at the bounce of your tits as you tug the confines of your minimal clothes away. the barrier is crossed in a blur, pearly fog muddling your combined, disorderly movements. he swings the sweated glass aside with little care, thick arm abruptly anchoring you to his wet front.
a soft squeak sounds out from you when the stiff weight of his cock slaps at your tummy, pre-cum staining your skin. silently, he lifts you, the veins in his wrists flexing as he presses you you firm against cool, powder-blue tile. your perked nipples rub against his broad, fuzzed chest, fingers groping to interlace over his neck for security.
“arthur,” you whine with each tortuous pass of his throbbing cock between your cunt, barely-there friction making your hole flutter impatiently. “hurry up.”
hot water cascades across your back in dotted kisses, he melds his mouth over yours sloppily. he tastes bitter, sucking at your tongue with traces of tobacco and coffee grounds, but you moan anyways. stubble scratches at your chin, your cheeks.
“don't wanna hurt you none, sugar.” he hums, trailing his tongue over your bottom lip. two heavy hands cup your upper thighs, squeezing, grabbing greedy handfuls. calluses, earned from hot days of hard labour just for you, scrape at your bare skin. “was all sore last time we —”
“don't tease me,” you cut him off in a watery whimper, loosening one of your arms from the tie around his neck to dip down, lower. “you won't,” with two fingers, you split your glossy cunt open in a v-shape, showing him the sticky strings of arousal clinging to your puffy folds. “please? please?”
the tangible frustration in your tone, the warning of sheeny tears on your waterline, decays his resolve. you always ask so pretty, so polite. he stops slowly circling his thumb over the fading bite mark on your thigh, moving to tap his swelled cockhead over your clit. “got you this worked up huh? ain't you cute.”
you clumsily latch your grip around the curve of his bicep, soap suds sliding under your hold. he teases a little longer, dragging his cock down through your heat all too slow.
“relax f'me, sweetheart,” arthur nudges his wet forehead with yours, fat tip dilating your drooling entrance open. his voice, disarming in nature and so smoothly familiar, wills you to take in a long inhale. “i got you — yeah, i know what you need.”
“big stretch.”
you know you'll be paying the price with a sensitive, sore hole tomorrow; the sharp sting works a strangled, pitchy moan from your throat, wet squelch mingling with the dull babble of the showerhead as soon as he bottoms out.
he hisses at the soft vice of your cunt, hot pressure already hiking up with a couple of passive thrusts. arthur allows you a minute to adjust, cooing something sweet and something dirty while you mewl at the feel of him splitting you wide open.
“there's a girl,” he rumbles, rolling his hips, abusing that little sweet spot against your tight walls.
“harder,” you whimper back, wet inner thighs twitching around his waist. your head ticks down to watch the slow pull of him, in and out, your glossy fluids already staining his shaft and happy trail. “go harder, please?”
he pulls back an inch to study your face; flushed, brows pulled together, lips primed up in the prettiest pout for him. puffy clit pulsing, all blissed out. and desperate, just the way he likes.
he kisses the corner of your jaw, delicate, grinding a slow circle into your sticky pelvis. “hold on tight.”
arthur's restraint splinters. his hips rut upwards, hard, tip pressing rough against your cervix. the force of his thrusts send you further up the tile, obnoxious squeaks resonating from your fingertips over the shower screen. you sound out the first syllable of his name, calves trembling with each bounce.
“look at'chu,” he bares his canines over your throat, the sequence of pitchy whines you cry making him blow out a low grunt, clearly pleased. your pulse thrums breakneck beneath his teeth. “sweetest little thing.”
but all the bite, the fight, dies down as soon as you clamp your cunt tight around his length, making his chest constrict.
you pant pathetically, wound-up from his relentless doting and brain all fuzzy, hands scrambling at the muscles rippling in his back. “gonna — arthur, arthur, i'm gonna —”
“already? shit,” he mocks you just in the slightest, though it lacks any real malice. “c'mon, show me. show me, baby.” you match his brutal jackhammering with sloppy little rocks of your hips, spilling slick on the seam of his balls as warmth washes over your tummy. your jaw falls open over the thick of his freckled shoulder, muffled whining pressed into tanned skin.
his teeth grind together at the feel of your cunt clamping down, milking him, already loosened up long before you wandered into the bathroom. you so pliant and perfect, ditzy from your creamy release, he follows right after — unloading hot, stuffing stickiness into your fucked-out hole, spilling out at the base of his cock. the water does little to drown out his husky grunts.
arthur readjusts you against the tile, peppering long, lazy kisses to your damp hairline, spend still steadily dribbling out from your sexes. he's gentle, like he didn't just take you like his personal fuckdoll, mumbling soft shushes at you.
the jostle of his cock still buried deep in your cunt elicits another high whine from you, over-sensitive, craning your neck up needily for a kiss. he obliges, groaning against your wet tongue, then moving to nuzzle his cheek into your temple. a wordless little thank you for the sunday stress relief. the shower stream dilutes down to a lukewarm temperature, growing frosty, the flow shooting shudders into your ribcage.
weakly, you start stringing out a soft sentence, chest undulating fast up against his. “waffles, or pancakes?”
he chuckles lowly into the damp coils of your hair, bracketing your weight on one arm, leaning over to twist the gleaming tap shut. “mm, pancakes. you always make 'em real good.”
MY SWEET BAMBI. how do you do this? how do you manage to write the filthiest smut with the sweetest, most perfect choice of words 😵💫 i've always loved your writing style precisely for that, because you always manage to capture the sweet side of things, even if they're downright sinful 🤭
i've loved so many parts of this one that i can't even choose what to put on here !!! if i could i'd actually paste the whole thing again hehe.
when you ask him if he slept alright, if he had good dreams? nuzzling his temple, all kittenish, cushioned over his firm lap like you always belonged there. not quite the same to a tango or a waltz, softer and slowed, but routine all the same. he's sure he must have lumbered into that old, shabby diner you used to work at on a sunday, the luckiest day. a serendipitous stumbling into you, skipping into his life with a spring in your step, so sweet you could put an overripe peach to shame.
i really love your word choice here and overall what really striked me in this fic is the pacing of sentences, it feels very natural and just perfect for what you're describing ♡
you've ruined him. if arthur shifts the water pressure down a notch, he can faintly hear you tinkering about in the two-tone kitchen. heard the mumble of your wedding song beneath your breath before he bounded up to the bathroom. lathered up your scented soap bar, only to be assaulted with aroma of his wife; how you smell when you slip into the sheets at night, fresh out of the bath, and interlace your fingers with his. perfumed up like a damn flower field.
these domestic little things you incorporate like this always make me melt 😵💫😵💫
nsfw under the cut :
fumbling with apron strings and bunched-up satin, arthur gapes at the bounce of your tits as you tug the confines of your minimal clothes away. the barrier is crossed in a blur, pearly fog muddling your combined, disorderly movements. he swings the sweated glass aside with little care, thick arm abruptly anchoring you to his wet front.
when i talked about the sentence pacing this is what i mean!!! likeeeee. maybe i'm reading too much into it but !! i love how i can really feel the smoothness of this moment right here with how the sentences are organized, maybe i'm looking into it too much but i love it i hope that makes sense 😵💫
also the dialogue!! another part i've loved about this piece. the petnames !!! the dialogue felt really smooth and just right, very natural and the way you ended the fic was such a nice round back to the beginning 🥺
anyway! i feel like i said too much but can you tell i really love it 😵💫 im happy that i finally worked up the motivation to put aside my own turmoil and start reading your works my lovely bambi ♡ i'll continue with a bit more reblogs a little later i feel like the people at the library are staring at me going crazy over this 🥴 also!! im proud of you for working the courage to post these smut oneshots!!
summary : you've always been the type to keep to yourself and isolate whenever you were feeling down, even from your lover, arthur. but he couldn't just stand by as you drifted far away from him more and more.
wc : 4.3k
tags : hurt/comfort, angst, fluff at the end, reader puts everyone before herself, reader is avoidant, reader has mood swings, arthur comforts reader, i hope i tagged everything?
a/n : this one is hard to share because it's a bit more personal & self-indulgent... but eh it'd be better to post it than to let it sit in my drafts forever,,, still not entirely ready to be active again even w exams over and what not, tumblr has been draining me a lot :( anyway enjoy <3
it had been a week. a whole week where you didn't spare anyone a glance. it seemed like your inner turmoil had eventually caught up to you. it always does; you had simply hoped you had fought it back for a bit longer than this. but it seems like you were wrong.
it had been a week of you trying to seclude yourself from the world. you did get the occasional concerned question that you dismissed with a polite smile. and you always heaved out a sigh of relief when they wouldn't insist because, one more 'are you alright?' and you were going to melt into tears.
you had to stay strong, because that's what others saw you as. it's what others know you by. what would they think if they saw you falter for a moment? you, who had always managed to pick everyone up no matter how far down the rabbit hole of despair they've fallen into.
it was in your nature to care, and to feel everything very deeply. you had been blessed with the gift of empathy. yet, you never allowed any for yourself, whether from you, or from others. at times, it felt like it fed into your strength: you didn't need to rely on anybody— or so you liked to believe. because, if you really had no issue with that, then why did you feel resentment, when you were the one who deliberately gave too much? who refused to receive anything in return? it was unfortunately part of the many things that made you feel like a walking paradox.
it had been seven days of you isolating yourself from the loud outside world, yet for arthur it felt like an eternity.
he understood your need for personal space— he respected it, and it's the very reason why he's forced himself to wait this long before deciding to spring into action.
you were always so self-reliant, and really, he admired that about you. but not when it drove you so far away from him.
it wasn't the first time this happened; he knew about your unpredictable melancholia attacks, where it felt like the sky had fallen on the earth and that only you had come to realize it. sadness wasn't an emotion too foreign for him, he had his fair share of morose episodes. and you, as nurturing as you are, had carried him through a whole lot of them. yet, he always found himself unable to do the same for you. in fact, it seemed like nobody could.
moreover, it never usually lasted this long, you were normally back to your usual self in no time, which never really allowed him to properly ponder on how to proceed when you do get into this state.
and even after a whole week, he still wasn't too sure of what to do. but if he was certain of one thing, it's that he had to try. because he couldn't simply watch helplessly as the light of his life slowly dimmed more and more with the passing days. could he even call himself your lover if he just idly stood by?
that is why he had divided a plan. a simple but hopefully effective one: convince you to come get some coffee with him in the morning— because, yes, your seclusion also included halting your little morning ritual for the time being— and then, get you to open up to him. to tell him everything he has been unable to conjecture from the way you've been behaving with him.
that's precisely why after making sure coffee was ready just like how you prefered it to be, he made a beeline straight for your shared tent.
he swiftly moves under the flaps you had pulled down in hopes of further immersing yourself in the darkness of your isolation. he found you tidying around your joint space which, quite frankly, didn't need to be that tidy in arthur's opinion, as he found comfort in the messy, communal aspect of the place, but, you do you.
seeing as you hadn't noticed him yet, he clears his throat and greets you, still lingering around the entrance, like he was ready to flee if things somehow managed to go south. after all, you did get quite moody during these times and unpredictably so.
