🐲 your story begins as you make the dangerous trek up what the people of your village call the Beggar’s Mountain, to ask the spirit said to live within it to grant you a wish
🐲 (even if it was said to turn all unworthy wishers into morning mist, you were willing to take that chance)
🐲 loneliness had been eating you alive, you were tired of simply waiting for your soulmate, and you were desperate to find anything that might speed up the process
🐲 even if that meant wading through snow up to your waist to get to the spirit’s shrine
🐲 when you finally find the white marble carving- at least three times your height and canopied by branches of the monstrous evergreen trees that grow upon the mountain, you’re in awe
🐲 beasts like that of the shrine have long since been wiped out from human-inhabited lands , and this relic seems old enough to have been made when they still roamed the earth freely
🐲 you breath out slowly to settle your growing nerves, a thick, white cloud of fog following your exhale, and you feel like a dragon yourself
🐲 then you get down on your knees before the great statue, and open the small bag you’ve carried against your hip, retrieving your offerings- three silver coins, a sea glass bead, and a jar of sweet preserves from your village
🐲 then you close your eyes and whisper your wish to the spirit- to find your true love
🐲 you wait
🐲 and wait
🐲 and wait some more
🐲 and just when you start to think the those old myths really we’re just myths… you feel something
🐲 a blast of hot air against your face, not enough to scald, but enough to have condensation forming as is wafts against your cold cheeks
🐲 you open your eyes with a gasp and are even more shocked when you come face to face with what is no longer a stone carving, but a flesh and blood dragon, staring down at you with curious sky blue eyes
🐲 it now looked nearly as big as a palace, it’s serpentine body seeming as long and expansive as the skyline itself
🐲 it was white, just like the stone of the carving, but now much brighter, like it had been constructed from the snow around you, and the scales that lined it’s body had an almost opaline shimmer to them when caught in the sun
🐲 it had wings tucked up against its sides, made of fluffy, soft looking feathers
🐲 and one long trail of feathers running from the top of it’s head to the tip of it’s tail
🐲 you would’ve started screaming your head off if it wasn’t for the look in the dragon’s eyes
🐲 so gentle, and almost … timid
🐲 and like you are something to behold
🐲 you, a mere human
🐲 suddenly, you’re speaking without your brain’s permission, words spilling from you as if you’re running on autopilot
🐲 “Are… are you the B-Beggar’s Spirit?”
🐲 your voice is pitched and cracking, and you hoped it would even be able to understand you
🐲 and then you wonder if it would be able to understand you AT ALL, you’d heard tales of dragons who were able to speak but not many, and-
🐲 the beast leans down to press the flat expanse between it’s eyes to your forehead, and suddenly a strange sensation is spreading through your mind, somehow feeling like a wordless agreement
🐲 you manage to squeak your previous question out again for confirmation, and the same feeling appears
🐲 you were searching for something else to ask the dragon, when you felt something cold and soft land on your cheek
🐲 a snowflake
🐲 both of you pull back from each other simultaneously and gaze up at the now dark grey sky, and see more flakes fluttering down towards you
🐲 the dragon gets to it’s feet and turns around, then extends one of it’s wings and curves it’s neck back to look at you
🐲 you feel that fuzzy feeling behind your eyes once again, now asking you to follow it
🐲 you get to your feet as well and make your way through the thick layer of snow already covering the ground, and settle in the shade under it’s outstretched wing
🐲 “Where are you taking me?” You try to ask as you follow it further up the mountain
🐲 the answer you receive feels like home
🐲 something in you wants to trust this dragon spirit, if it really wanted to eat you, wouldn’t it have done so already?
🐲 and something about the presence of the large, imposing, but undeniably beautiful creature made you feel safe, even as you navigated through increasingly worsening weather, the kind that would’ve made you uneasy even from the safety of your home back in the village
🐲 as long as the massive feathered wing was above you, shielding you from the harshness of the wind, you knew you wouldn’t have to worry
🐲 soon the thick, white snow that you’d watched steadily creep up from your mid-shin to above your knees is receding, and your boots come in contact with the kind of dark, rich soil you haven’t seen in months
🐲 