"hiya darlin'."
you turn around and cast a glance on arthur. it was the first time he had gotten a proper look into your eyes in days, and he felt remorse mercilessly sinking its sharp claws into his already aching heart. because he didn't know that your eyes could get so lifeless.
you mumble out a response before turning around again, cleaning up god knows what.
"hi arthur."
arthur. not 'honey', or 'my love'. or 'mister morgan' to tease him like you always loved to do. just... arthur. he couldn't lie that he always adored hearing you pronounce his name, but now, it felt like you only used it to put more distance between the two of you, driving a wedge.
he fiddles with his hat for a bit before tossing it onto a nearby crate. what was he supposed to say now? how should he go about this? you were right here, in front of him. your body was so close, within arm's reach, but somehow, you felt so far away.
he clears his throat as he leans against a tent pole, watching as you occupied yourself with some clothes that needed folding.
"um", he attempts, "coffee's ready by the way."
"already grabbed one." your words came out colder than you had intended.
nevertheless, it was a lie; you simply didn't want to spend time with him because avoiding everyone else is what you did when you were feeling down, unable to be yourself. or at least, the self the others know. the self the others are used to. the self the others 'love'.
it took him a few seconds to reply, completely dumbfounded by your quick response.
"oh. i... i see."
arthur's mind tiptoed as he thought of what could possibly explain the rain cloud above your head. he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to earn your silent treatment, and if it were, it wouldn't last so long; you would usually spare him the torture of your pitiless sulking when he'd hold you close at night, murmuring the softest of apologies to appease you. this was something else entirely.
he comes up behind you and pulls you back against him in a gentle embrace, one that allowed you to pull away if need be.
"i've missed you." he murmurs against your ear.
and pull away you do.
"arthur... i'm a little busy right now."
god, since when was folding laundry this entertaining?
yet he backs away and helplessly watches as the perfectly folded clothes' pile only kept growing.
"... okay."
it felt like you had successfully managed to build a fortress of ice around you, freezing anybody who dared trespass. even him. even him.
his plan had failed, miserably. not that he was expecting an easy surrender from you: you were tough to crack, hard to read, locking your emotions behind a wall of verglas, so thick and foggy it could not allow anybody to make out the tiniest bit of what was hidden on the other side.
but he had to try, to muster the most warmth he could to attempt to melt down your cage.
"you... you doin' alright? it's just...", he falters. "you've been like this for days and i... i'm getting worried."
you shrugged. "no need."
"clearly there's a need." he huffs. "you know y'can talk t'me about it right?"
"again, no need."
he grabs your forearm, to stop you from tending to the damn laundry when he was right here, trying, patiently. he easily turned you around to face him, getting increasingly frustrated at your dismissive demeanor.
"____, quit that. look me in the eye and tell me you're fine."
and the moment you do lock eyes with him, you couldn't help the tears that filled them, reflecting the little sun rays that the closed flaps allowed inside. arthur adored when your eyes shined, just never when they did so because of tears.
you feel his warm hand envelop your cheek and you curse yourself and your avoidant tendencies for forbidding you from enjoying the feeling of his touch for days on end.
you cave in and lean against it, closing your eyes and allowing a few tears to escape them, like a dam that finally broke free from the building pressure.
you had missed him too, truly, you did. and you wanted to tell him everything— so why couldn't you?
he pulls you closer, surrounding you with the familiar smell of leather, cigarettes and sweat that you had grown to love over time. his free hand gently ran up and down your side.
his voice softens, like he was afraid that if he spoke a teeny bit louder, he would scare you off and lose all the progress he had made with you until now. good thing he had quite the experience with taming wild horses.
"sweetpea... why don't you ever tell me about stuff like this? i'm here for you, y'know?"
he allows you to take your time, to let you sob and weep against him as he held you steady, and his heart broke just a bit more when it seemed like you tried to muffle your sounds, as if you didn't trust yourself to fully surrender to your emotions, afraid they would consume you whole.
"i'm sorry", you manage after calming down thanks to his touch, "but it's... complicated."
you think i wouldn't understand...
"try me."
"i said try."
you look up at him with a gaze that said no, you don't have to. "arthur..."
he pulls you away just a little to get a proper look at you, wiping the remainders of your crying with his thumb.
he watched how your mouth opened and closed, how your lips quivered and yet, came no word at all.
it felt strange. that when it was about anyone else, it seemed like you had a whole speech already on your tongue, patiently waiting for the chance to be heard. you talked of love, passions and emotions in a way that felt innate to you and with such ease, that one might believe you spoke of them as if those feelings were yours.
and yet, they weren't; because the moment it is about your feelings, all that wisdom, all those words, and all that seamless understanding of all things tied to emotions just... disappears. as if it were all a lie.
how strange, arthur thought. that you could be so compassionate with anyone but yourself. as if you had been forbidden from the taste of the very fruit only you had the ability to grow.
your eyes darted from the side to the floor, to him again then repeating that pattern over and over so much and so quickly that it would've caused one to become lightheaded from the motion.
and you were indeed feeling dizzy, because of the thoughts racing through your head uncessantly. your mind had no choice but to jump from a cruel idea to the other. a river stream viciously ushering you towards the nearby waterfall.
arthur took notice of that and gently shook you to snap you out of it.
"that, right there. all of that thinkin' you're doing. i wanna know."
you shake your head frantically. "trust me you don't-"
"darlin'... deep breaths", he squeezes your arm to ground you further, to get you to come back to him and save you from spiraling away from him. "you're okay. you're with me."
you try to match your breathing with his, to make sense of the tangled mess of thoughts inside your head so you could hope to make something out of them. but would he understand? could anyone else do? you barely did yourself.
"arthur i'm... i'm sorry. i don't mean to push you away but i... i have to. i need to."
"but why?"
he sounded so pained, his words uttered in a hushed, yet strained fashion, a reflection of him trying, desperately, to make out a somewhat plausible understanding of the cryptic messages you've been sending him.
and how sweet of him to care all this much about you. but you knew better than he could; you knew you couldn't keep letting him waste his heart away on you. you weren't worth his time. you weren't worth anyone's, for that matter, and you were such a fool for believing that this feeling of inadequacy you've been carrying all your life would die down the moment you would get with arthur.
you shake your head, gripped by a sense of fatality. "you won't understand. hell, even i don't."
"well i don't understand myself most times either. doesn't stop you from trying to."
no, you don't get it. you're... different.
you sigh. "... it's not the same."
"an' why the hell not? why do you always run away when it comes to you?"
his words echo and it feels like time goes still for a few moments.
an eternity of silence ensues. it feels like you're both bracing yourselves for something, anything, holding your breaths, unsure what to expect, but expecting nonetheless.
your shoulders drop as you try to think of a way to counter what he says, but deep down, you knew he was right. you knew it was true. and you have known the answer to that for a long time.
you're worth fretting over, so is everyone else. but i have been born with a curse that allows me to heal others with the power of my gentle chant, that soothes the disarray of even the most hard-headed of men. but when i sing it for my own open wounds, i somehow become deaf to it, as the cries of my heart while it bleeds out, become so unbearably defeaning they forbid me from hearing my song.
arthur bites his tongue and curses himself inwardly: his words had probably come out too harsh, out of frustration, out of a need so dire to know and to understand the one he had pledged his heart to. he didn't mean to raise his voice. he didn't mean to scare you off, to make you flinch. even if you had done so ever so slighty, he had noticed.
and you, who had chosen to read this situation differently, were ready to bet that arthur was about to give up on you right now. this was the most heated he had gotten with you. you were used to his petrifyingly intimidating demeanor with others, that earned him the 'highly dangerous' attribute on his wanted poster. but that was with everyone else.
he wouldn't hurt you, you knew that. you conceded that he had every right to be annoyed, every right to be angry. you hadn't given him much to work with.
so in the end ... you were the one hurting him. to see you so adamant to refuse his albeit sorry attempts of caring about you? arthur had to admit it stung, far more than he would've wanted it to.
though he wasn't about to give up on you. sure, he adored how headstrong you were, even though it was the bane of his existence at the moment. but fortunately, patience is one of the many things he had learnt through you. even though its scope was currently limited to you. but it was... progress, nonetheless.
his fingers find your hair, gently tucking an unruly strand that hid your face from him.
he wanted to see all of you, so let him.
"sweetheart..." his voice had softened considerably, "you always keep... brushing me off like this. pushing me away. waving everyone else off with a smile. i saw it, i did. i just... i never knew. how to ask. how to get you to tell me. y'know me... i ain't good with words, and don't even get me started on... all that 'feelings' crap. but... i can't keep hiding behind that excuse. and you too, can't keep hiding behind yours."
gently, he lifted your face towards him, to make sure you heard him, that you were indeed listening, and letting him get through your fortress of solitude.
"i can't... watch you hurt and trust that 'it'll pass', like you always tell me. what kind of man am i, to leave my girl hurting all on her own?"
you couldn't help but return his smile— although yours was wobbly, as he murmured those last words.
you shake your head. "you're a great lover. for putting up with me and my bullshit all this time."
"oh darlin', i think you mean i'm a terrible one for not helping you through it."
he stays quiet for a moment, mumbling to himself as he gazed at you lovingly. "reassuring me even when you're the one hurting... isn't that so awfully like ya."
he takes your hand in his and gently tugs you to sit down with him on his cot.
"i... i want you to tell me. what this is all about. what's gotten my lovely girl to be this way. why she runs away when i try to show i care and avoids me like i got the damn plague."
you stay quiet for a few moments, trying to gather your emotions so you could attempt to translate them into words.
"i... i've always been like this. i've always cared too much. i've always been inclined to be kind, to listen. to be there for others, because..."
you falter. but arthur's grip on you doesn't. he gives your hand a long squeeze, to let you know he was there; to anchor you, so you don't get too lost in the labyrinth of thoughts in your mind.
"because... the world is already so... harsh. on all of us. everyone's struggling, whether they choose to show that or not. and i... i've always felt it was my duty, my... purpose to help. i've discovered i had an abundance of love and empathy within me. what better to do with it if not to give it away?"
"and why shouldn't you get some of that too?"
the simple thought of that filled your body with a sensation of dread, as if it were physically rejecting the idea that you could be on the receiving end of that sort of care.
"i can't. i don't..."
"you don't deserve it?" he prompts, his gaze never leaving you.
you take a few moments to nod, a bit relieved he said it for you. "yeah. i always thought so."
arthur nods quietly and you feel him turn away from you a little.
"i understand better now. that's why yer always brushing off anybody who gets concerned bout ya."
you didn't miss the slight hint of bitterness to his words and, you knew why. you understood: that he believed he was still not able to gain your trust even if he was your partner. even if it wasn't about trust at all. it was just... something that's always been in you.
"i... don't mean to do it in an ungrateful way", you attempt, "it just feels... like instinct. to avoid letting people get close. and to push everyone away when they try to."
you add. "plus... you already have so much on your shoulders and i would feel bad. adding more onto your plate with my silly mood swings."
he tuts and brings you closer to him by the waist. "there ain't no such thing. i... i wanna be there f'you darlin'. you come before all of what i deal with, y'know that."
he takes a deep breath, tracing idle shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, like he always did whenever he tried to soothe his own nerves.
"listen to me, okay? i... i ain't any good at words but i'll try. for you."
"arthur, you don't have to-"
"ah ah ah. shhhh."
he scans around the room, looking for his satchel and once his eyes land on it, he reluctantly lets you go to search for something in it.
he comes back with a worn leather diary that awfully looks like...
his journal?
he opens it up, skimming through the pages before handing it to you.
you take it hesitantly, not daring to look at it at all, even if he's the one knowingly giving it to you. you always sensed his diary was something very intimate and invaluable for him, and you always made sure not to pry on him too much while he was using it.
"here, um... i wrote this entry a few days ago. 'bout you. y'can... read it."
you... couldn't believe your ears.
just because you've always respected arthur's privacy doesn't mean you didn't secretly want to go through his journal, at least to contemplate the many sketches of the things he thought had a beauty worth getting captured by his controlled pencil strokes. it would let you have a clearer grasp of who he is, of how the gears inside his mind turn, of what he thinks is important, of how he perceives the world around him.
reading one of his entries that he wrote for and about you? that was just icing on the cake.
you gaze at the journal in your hands, at arthur's pretty handwriting, then at the heart surrounding your and his initals at the bottom corner of the entry. you chuckled at that and traced the heart with your index.
though... you couldn't help the guilt that creeped up on you. this... this was the key, the opening, to his psyche, to everything he ever was. it was no easy exploit, to share such sensitive matters with someone, even your partner.
still, you knew arthur would've never allowed you a glimpse into his inner world if he wasn't ready. so you fight back the urge to make sure that he was entirely alright with you reading, and instead, ask something else of him in a surge of sheepish boldness.
"could you perhaps... read it to me?"
you bat your eyelashes at him and watch as his ocean-blue eyes widen for a fraction of seconds before looking away, a hand scratching at the back of his neck.
he huffs out a surprised chuckle. "y'ain't makin' this easy for me, are ya sweetheart..."
he clears his throat and reads albeit awkwardly at first, cheeks reddening further at every word he uttered.
she hasn't been talking much. not over coffee, not before bed. she barely looks me in the eye, just like when we had first met. but even a dumb fool like me knew it wasn't playing coy.
when she does look at me though, i can barely recognize the sun of a woman that always manages to fascinate me, with how much love and affection she carries in that small frame of hers. and it tears me apart to see her lose her light, which could even rival that of all the stars.
she gives endlessly, she loves with an abundance that makes even the worst of sinners believe in god's angels, that she descended all the way from heaven, gracing us all with her very presence.
that woman, her sheer obstinacy is both my bane and my pride; it's as alluring as it is maddening. i've rarely considered myself to be fluent in matters of emotions but, it pains me to feel so powerless. doomed to watch her suffer on her own before she finds herself again through the storm.
what a pair of fools we are. me, for watching helplessly, and her, for choosing a man so ignorant and illiterate on matters of high sensibility.
it should be that easy though, to say how i feel as i write it. and yet, i manage to make myself look more daft every time i open my trap.
i care about her. i love her more than i thought myself capable of. and i need to find a way to pull her back from the abyss before it swallows her whole, or else, i would never be able to live with myself.
his voice shook at times as he read, and was uncharacteristically soft; he was letting you in his headspace, his diary, shedding light on parts of himself that he often hid away, even from you.
he smiles as he feels you quietly lean against his shoulder, and his head settles on top of yours. he followed your fingertips as they traced some doodles he had made on the page next to his entry.
your fingers slow on a drawing of flowers in a bouquet.
"i thought i could bring you flowers, something... anything. just to see you smile. just to remind you i'm here, always."
he puts aside his journal when he feels you shift quietly to sit on his lap, embracing him tightly as your face found itself a home in the crook of his neck.
"i don't deserve you..."
your words make him scoff.
"y'deserve far more than this world can give ya. but i'll always try to get you anything y'want. y'just gotta ask."
he lets his warm hands settle on your back, tenderly caressing your shoulder blades.
"so, what d'you want now, baby? tell me an' i'll do my best. anything."
you felt your eyes water again as he murmured that. though this time, you felt... happy. and seen. basking in the closeness of the man you loved and whom you were sure now loved you back just as much, or even more.
"just... be with me right now. please."
you can feel his smile as his lips pressed a kiss on the top of your head.
"of course."
so, his initial plan didn't fail that badly, after all.
thank you for reading and until next time!! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
im very happy to hear my fic could touch you, it truly means the world (╥﹏╥) i was afraid it might've been too swayed by my own personal experiences but it makes me feel less alone to see other people can relate 🥹
i've been feeling a bit down lately ... but i hope it goes all away soon, thank you for your concern and of course for reading and reblogging 🫶🏻🫶🏻
summary : you've always been the type to keep to yourself and isolate whenever you were feeling down, even from your lover, arthur. but he couldn't just stand by as you drifted far away from him more and more.
wc : 4.3k
tags : hurt/comfort, angst, fluff at the end, reader puts everyone before herself, reader is avoidant, reader has mood swings, arthur comforts reader, i hope i tagged everything?
a/n : this one is hard to share because it's a bit more personal & self-indulgent... but eh it'd be better to post it than to let it sit in my drafts forever,,, still not entirely ready to be active again even w exams over and what not, tumblr has been draining me a lot :( anyway enjoy <3
it had been a week. a whole week where you didn't spare anyone a glance. it seemed like your inner turmoil had eventually caught up to you. it always does; you had simply hoped you had fought it back for a bit longer than this. but it seems like you were wrong.
it had been a week of you trying to seclude yourself from the world. you did get the occasional concerned question that you dismissed with a polite smile. and you always heaved out a sigh of relief when they wouldn't insist because, one more 'are you alright?' and you were going to melt into tears.
you had to stay strong, because that's what others saw you as. it's what others know you by. what would they think if they saw you falter for a moment? you, who had always managed to pick everyone up no matter how far down the rabbit hole of despair they've fallen into.
it was in your nature to care, and to feel everything very deeply. you had been blessed with the gift of empathy. yet, you never allowed any for yourself, whether from you, or from others. at times, it felt like it fed into your strength: you didn't need to rely on anybody— or so you liked to believe. because, if you really had no issue with that, then why did you feel resentment, when you were the one who deliberately gave too much? who refused to receive anything in return? it was unfortunately part of the many things that made you feel like a walking paradox.
it had been seven days of you isolating yourself from the loud outside world, yet for arthur it felt like an eternity.
he understood your need for personal space— he respected it, and it's the very reason why he's forced himself to wait this long before deciding to spring into action.
you were always so self-reliant, and really, he admired that about you. but not when it drove you so far away from him.
it wasn't the first time this happened; he knew about your unpredictable melancholia attacks, where it felt like the sky had fallen on the earth and that only you had come to realize it. sadness wasn't an emotion too foreign for him, he had his fair share of morose episodes. and you, as nurturing as you are, had carried him through a whole lot of them. yet, he always found himself unable to do the same for you. in fact, it seemed like nobody could.
moreover, it never usually lasted this long, you were normally back to your usual self in no time, which never really allowed him to properly ponder on how to proceed when you do get into this state.
and even after a whole week, he still wasn't too sure of what to do. but if he was certain of one thing, it's that he had to try. because he couldn't simply watch helplessly as the light of his life slowly dimmed more and more with the passing days. could he even call himself your lover if he just idly stood by?
that is why he had divided a plan. a simple but hopefully effective one: convince you to come get some coffee with him in the morning— because, yes, your seclusion also included halting your little morning ritual for the time being— and then, get you to open up to him. to tell him everything he has been unable to conjecture from the way you've been behaving with him.
that's precisely why after making sure coffee was ready just like how you prefered it to be, he made a beeline straight for your shared tent.
he swiftly moves under the flaps you had pulled down in hopes of further immersing yourself in the darkness of your isolation. he found you tidying around your joint space which, quite frankly, didn't need to be that tidy in arthur's opinion, as he found comfort in the messy, communal aspect of the place, but, you do you.
seeing as you hadn't noticed him yet, he clears his throat and greets you, still lingering around the entrance, like he was ready to flee if things somehow managed to go south. after all, you did get quite moody during these times and unpredictably so.
"hiya darlin'."
you turn around and cast a glance on arthur. it was the first time he had gotten a proper look into your eyes in days, and he felt remorse mercilessly sinking its sharp claws into his already aching heart. because he didn't know that your eyes could get so lifeless.
you mumble out a response before turning around again, cleaning up god knows what.
"hi arthur."
arthur. not 'honey', or 'my love'. or 'mister morgan' to tease him like you always loved to do. just... arthur. he couldn't lie that he always adored hearing you pronounce his name, but now, it felt like you only used it to put more distance between the two of you, driving a wedge.
he fiddles with his hat for a bit before tossing it onto a nearby crate. what was he supposed to say now? how should he go about this? you were right here, in front of him. your body was so close, within arm's reach, but somehow, you felt so far away.
he clears his throat as he leans against a tent pole, watching as you occupied yourself with some clothes that needed folding.
"um", he attempts, "coffee's ready by the way."
"already grabbed one." your words came out colder than you had intended.
nevertheless, it was a lie; you simply didn't want to spend time with him because avoiding everyone else is what you did when you were feeling down, unable to be yourself. or at least, the self the others know. the self the others are used to. the self the others 'love'.
it took him a few seconds to reply, completely dumbfounded by your quick response.
"oh. i... i see."
arthur's mind tiptoed as he thought of what could possibly explain the rain cloud above your head. he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to earn your silent treatment, and if it were, it wouldn't last so long; you would usually spare him the torture of your pitiless sulking when he'd hold you close at night, murmuring the softest of apologies to appease you. this was something else entirely.
he comes up behind you and pulls you back against him in a gentle embrace, one that allowed you to pull away if need be.
"i've missed you." he murmurs against your ear.
and pull away you do.
"arthur... i'm a little busy right now."
god, since when was folding laundry this entertaining?
yet he backs away and helplessly watches as the perfectly folded clothes' pile only kept growing.
"... okay."
it felt like you had successfully managed to build a fortress of ice around you, freezing anybody who dared trespass. even him. even him.
his plan had failed, miserably. not that he was expecting an easy surrender from you: you were tough to crack, hard to read, locking your emotions behind a wall of verglas, so thick and foggy it could not allow anybody to make out the tiniest bit of what was hidden on the other side.
but he had to try, to muster the most warmth he could to attempt to melt down your cage.
"you... you doin' alright? it's just...", he falters. "you've been like this for days and i... i'm getting worried."
you shrugged. "no need."
"clearly there's a need." he huffs. "you know y'can talk t'me about it right?"
"again, no need."
he grabs your forearm, to stop you from tending to the damn laundry when he was right here, trying, patiently. he easily turned you around to face him, getting increasingly frustrated at your dismissive demeanor.
"____, quit that. look me in the eye and tell me you're fine."
and the moment you do lock eyes with him, you couldn't help the tears that filled them, reflecting the little sun rays that the closed flaps allowed inside. arthur adored when your eyes shined, just never when they did so because of tears.
you feel his warm hand envelop your cheek and you curse yourself and your avoidant tendencies for forbidding you from enjoying the feeling of his touch for days on end.
you cave in and lean against it, closing your eyes and allowing a few tears to escape them, like a dam that finally broke free from the building pressure.
you had missed him too, truly, you did. and you wanted to tell him everything— so why couldn't you?
he pulls you closer, surrounding you with the familiar smell of leather, cigarettes and sweat that you had grown to love over time. his free hand gently ran up and down your side.
his voice softens, like he was afraid that if he spoke a teeny bit louder, he would scare you off and lose all the progress he had made with you until now. good thing he had quite the experience with taming wild horses.
"sweetpea... why don't you ever tell me about stuff like this? i'm here for you, y'know?"
he allows you to take your time, to let you sob and weep against him as he held you steady, and his heart broke just a bit more when it seemed like you tried to muffle your sounds, as if you didn't trust yourself to fully surrender to your emotions, afraid they would consume you whole.
"i'm sorry", you manage after calming down thanks to his touch, "but it's... complicated."
you think i wouldn't understand...
"try me."
"i said try."
you look up at him with a gaze that said no, you don't have to. "arthur..."
he pulls you away just a little to get a proper look at you, wiping the remainders of your crying with his thumb.
he watched how your mouth opened and closed, how your lips quivered and yet, came no word at all.
it felt strange. that when it was about anyone else, it seemed like you had a whole speech already on your tongue, patiently waiting for the chance to be heard. you talked of love, passions and emotions in a way that felt innate to you and with such ease, that one might believe you spoke of them as if those feelings were yours.
and yet, they weren't; because the moment it is about your feelings, all that wisdom, all those words, and all that seamless understanding of all things tied to emotions just... disappears. as if it were all a lie.
how strange, arthur thought. that you could be so compassionate with anyone but yourself. as if you had been forbidden from the taste of the very fruit only you had the ability to grow.
your eyes darted from the side to the floor, to him again then repeating that pattern over and over so much and so quickly that it would've caused one to become lightheaded from the motion.
and you were indeed feeling dizzy, because of the thoughts racing through your head uncessantly. your mind had no choice but to jump from a cruel idea to the other. a river stream viciously ushering you towards the nearby waterfall.
arthur took notice of that and gently shook you to snap you out of it.
"that, right there. all of that thinkin' you're doing. i wanna know."
you shake your head frantically. "trust me you don't-"
"darlin'... deep breaths", he squeezes your arm to ground you further, to get you to come back to him and save you from spiraling away from him. "you're okay. you're with me."
you try to match your breathing with his, to make sense of the tangled mess of thoughts inside your head so you could hope to make something out of them. but would he understand? could anyone else do? you barely did yourself.
"arthur i'm... i'm sorry. i don't mean to push you away but i... i have to. i need to."
"but why?"
he sounded so pained, his words uttered in a hushed, yet strained fashion, a reflection of him trying, desperately, to make out a somewhat plausible understanding of the cryptic messages you've been sending him.
and how sweet of him to care all this much about you. but you knew better than he could; you knew you couldn't keep letting him waste his heart away on you. you weren't worth his time. you weren't worth anyone's, for that matter, and you were such a fool for believing that this feeling of inadequacy you've been carrying all your life would die down the moment you would get with arthur.
you shake your head, gripped by a sense of fatality. "you won't understand. hell, even i don't."
"well i don't understand myself most times either. doesn't stop you from trying to."
no, you don't get it. you're... different.
you sigh. "... it's not the same."
"an' why the hell not? why do you always run away when it comes to you?"
his words echo and it feels like time goes still for a few moments.
an eternity of silence ensues. it feels like you're both bracing yourselves for something, anything, holding your breaths, unsure what to expect, but expecting nonetheless.
your shoulders drop as you try to think of a way to counter what he says, but deep down, you knew he was right. you knew it was true. and you have known the answer to that for a long time.
you're worth fretting over, so is everyone else. but i have been born with a curse that allows me to heal others with the power of my gentle chant, that soothes the disarray of even the most hard-headed of men. but when i sing it for my own open wounds, i somehow become deaf to it, as the cries of my heart while it bleeds out, become so unbearably defeaning they forbid me from hearing my song.
arthur bites his tongue and curses himself inwardly: his words had probably come out too harsh, out of frustration, out of a need so dire to know and to understand the one he had pledged his heart to. he didn't mean to raise his voice. he didn't mean to scare you off, to make you flinch. even if you had done so ever so slighty, he had noticed.
and you, who had chosen to read this situation differently, were ready to bet that arthur was about to give up on you right now. this was the most heated he had gotten with you. you were used to his petrifyingly intimidating demeanor with others, that earned him the 'highly dangerous' attribute on his wanted poster. but that was with everyone else.
he wouldn't hurt you, you knew that. you conceded that he had every right to be annoyed, every right to be angry. you hadn't given him much to work with.
so in the end ... you were the one hurting him. to see you so adamant to refuse his albeit sorry attempts of caring about you? arthur had to admit it stung, far more than he would've wanted it to.
though he wasn't about to give up on you. sure, he adored how headstrong you were, even though it was the bane of his existence at the moment. but fortunately, patience is one of the many things he had learnt through you. even though its scope was currently limited to you. but it was... progress, nonetheless.
his fingers find your hair, gently tucking an unruly strand that hid your face from him.
he wanted to see all of you, so let him.
"sweetheart..." his voice had softened considerably, "you always keep... brushing me off like this. pushing me away. waving everyone else off with a smile. i saw it, i did. i just... i never knew. how to ask. how to get you to tell me. y'know me... i ain't good with words, and don't even get me started on... all that 'feelings' crap. but... i can't keep hiding behind that excuse. and you too, can't keep hiding behind yours."
gently, he lifted your face towards him, to make sure you heard him, that you were indeed listening, and letting him get through your fortress of solitude.
"i can't... watch you hurt and trust that 'it'll pass', like you always tell me. what kind of man am i, to leave my girl hurting all on her own?"
you couldn't help but return his smile— although yours was wobbly, as he murmured those last words.
you shake your head. "you're a great lover. for putting up with me and my bullshit all this time."
"oh darlin', i think you mean i'm a terrible one for not helping you through it."
he stays quiet for a moment, mumbling to himself as he gazed at you lovingly. "reassuring me even when you're the one hurting... isn't that so awfully like ya."
he takes your hand in his and gently tugs you to sit down with him on his cot.
"i... i want you to tell me. what this is all about. what's gotten my lovely girl to be this way. why she runs away when i try to show i care and avoids me like i got the damn plague."
you stay quiet for a few moments, trying to gather your emotions so you could attempt to translate them into words.
"i... i've always been like this. i've always cared too much. i've always been inclined to be kind, to listen. to be there for others, because..."
you falter. but arthur's grip on you doesn't. he gives your hand a long squeeze, to let you know he was there; to anchor you, so you don't get too lost in the labyrinth of thoughts in your mind.
"because... the world is already so... harsh. on all of us. everyone's struggling, whether they choose to show that or not. and i... i've always felt it was my duty, my... purpose to help. i've discovered i had an abundance of love and empathy within me. what better to do with it if not to give it away?"
"and why shouldn't you get some of that too?"
the simple thought of that filled your body with a sensation of dread, as if it were physically rejecting the idea that you could be on the receiving end of that sort of care.
"i can't. i don't..."
"you don't deserve it?" he prompts, his gaze never leaving you.
you take a few moments to nod, a bit relieved he said it for you. "yeah. i always thought so."
arthur nods quietly and you feel him turn away from you a little.
"i understand better now. that's why yer always brushing off anybody who gets concerned bout ya."
you didn't miss the slight hint of bitterness to his words and, you knew why. you understood: that he believed he was still not able to gain your trust even if he was your partner. even if it wasn't about trust at all. it was just... something that's always been in you.
"i... don't mean to do it in an ungrateful way", you attempt, "it just feels... like instinct. to avoid letting people get close. and to push everyone away when they try to."
you add. "plus... you already have so much on your shoulders and i would feel bad. adding more onto your plate with my silly mood swings."
he tuts and brings you closer to him by the waist. "there ain't no such thing. i... i wanna be there f'you darlin'. you come before all of what i deal with, y'know that."
he takes a deep breath, tracing idle shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, like he always did whenever he tried to soothe his own nerves.
"listen to me, okay? i... i ain't any good at words but i'll try. for you."
"arthur, you don't have to-"
"ah ah ah. shhhh."
he scans around the room, looking for his satchel and once his eyes land on it, he reluctantly lets you go to search for something in it.
he comes back with a worn leather diary that awfully looks like...
his journal?
he opens it up, skimming through the pages before handing it to you.
you take it hesitantly, not daring to look at it at all, even if he's the one knowingly giving it to you. you always sensed his diary was something very intimate and invaluable for him, and you always made sure not to pry on him too much while he was using it.
"here, um... i wrote this entry a few days ago. 'bout you. y'can... read it."
you... couldn't believe your ears.
just because you've always respected arthur's privacy doesn't mean you didn't secretly want to go through his journal, at least to contemplate the many sketches of the things he thought had a beauty worth getting captured by his controlled pencil strokes. it would let you have a clearer grasp of who he is, of how the gears inside his mind turn, of what he thinks is important, of how he perceives the world around him.
reading one of his entries that he wrote for and about you? that was just icing on the cake.
you gaze at the journal in your hands, at arthur's pretty handwriting, then at the heart surrounding your and his initals at the bottom corner of the entry. you chuckled at that and traced the heart with your index.
though... you couldn't help the guilt that creeped up on you. this... this was the key, the opening, to his psyche, to everything he ever was. it was no easy exploit, to share such sensitive matters with someone, even your partner.
still, you knew arthur would've never allowed you a glimpse into his inner world if he wasn't ready. so you fight back the urge to make sure that he was entirely alright with you reading, and instead, ask something else of him in a surge of sheepish boldness.
"could you perhaps... read it to me?"
you bat your eyelashes at him and watch as his ocean-blue eyes widen for a fraction of seconds before looking away, a hand scratching at the back of his neck.
he huffs out a surprised chuckle. "y'ain't makin' this easy for me, are ya sweetheart..."
he clears his throat and reads albeit awkwardly at first, cheeks reddening further at every word he uttered.
she hasn't been talking much. not over coffee, not before bed. she barely looks me in the eye, just like when we had first met. but even a dumb fool like me knew it wasn't playing coy.
when she does look at me though, i can barely recognize the sun of a woman that always manages to fascinate me, with how much love and affection she carries in that small frame of hers. and it tears me apart to see her lose her light, which could even rival that of all the stars.
she gives endlessly, she loves with an abundance that makes even the worst of sinners believe in god's angels, that she descended all the way from heaven, gracing us all with her very presence.
that woman, her sheer obstinacy is both my bane and my pride; it's as alluring as it is maddening. i've rarely considered myself to be fluent in matters of emotions but, it pains me to feel so powerless. doomed to watch her suffer on her own before she finds herself again through the storm.
what a pair of fools we are. me, for watching helplessly, and her, for choosing a man so ignorant and illiterate on matters of high sensibility.
it should be that easy though, to say how i feel as i write it. and yet, i manage to make myself look more daft every time i open my trap.
i care about her. i love her more than i thought myself capable of. and i need to find a way to pull her back from the abyss before it swallows her whole, or else, i would never be able to live with myself.
his voice shook at times as he read, and was uncharacteristically soft; he was letting you in his headspace, his diary, shedding light on parts of himself that he often hid away, even from you.
he smiles as he feels you quietly lean against his shoulder, and his head settles on top of yours. he followed your fingertips as they traced some doodles he had made on the page next to his entry.
your fingers slow on a drawing of flowers in a bouquet.
"i thought i could bring you flowers, something... anything. just to see you smile. just to remind you i'm here, always."
he puts aside his journal when he feels you shift quietly to sit on his lap, embracing him tightly as your face found itself a home in the crook of his neck.
"i don't deserve you..."
your words make him scoff.
"y'deserve far more than this world can give ya. but i'll always try to get you anything y'want. y'just gotta ask."
he lets his warm hands settle on your back, tenderly caressing your shoulder blades.
"so, what d'you want now, baby? tell me an' i'll do my best. anything."
you felt your eyes water again as he murmured that. though this time, you felt... happy. and seen. basking in the closeness of the man you loved and whom you were sure now loved you back just as much, or even more.
"just... be with me right now. please."
you can feel his smile as his lips pressed a kiss on the top of your head.
"of course."
so, his initial plan didn't fail that badly, after all.
thank you for reading and until next time!! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
wowww i'm happy to hear this could be relatable, i was afraid my personal experience might've made the fic too subjective ... thank you for reading and reblogging, i'm happy you could feel seen 🥹
ah well i've been feeling a bit down in the dumps lately ... but it's alright, thank you for your concern 🤍
summary : you've always been the type to keep to yourself and isolate whenever you were feeling down, even from your lover, arthur. but he couldn't just stand by as you drifted far away from him more and more.
wc : 4.3k
tags : hurt/comfort, angst, fluff at the end, reader puts everyone before herself, reader is avoidant, reader has mood swings, arthur comforts reader, i hope i tagged everything?
a/n : this one is hard to share because it's a bit more personal & self-indulgent... but eh it'd be better to post it than to let it sit in my drafts forever,,, still not entirely ready to be active again even w exams over and what not, tumblr has been draining me a lot :( anyway enjoy <3
it had been a week. a whole week where you didn't spare anyone a glance. it seemed like your inner turmoil had eventually caught up to you. it always does; you had simply hoped you had fought it back for a bit longer than this. but it seems like you were wrong.
it had been a week of you trying to seclude yourself from the world. you did get the occasional concerned question that you dismissed with a polite smile. and you always heaved out a sigh of relief when they wouldn't insist because, one more 'are you alright?' and you were going to melt into tears.
you had to stay strong, because that's what others saw you as. it's what others know you by. what would they think if they saw you falter for a moment? you, who had always managed to pick everyone up no matter how far down they had fallen in the rabbit hole of despair.
it was in your nature to care, and to feel everything very deeply. you had been blessed with the gift of empathy. yet, you never allowed any for yourself, whether from you, or from others. at times, it felt like it fed into your strength: you didn't need to rely on anybody— or so you liked to believe. because, if you really had no issue with that, then why did you feel resentment, when you were the one who deliberately gave too much? who refused to receive anything in return? it was unfortunately part of the many things that made you feel like a walking paradox.
it had been seven days of you isolating yourself from the loud outside world, yet for arthur it felt like an eternity.
he understood your need for personal space— he respected it, and it's the very reason why he's forced himself to wait this long before deciding to spring into action.
you were always so self-reliant, and really, he admired that about you. but not when it drove you so far away from him.
it wasn't the first time this happened; he knew about your unpredictable melancholia attacks, where it felt like the sky had fallen on the earth and that only you had come to realize it. sadness wasn't an emotion too foreign for him, he had his fair share of morose episodes. and you, as nurturing as you are, had carried him through a whole lot of them. yet, he always found himself unable to do the same for you. in fact, it seemed like nobody could.
moreover, it never usually lasted this long, you were normally back to your usual self in no time, which never really allowed him to properly ponder on how to proceed when you do get into this state.
and even after a whole week, he still wasn't too sure of what to do. but if he was certain of one thing, it's that he had to try. because he couldn't simply watch helplessly as the light of his life slowly dimmed more and more with the passing days. could he even call himself your lover if he just idly stood by?
that is why he had divided a plan. a simple but hopefully effective one: convince you to come get some coffee with him in the morning— because, yes, your seclusion also included halting your little morning ritual for the time being— and then, get you to open up to him. to tell him everything he has been unable to conjecture from the way you've been behaving with him.
that's precisely why after making sure coffee was ready just like how you prefered it to be, he made a beeline straight for your shared tent.
he swiftly moves under the flaps you had pulled down in hopes of further immersing yourself in the darkness of your isolation. he found you tidying around your joint space which, quite frankly, didn't need to be that tidy in arthur's opinion, as he found comfort in the messy, communal aspect of the place, but, you do you.
seeing as you hadn't noticed him yet, he clears his throat and greets you, still lingering around the entrance, like he was ready to flee if things somehow managed to go south. after all, you did get quite moody during these times and unpredictably so.
"hiya darlin'."
you turn around and cast a glance on arthur. it was the first time he had gotten a proper look into your eyes in days, and he felt remorse mercilessly sinking its sharp claws into his already aching heart. because he didn't know that your eyes could get so lifeless.
you mumble out a response before turning around again, cleaning up god knows what.
"hi arthur."
arthur. not 'honey', or 'my love'. or 'mister morgan' to tease him like you always loved to do. just... arthur. he couldn't lie that he always adored hearing you pronounce his name, but now, it felt like you only used it to put more distance between the two of you, driving a wedge.
he fiddles with his hat for a bit before tossing it onto a nearby crate. what was he supposed to say now? how should he go about this? you were right here, in front of him. your body was so close, within arm's reach, but somehow, you felt so far away.
he clears his throat as he leans against a tent pole, watching as you occupied yourself with some clothes that needed folding.
"um", he attempts, "coffee's ready by the way."
"already grabbed one." your words came out colder than you had intended.
nevertheless, it was a lie; you simply didn't want to spend time with him because avoiding everyone else is what you did when you were feeling down, unable to be yourself. or at least, the self the others know. the self the others are used to. the self the others 'love'.
it took him a few seconds to reply, completely dumbfounded by your quick response.
"oh. i... i see."
arthur's mind tiptoed as he thought of what could possibly explain the rain cloud above your head. he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to earn your silent treatment, and if it were, it wouldn't last so long; you would usually spare him the torture of your pitiless sulking when he'd hold you close at night, murmuring the softest of apologies to appease you. this was something else entirely.
he comes up behind you and pulls you back against him in a gentle embrace, one that allowed you to pull away if need be.
"i've missed you." he murmurs against your ear.
and pull away you do.
"arthur... i'm a little busy right now."
god, since when was folding laundry this entertaining?
yet he backs away and helplessly watches as the perfectly folded clothes' pile only kept growing.
"... okay."
it felt like you had successfully managed to build a fortress of ice around you, freezing anybody who dared trespass. even him. even him.
his plan had failed, miserably. not that he was expecting an easy surrender from you: you were tough to crack, hard to read, locking your emotions behind a wall of verglas, so thick and foggy it could not allow anybody to make out the tiniest bit of what was hidden on the other side.
but he had to try, to muster the most warmth he could to attempt to melt down your cage.
"you... you doin' alright? it's just...", he falters. "you've been like this for days and i... i'm getting worried."
you shrugged. "no need."
"clearly there's a need." he huffs. "you know y'can talk t'me about it right?"
"again, no need."
he grabs your forearm, to stop you from tending to the damn laundry when he was right here, trying, patiently. he easily turned you around to face him, getting increasingly frustrated at your dismissive demeanor.
"____, quit that. look me in the eye and tell me you're fine."
and the moment you do lock eyes with him, you couldn't help the tears that filled them, reflecting the little sun rays that the closed flaps allowed inside. arthur adored when your eyes shined, just never when they did so because of tears.
you feel his warm hand envelop your cheek and you curse yourself and your avoidant tendencies for forbidding you from enjoying the feeling of his touch for days on end.
you cave in and lean against it, closing your eyes and allowing a few tears to escape them, like a dam that finally broke free from the building pressure.
you had missed him too, truly, you did. and you wanted to tell him everything— so why couldn't you?
he pulls you closer, surrounding you with the familiar smell of leather, cigarettes and sweat that you had grown to love over time. his free hand gently ran up and down your side.
his voice softens, like he was afraid that if he spoke a teeny bit louder, he would scare you off and lose all the progress he had made with you until now. good thing he had quite the experience with taming wild horses.
"sweetpea... why don't you ever tell me about stuff like this? i'm here for you, y'know?"
he allows you to take your time, to let you sob and weep against him as he held you steady, and his heart broke just a bit more when it seemed like you tried to muffle your sounds, as if you didn't trust yourself to fully surrender to your emotions, afraid they would consume you whole.
"i'm sorry", you manage after calming down thanks to his touch, "but it's... complicated."
you think i wouldn't understand...
"try me."
you look up at him with a gaze that said no, you don't have to. "arthur..."
"i said try."
he pulls you away just a little to get a proper look at you, wiping the remainders of your crying with his thumb.
he watched how your mouth opened and closed, how your lips quivered and yet, came no word at all.
it felt strange. that when it was about anyone else, it seemed like you had a whole speech already on your tongue, patiently waiting for the chance to be heard. you talked of love, passions and emotions in a way that felt innate to you and with such ease, that one might believe you spoke of them as if those feelings were yours.
and yet, they weren't; because the moment it is about your feelings, all that wisdom, all those words, and all that seamless understanding of all things tied to emotions just... disappears. as if it were all a lie.
how strange, arthur thought. that you could be so compassionate with anyone but yourself. as if you had been forbidden from the taste of the very fruit only you had the ability to grow.
your eyes darted from the side to the floor, to him again then repeating that pattern over and over so much and so quickly that it would've caused one to become lightheaded from the motion.
and you were indeed feeling dizzy, because of the thoughts racing through your head uncessantly. your mind had no choice but to jump from a cruel idea to the other. a river stream viciously ushering you towards the nearby waterfall.
arthur took notice of that and gently shook you to snap you out of it.
"that, right there. all of that thinkin' you're doing. i wanna know."
you shake your head frantically. "trust me you don't-"
"darlin'... deep breaths", he squeezes your arm to ground you further, to get you to come back to him and save you from spiraling away from him. "you're okay. you're with me."
you try to match your breathing with his, to make sense of the tangled mess of thoughts inside your head so you could hope to make something out of them. but would he understand? could anyone else do? you barely did yourself.
"arthur i'm... i'm sorry. i don't mean to push you away but i... i have to. i need to."
"but why?"
he sounded so pained, his words uttered in a hushed, yet strained fashion, a reflection of him trying, desperately, to make out a somewhat plausible understanding of the cryptic messages you've been sending him.
and how sweet of him to care all this much about you. but you knew better than he could; you knew you couldn't keep letting him waste his heart away on you. you weren't worth his time. you weren't worth anyone's, for that matter, and you were such a fool for believing that this feeling of inadequacy you've been carrying all your life would die down the moment you would get with arthur.
you shake your head, gripped by a sense of fatality. "you won't understand. hell, even i don't."
"well i don't understand myself most times either. doesn't stop you from trying to."
no, you don't get it. you're... different.
you sigh. "... it's not the same."
"an' why the hell not? why do you always run away when it comes to you?"
his words echo and it feels like time goes still for a few moments.
an eternity of silence ensues. it feels like you're both bracing yourselves for something, anything, holding your breaths, unsure what to expect, but expecting nonetheless.
your shoulders drop as you try to think of a way to counter what he says, but deep down, you knew he was right. you knew it was true. and you have known the answer to that for a long time.
you're worth fretting over, so is everyone else. but i have been born with a curse that allows me to heal others with the power of my gentle chant, that soothes the disarray of even the most hard-headed of men. but when i sing it for my own open wounds, i somehow become deaf to it, as the cries of my heart while it bleeds out, become so unbearably defeaning they forbid me from hearing my song.
arthur bites his tongue and curses himself inwardly: his words had probably come out too harsh, out of frustration, out of a need so dire to know and to understand the one he had pledged his heart to. he didn't mean to raise his voice. he didn't mean to scare you off, to make you flinch. even if you had done so ever so slighty, he had noticed.
and you, who had chosen to read this situation differently, were ready to bet that arthur was about to give up on you right now. this was the most heated he had gotten with you. you were used to his petrifyingly intimidating demeanor with others, that earned him the 'highly dangerous' attribute on his wanted poster. but that was with everyone else.
he wouldn't hurt you, you knew that. you conceded that he had every right to be annoyed, every right to be angry. you hadn't given him much to work with.
so in the end ... you were the one hurting him. to see you so adamant to refuse his albeit sorry attempts of caring about you? arthur had to admit it stung, far more than he would've wanted it to.
though he wasn't about to give up on you. sure, he adored how headstrong you were, even though it was the bane of his existence at the moment. but fortunately, patience is one of the many things he had learnt through you. even though its scope was currently limited to you. but it was... progress, nonetheless.
his fingers find your hair, gently tucking an unruly strand that hid your face from him.
he wanted to see all of you, so let him.
"sweetheart..." his voice had softened considerably, "you always keep... brushing me off like this. pushing me away. waving everyone else off with a smile. i saw it, i did. i just... i never knew. how to ask. how to get you to tell me. y'know me... i ain't good with words, and don't even get me started on... all that 'feelings' crap. but... i can't keep hiding behind that excuse. and you too, can't keep hiding behind yours."
gently, he lifted your face towards him, to make sure you heard him, that you were indeed listening, and letting him get through your fortress of solitude.
"i can't... watch you hurt and trust that 'it'll pass', like you always tell me. what kind of man am i, to leave my girl hurting all on her own?"
you couldn't help but return his smile— although yours was wobbly, as he murmured those last words.
you shake your head. "you're a great lover. for putting up with me and my bullshit all this time."
"oh darlin', i think you mean i'm a terrible one for not helping you through it."
he stays quiet for a moment, mumbling to himself as he gazed at you lovingly. "reassuring me even when you're the one hurting... isn't that so awfully like ya."
he takes your hand in his and gently tugs you to sit down with him on his cot.
"i... i want you to tell me. what this is all about. what's gotten my lovely girl to be this way. why she runs away when i try to show i care and avoids me like i got the damn plague."
you stay quiet for a few moments, trying to gather your emotions so you could attempt to translate them into words.
"i... i've always been like this. i've always cared too much. i've always been inclined to be kind, to listen. to be there for others, because..."
you falter. but arthur's grip on you doesn't. he gives your hand a long squeeze, to let you know he was there; to anchor you, so you don't get too lost in the labyrinth of thoughts in your mind.
"because... the world is already so... harsh. on all of us. everyone's struggling, whether they choose to show that or not. and i... i've always felt it was my duty, my... purpose to help. i've discovered i had an abundance of love and empathy within me. what better to do with it if not to give it away?"
"and why shouldn't you get some of that too?"
the simple thought of that filled your body with a sensation of dread, as if it were physically rejecting the idea that you could be on the receiving end of that sort of care.
"i can't. i don't..."
"you don't deserve it?" he prompts, his gaze never leaving you.
you take a few moments to nod, a bit relieved he said it for you. "yeah. i always thought so."
arthur nods quietly and you feel him turn away from you a little.
"i understand better now. that's why yer always brushing off anybody who gets concerned bout ya."
you didn't miss the slight hint of bitterness to his words and, you knew why. you understood: that he believed he was still not able to gain your trust even if he was your partner. even if it wasn't about trust at all. it was just... something that's always been in you.
"i... don't mean to do it in an ungrateful way", you attempt, "it just feels... like instinct. to avoid letting people get close. and to push everyone away when they try to."
you add. "plus... you already have so much on your shoulders and i would feel bad. adding more onto your plate with my silly mood swings."
he tuts and brings you closer to him by the waist. "there ain't no such thing. i... i wanna be there f'you darlin'. you come before all of what i deal with, y'know that."
he takes a deep breath, tracing idle shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, like he always did whenever he tried to soothe his own nerves.
"listen to me, okay? i... i ain't any good at words but i'll try. for you."
"arthur, you don't have to-"
"ah ah ah. shhhh."
he scans around the room, looking for his satchel and once his eyes land on it, he reluctantly lets you go to search for something in it.
he comes back with a worn leather diary that awfully looks like...
his journal?
he opens it up, skimming through the pages before handing it to you.
you take it hesitantly, not daring to look at it at all, even if he's the one knowingly giving it to you. you always sensed his diary was something very intimate and invaluable for him, and you always made sure not to pry on him too much while he was using it.
"here, um... i wrote this entry a few days ago. 'bout you. y'can... read it."
you... couldn't believe your ears.
just because you've always respected arthur's privacy doesn't mean you didn't secretly want to go through his journal, at least to contemplate the many sketches of the things he thought had a beauty worth getting captured by his controlled pencil strokes. it would let you have a clearer grasp of who he is, of how the gears inside his mind turn, of what he thinks is important, of how he perceives the world around him.
reading one of his entries that he wrote for and about you? that was just icing on the cake.
you gaze at the journal in your hands, at arthur's pretty handwriting, then at the heart surrounding your and his initals at the bottom corner of the entry. you chuckled at that and traced the heart with your index.
though... you couldn't help the guilt that creeped up on you. this... this was the key, the opening, to his psyche, to everything he ever was. it was no easy exploit, to share such sensitive matters with someone, even your partner.
still, you knew arthur would've never allowed you a glimpse into his inner world if he wasn't ready. so you fight back the urge to make sure that he was entirely alright with you reading, and instead, ask something else of him in a surge of sheepish boldness.
"could you perhaps... read it to me?"
you bat your eyelashes at him and watch as his ocean-blue eyes widen for a fraction of seconds before looking away, a hand scratching at the back of his neck.
he huffs out a surprised chuckle. "y'ain't makin' this easy for me, are ya sweetheart..."
he clears his throat and reads albeit awkwardly at first, cheeks reddening further at every word he uttered.
she hasn't been talking much. not over coffee, not before bed. she barely looks me in the eye, just like when we had first met. but even a dumb fool like me knew it wasn't playing coy.
when she does look at me though, i can barely recognize the sun of a woman that always manages to fascinate me, with how much love and affection she carries in that small frame of hers. and it tears me apart to see her lose her light, which could even rival that of all the stars.
she gives endlessly, she loves with an abundance that makes even the worst of sinners believe in god's angels, that she descended all the way from heaven, gracing us all with her very presence.
that woman, her sheer obstinacy is both my bane and my pride; it's as alluring as it is maddening. i've rarely considered myself to be fluent in matters of emotions but, it pains me to feel so powerless. doomed to watch her suffer on her own before she finds herself again through the storm.
what a pair of fools we are. me, for watching helplessly, and her, for choosing a man so ignorant and illiterate on matters of high sensibility.
it should be that easy though, to say how i feel as i write it. and yet, i manage to make myself look more daft every time i open my trap.
i care about her. i love her more than i thought myself capable of. and i need to find a way to pull her back from the abyss before it swallows her whole, or else, i would never be able to live with myself.
his voice shook at times as he read, and was uncharacteristically soft; he was letting you in his headspace, his diary, shedding light on parts of himself that he often hid away, even from you.
he smiles as he feels you quietly lean against his shoulder, and his head settles on top of yours. he followed your fingertips as they traced some doodles he had made on the page next to his entry.
your fingers slow on a drawing of flowers in a bouquet.
"i thought i could bring you flowers, something... anything. just to see you smile. just to remind you i'm here, always."
he puts his journal aside when he feels you shift quietly to sit on his lap, embracing him tightly as your face found itself a home in the crook of his neck.
"i don't deserve you..."
your words make him scoff.
"y'deserve far more than this world can give ya. but i'll always try to get you anything y'want. y'just gotta ask."
he lets his warm hands settle on your back, tenderly caressing your shoulder blades.
"so, what d'you want now, baby? tell me an' i'll do my best. anything."
you felt your eyes water again as he murmured that. though this time, you felt... happy. and seen. basking in the closeness of the man you loved and whom you were sure now loved you back just as much, or even more.
"just... be with me right now. please."
you can feel his smile as his lips pressed a kiss on the top of your head.
"of course."
so, his initial plan didn't fail that badly, after all.
thank you for reading and until next time!! ( ˶˘ ³˘)♡
GUYS IM SORRY i deleted the fic i just posted because i just realized the formatting was so wonky and i can't seem to fix it?? it looks fine on my computer but not on my phone and i'm too exhausted to fix it rn it's literally 3am over here (╥﹏╥)
i'll get it up again once i fix that issue, thank you for your patience 🤍
pairing: arthur morgan x reader.
rating: general.
word count: ~500.
warning: Fluff. Modern au. Reader isn’t described. Anxiety but it’s vague. Tears. Not proofread. Dividers by @/aquazero
a/n: just a tiny little thing I wrote last night before falling asleep because I needed it. I hope you’ll enjoy <3
The muffled sounds of the TV come to your mind in distorted waves. Gunshots and explosions followed by cops screaming to get down. You don’t turn around to see what is happening, way too comfortable snuggling against Arthur’s chest, his body laid on the couch, your face resting just above his heart. It's beating, steadily, reassuring.
Arthur’s head is propped up on the armrest as he silently watches the show. His arm is circling your back, fingers absentmindedly moving along your sides, grounding you, making you feel like he is there, holding you. You don’t want to turn around and face the world, you just want to stay there in his comforting embrace, and forget about everything. No more pain, no more anxiety, no more deadlines, just you and Arthur and this couch, and your chests heaving in unison as you breathe.
Arthur didn’t ask any questions when you joined him half an hour ago. He didn’t even hear you come back from work. You rushed upstairs silently as soon as you dropped your bag at the foot of the coat rack, discarding your work attire while crossing your bedroom, more than relieved to finally get rid of the weight that inevitably comes with your responsibilities. One night of peace, that’s all you’re granted. And tomorrow…tomorrow you’ll have to face this world again.
But for now, it’s just you and Arthur. You move slightly on the couch, repositioning yourself, your face now nuzzled in his neck. Arthur’s free hand finds the controller, and he switches the tv off. You swing your leg around his waist, pressing a kiss on his collarbone peaking through the couple of opened buttons on his collar. His hand rests at the back of your head, fingertips lost in your hair.
His deep concerned voice mumbles something, and you scoff, trying to keep the tears at the corner of your eyes. It’s not enough for him. Arthur’s leaning back, wanting to take a look at you, but you’re hiding in the crook of his neck. His hand slides along your neck, gripping your jaw gently to tilt your head up from his body. You try not to shy away, but the intensity of his stare, the way he seems preoccupied, desperate to find a way to cure you from any sadness and at loss of words to make it better precipitate the fall. You sob quietly, encouraged by Arthur’s lips pressing a long reverent kiss on your temple, and his arms hugging you even tighter.
Arthur holds you until your breathing slows, and your tears have dried. He gives up on the idea of taking you to bed when he notices you are falling asleep, repositioning himself against you instead, your back against his chest now, kissing the back of your neck. You let out a soft sigh, grabbing his hands to rest them against your heart as you keep your eyes shut, letting the slumber take you away.
a Latin phrase literally meaning "with living voice" but most often translated as "by word of mouth."
pairing : husband!arthur morgan x fem!reader
summary : arthur doesn't usually do clean shaves; and when he decides to go against his habit, he finds himself apprehending your reaction. little did he know it would stir up this many emotions within you.
wc : 3.5 k words ⭑.ᐟ
tags : fluff, arthur morgan is an insecure man (poor baby, tell him he's handsome), established relationship, husband!arthur morgan, reader gets jealous
a/n : it's good to see me, isn't it? wink wink (did you get that reference?) anyway! i'm sorta back! ꉂ(˵˃ ᗜ ˂˵) i managed to write this in between my busy uni days and i'm really proud of it! so i hope you guys like it ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜ i'll update you more at the bottom of the post as i don't want to make this too long!! enjoy <𝟑 .ᐟ (for the people i tagged, check the end of the post mwah ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ )
arthur morgan wasn't a man who cared that much about his appearance. he tried to get baths whenever he could, made sure his clothes were somewhat clean (though it was hard, considering his job), and he cut his hair whenever it got a bit too long to avoid looking like a certain someone he despised. he also made sure to shave often so his beard didn't get too thick and bushy for comfort.
but now that he has you in his life, he started paying attention to his looks a little more.
he tried his best to coordinate his outfit colors, attempted to comb and even pomade his hair sometimes to look neater overall, and made sure he could always see his own reflection in his boots.
that was the wife effect for arthur: he wanted to make an effort for you. you had chosen to be with him till death did you part; and as much as he still struggled to believe that he was enough for you, that you didn't make the wrong choice by choosing to marry him... he still wanted to play the part, to pretend that he could be the sophisticated gentleman he thought you did merit.
so when he looked at his own reflection in the small mirror in his tent this morning, he decided that a shave was due.
he always remembered how in the beginning of your relationship, you'd always giggle whenever he nuzzled against your cheek or neck, because his facial hair would tickle you.
you got used to it now; you even grew the habit of scratching his beard whenever he laid down in bed with you, at night. it always managed to put him to rest so easily. and bonus points because he'd sleep like a baby after.
recently though, his beard did grow to be a bit too itchy than usual.
what to do, he wonders.
arthur usually wasn't one for bold ideas, especially when it came to his appearance. but he opted for a full-on clean shave this time.
it had been a while since his last one. he often avoided them because, for one, his face would feel far too exposed for his liking. at least with the beard, it felt like he was hidden, like people didn't instantly see through him. it acted like protection. a shield, if you will.
for second, going for a clean shave always meant he'd get teasing remarks about it from the others at camp, joking about how he must have some lady waiting for him in town, or that they could "finally see him"... which was precisely what he so desperately wanted to avoid.
and for third, the reason that scared him the most: he apprehended your reaction.
your opinion matters greatly to arthur. nonetheless, he knew that, deep down, you were nothing but kind with him. at worst, you'd sugarcoat it to spare his poor and pathetic self, because you knew how deep his insecurities run. still, he found himself wanting to please his wife. he wanted you to want him. to feel attracted to him like he did with you.
well, even if you did end up disliking it— which arthur internally hoped wouldn't be the case— his facial hair grows back quite quickly, so, it wasn't going to last for too long anyway. he just wants to give himself a fresh start.
regardless of whatever doubt still lingered in the back of his mind, it was inevitable now. he had already lathered his face with shaving cream and tried his best not to accidentally cut himself with his razor, which happened a bit too often to him.
a few minutes later, after rinsing off his face and drying it— there he was. a new man.
he kept scrutinizing himself through the mirror, almost glaring. he wasn't too sure how to feel about it. because in his mind, the lack of a beard wasn't the problem; it was his goddamn face.
he didn't realize how long he stood there having a staring contest with his reflection until he heard whatever new vinyl dutch bought from town being played on his gramophone.
you weren't currently with him in your shared tent. you had slipped away after a quiet good morning kiss to help around camp and make breakfast. you would probably be by the campfire now, waiting for him to bring you two some coffee, so you could sip it and spend some time together before he had to leave camp for the day. it was your little ritual; and right now, you must be wondering what could possible be taking him so long to join you.
so join you he did, without forgetting to bring along two steaming mugs of coffee.
he settles next to you, almost in a shy manner; like a young boy who doesn't quite yet know how to behave around his first love. it was strange, to see a tough burly man like that act with such clumsy hesitance; almost like the tall scrawny boy he once was all those years ago had never left at all. the same tall scrawny boy who had stole your breath away the moment you laid eyes on him, and whom, after years, eventually worked up the courage to confess, and then, to ask for your hand.
you had always found his timid mannerisms to be most endearing; as if he'd somehow forgotten for a moment that you two were quite literally married.
he scoots a little closer to you, his hand reaching to scratch the bottom of his face, which he always did when he struggled to start a conversation. though this time, his muscle memory failed him as he had forgotten his usual beard was gone now, so he quickly fumbled with his hand to rub the back of his neck instead.
the awkwardness of his movements made you chuckle. you took a sip of your coffee, and you watched him do the same, like he just remembered he brought himself a cup too.
"good morning arthur."
your voice was so soft, it felt like that nice morning breeze he's always loved.
"yeah, g'morning darlin'..."
he gives you a side-glance, before he settles on staring at the faint steam rising from his cup.
your gaze stays trained on his side profile, admiring his new look, taking in all the details it allowed you to make out. some moles you had never noticed appeared, and the clean shave made his freckles pop out more. you adored them, always joked about how the sun must be infatuated with him, for it to leave so many kisses on his face. but he always shrugged it off, said they all looked more like burns than kisses. and it always tugged at your heartstrings to hear him say that.
you watched how his fingertips nervously traced the rim of his mug, quietly asking and waiting for a reaction from you, anything; just adress the elephant in the room. why drag it on for so long? how cruel you were, to play with his heart like that. a heart he had so generously entrusted you with.
you knew he was aching for a response, but you enjoyed seeing him anxious over the tiniest things a little too much. and either way, arthur was too fun to tease.
your gaze shifts to the quiet morning scenery in front of you; nature was slowly waking up.
you can't help the smirk that forms on your face, even when you try to sound as nonchalant as you can manage.
"did we have a date today i happened to forget about, honey?"
arthur blinks and confusedly shakes his head.
"not that i recall... no."
"oh, how interesting. so,... maybe you have a romantic rendez-vous with some young maiden downtown?"
that earns you a scoff from him which could be translated to, *how dare you even entertain such a thought?*
"darlin', what are you on about?"
"oh, i don't know", you shrug innocently, "your unusual clean shave just got me wondering, is all."
he groans, and looks you in the eyes for the first time that morning. how they shined like two jewels adorning his face.
"that ain't why i shaved. it just started feeling a bit too itchy... figured i'd just regrow it."
a beat of silence. you keep your gaze trained on his face, a cryptic smile forming on yours.
"hmmm. i see."
it was your turn to scoot closer to him, your knees brushing against his thigh as you put your cup on the floor next to your feet.
"well, i think this look suits you. not more than the beard but, it does fit you well."
"...y'think so?" his eyes widen, and his defensive tone softens under your words. suddenly, he looked like a young child lighting up when getting praised.
"what? you don't believe me?"
"... just don't know if yer still making jokes about me or if yer being honest." he shyly admits, his eyes set on the cup once again.
you giggle and press a kiss on his cheek. it felt strange, not to feel his beard tickling your skin. but for arthur, this enabled him to fully feel the softness of your lips.
goddamn... he should definitely do clean shaves more often.
you nuzzle against his neck, laying your head on his shoulder and he wraps his strong arm around you, keeping you steady against his sturdy form.
"i mean it, arthur."
you look up at arthur and observe as his cheeks turn into a deep crimson. and you noticing it didn't help...
damn it. if he hadn't shaved, maybe his beard would've made it less obvious.
anytime now, you would make a comment about it in that sing-songy tone of yours he loves and hates at the same time. love, because, quite frankly, your voice was one of the most beautiful sounds that ever graced his ears. hate? well, now that he thinks about it, it was a word too strong; he just never knew what to expect with your ever-so witty mind.
"... for a rugged and tough cowboy, you sure can be adorable at times."
ah, there it is. he huffs in indignation.
"that ain't no such thing." he retorted a little too quickly. a blatant lie.
"it is! i managed to make the mean, cold-blooded outlaw blush like a schoolboy."
if your eyes didn't betray you, that made him redden even more.
he straightens his back and shifts a bit away from you on the log, hiding his face under the brim of his hat.
"i...! ain't blushing, yer just seein' things."
"your beard can't save you now~"
there is no denying that, is there? he sighs and grumbles something under his breath as he takes the last sip of his coffee.
his gaze meets yours for a moment, and finds it full of a mischeviousness he couldn't rival; not now, anyway. not when he feels so vulnerable under your lovingly teasing stare.
"... dammit, sweetheart. i can never win with you, can i?" he sighs as he gets up from the log, heading towards your shared tent.
you stay on his trail, almost skipping on the way behind him. "nope. never."
he smiles fondly, as he swiftly moves under the tent flap. you follow suit and sit on his weapon locker, watching as he gathered his flask, his journal, some food.
"you go around saying that and i'll have to silence you, woman." he mutters in a mock warning tone.
he stands in front of you, probably for him to get his weapons. but you don't budge, crossing your legs.
"oh yeah? and just how will you silence me?"
"you don't want to know."
"boohoo, i'm soooo scared." your words were punctuated by an eye roll.
arthur's hand settles on his gun belt as he stares you down. his gaze serious, almost as if he was considering something.
"you'd better be."
you gasp in mock offense. was that a threat? was he really threatening you right now? how could he say that to you? the sun of his days and the moon of his nights?
"arthur morgan, you would not hurt a woman, and especially not your wife." your tone is nearly reprimanding, as if you were admonishing a child for his bad behavior.
"i wasn't thinking of that", his eyebrows knitted in confusion because, how could you even envision a universe where he ever did that?
he cups your chin and tilts your head up to him, his rough thumb gently grazing your bottom lip. "i could shut that smart mouth of yours in tons of ways other than that."
your lips parted further under the touch of his thumb and for a moment it felt like he was casting a spell on you. the energy in the room had shifted, and it felt like you had lost the upper hand. his touch, considering how scarcely he initiated it, especially at the beginning of your relationship, never failed to make your stomach do flips, as if it was the first time all over again.
screw you, arthur morgan, you thought. you hated how he knew that his touch had that much of an effect on you, and what you hated even more, is how he always used that to his advantage.
you gulp and attempt to maintain the sly grin on your face regardless; just to see how far he is willing to go with his... dirty tricks.
"... oh, well. color me intrigued, mister morgan."
that earns you a chuckle from him, a slight darker, the type that made a shiver run down your spine.
he suddenly grabs your forearm, pulling you to your feet, and before you could register anything, you felt warm lips press on yours hungrily. your hands end up gripping his shirt for balance, which makes him place a steady hand on your lower back to prevent you from falling backwards.
this was the type of kiss that made your mind reel; because it felt like arthur was pouring all his love, emotion, and desire into it. the type of kiss that reminded you that, somehow, even after being with you for all this time, that he was still as enamored with you.
once he pulls away, you instantly lick your lips to taste his flavour just for another moment longer. arthur's lips curl up and he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.
he murmurs in that soft voice he reserves only for you. "'course i'd never hurt you, darlin'. i'd rather die than do that."
his lips press a soft kiss on your wrist before gently pushing you to the side so he could get his guns from his locker.
you were still in a haze from the kiss, a soft smile adorning your mouth when your brain finally registers his words.
"is it just me or did the shaved look bring forth your romantic side?"
arthur gets up and closes the locker with a thud, tucking his revolvers in his gun belt.
"ain't the shave. 's you." his words slip from his mouth so easily, just like the soft kiss he planted on your forehead.
"cheesy", you mumble, as you watch him move past you to take his satchel and slip out the tent.
you follow him only after seconds, your fuzzy mind still taking in everything that happened just now.
he was saddling up his horse, fixing his satchel and verifying everything was there.
but, still, a tinge of doubt and insecurity lingered in your heart. as much as arthur was oblivious about his good looks, you weren't; and by extension, other women weren't either. you never for a second doubted his faithfulness to you, but just the simple thought of another woman making advances or pushing her luck with him... you hated to say it made your blood boil and your jealousy flare dangerously.
just imagining that made your jaw tighten, and turned your expression sour. you couldn't help the bitter overtone of your mumbled words.
"you'd better turn down the offers you'll get from the women downtown."
he snorts at your words as he feeds his horse some oatcakes. he found it funny, how you were certain he would get hit on. maybe you liked the clean shave a little more than you let on.
your instance of possessiveness did tickle his pride, so he answers almost casually.
"darlin', y'don't have to tell me twice."
your brows furrow when he brushes off your concern like that. you're not joking anymore now, no; these are your real feelings on display. however horrible they make you feel for having them.
"it's just because i know they won't leave it." you mutter, crossing your arms.
"i'll take my gloves off then."
he rids himself of them, revealing his hands, rough and calloused from his daily labor, and on his ring finger, a gold band shone under the sunlight, matching yours.
a wedding ring yes, that should "normally" be enough to get others to back off. yet somehow, it wasn't. worse; the forbiddance of being with a married man only further drew in ladies. it supposedly "added to the thrill", or some half-assed justification along the lines of that.
you pout. "you know that won't be enough."
seeing your downcast expression genuinely tugged at his heart, nearly making him regret shaving altogether. and it also made him wonder how such insecure thoughts had even managed to implant themselves in your head?
you feel two large hands settle their comforting weight on your shoulders, and before you knew it, that made you lift your head to look at arthur. he leans impossibly closer to you, his words hushed, but they spoke volumes. the kind of words that hit you just as hard as a romantic poem made of thousands of verses. he speaks slowly so you can weigh in his words and understand them better.
"then, i'll kindly tell 'em that i'm happily married to the loveliest woman i've ever laid my eyes on... better?"
the wistfulness in his eyes told you he spoke truthfully; and the way he held your gaze for moments after, even in silence, said even more than that; after all, arthur was a man of a few words. so you knew to cherish his sparse attempts at verbally conveying how much you meant to him.
your lips trembled before curling up into a small wobbly smile.
"... better."
quite frankly, the man was skeptical of your answer. but he lacked the tactful elocution needed in these tricky situations, where emotions were at stake. especially yours. everything was clear to him in his heart though. but at every attempt, his words always get jumbled up and, suddenly, it feels like they're not making sense anymore. it feels like they're not even enough to translate how he feels in his flesh and bones when it comes to you. and so he grumbles about how he should just shut his trap altogether instead of even trying. thank god you had the patience of a saint with him though.
arthur makes a mental note to bring you something from town; a broach? a shawl? some hairpins?... maybe make you a wildflower bouquet; ah yes, seeing your eyes light up at the sight of the flowery set never failed to make him feel alive like he's never been before.
he just needs to bring you something meaningful, to prove to you that, although he isn't much vocal, his mind always finds a way to drift back to you during his waking hours.
for now, a soft kiss on your pretty lips would have to do.
he holds you close to him for a moment as quiet reassurance, and feels relieved to see your face slowly light up again; the clouds who had dimmed his sun were gradually disappearing.
"come back to me in one piece, my dear." you whisper, as you watch him mount his horse, reaching for his hand to squeeze. his thumb gently brushes over you ring; a quiet reminder that you're his, just as he's all yours.
"always."
you watch him trail away on his horse, giving a greeting to javier who was guarding camp before taking off to town. but your heart rested a little easier knowing that the man you cherish, that the man who loves you quietly, his affection hidden behind fond glances and whispered words reserved for you, intertwined with the graceful pencil strokes that were, according to him, "a mere attempt" at capturing your alluring radiance, can also be openly loud about you, about you and him. and the fact he found himself able to do that sometimes... that made everything all the more special to you.
a/n two : first off, thank you for reading! if you have been following me, you must've noticed that i haven't been active in over a month. mainly because of self-doubt and insecurity regarding my writing. it has truly been a thrill to write for arthur, and i've had the chance to meet and interact with many sweet people who have supported my craft and myself, and for that i am eternally grateful ♡︎ so for them, i dedicate this piece of writing. thank you for your words of concern and encouragement when i was in doubt. in no particular order, as i hold you all very dear in my heart : @dustyharlan , @stupidgaynerd , @ardeniaa , @d0lliesp1t and of course, @heartsickspider <333 thank you for the many messages and words i have gotten from you all and it is quite literally thanks to you that i find myself posting here today ₊˚⊹♡
nana!!! i’m so sorry it took me so long to read this, but honestly, i wish i had sooner. this fic was so incredibly sweet 💗🥺 it instantly lifted my mood, which is something i’ve really been needing lately, so thank you. and thank you again for including me in your dedication—it genuinely meant so much. i’m so glad my words were able to help, and this is an amazing piece to return with. i’m really happy to see you writing again, and i hope you continue, because you truly have such a way with words.
i absolutely adored your characterizations of both arthur and the reader in this piece. the way you explored arthur’s insecurities and quiet thoughtfulness was beautiful, and i especially loved that you gave the reader her own doubts, too. i wasn’t expecting that, and it made the emotional core feel even richer. and that final paragraph??? actually insane. such a gorgeous way of capturing how arthur shows his love. and yes, he will speak up for his wife!!!
i’ve always loved your use of metaphors and similes (seriously, it’s inspired me to try being more poetic myself. i feel like my writing can be very to-the-point and sometimes stiff, which is absolutely a consequence of being a science major and writing too many research papers lol). there were so many in this fic that i’m obsessed with, especially:
you adored them, always joked about how the sun must be infatuated with him, for it to leave so many kisses on his face.
the sun of his days and the moon of his nights?
the clouds who had dimmed his sun were gradually disappearing.
like hellooooo??? gorgeous. and the way you wove the sun and moon imagery throughout—chef’s kiss.
a few more moments i absolutely loved:
quite frankly, the man was skeptical of your answer. but he lacked the tactful elocution needed in these tricky situations, where emotions were at stake. especially yours. everything was clear to him in his heart though. but at every attempt, his words always get jumbled up and, suddenly, it feels like they're not making sense anymore. it feels like they're not even enough to translate how he feels in his flesh and bones when it comes to you. and so he grumbles about how he should just shut his trap altogether instead of even trying. thank god you had the patience of a saint with him though.
this entire passage felt so arthur: the frustration, the tenderness, the way his feelings are so physical and inarticulate. it hit perfectly.
his touch, considering how scarcely he initiated it, especially at the beginning of your relationship, never failed to make your stomach do flips, as if it was the first time all over again.
his thumb gently brushes over you ring; a quiet reminder that you're his, just as he's all yours.
sarah, i've shed a few tears when reading your reblog and i'm sorry i haven't been able to get to it sooner. just been feeling a bit terrible on here but your words really made me feel better 🤍 and i'm so happy some tiny silly piece of my writing could make you better too, it makes me feel better about it and obviously i care about how you feel ♡
im reassured to hear you enjoyed that last paragraph as i lowkey felt i was overdoing it??? i was scared it was wonky and just unnecessarily poetic...
AHA i'm also victim of that to-the-point scientific writing style being a comp sci major which i try to let go of when writing fiction and as i said earlier, i was afraid i was overdoing it with the poetic stuff and similes... or making it sound cliche or something like that. but hearing you've always loved my writing because of that ... here i go again crying (╥﹏╥)
thank you sarah, i can't emphasize how i'll always hold your words close to my heart 🥹🫶🏻
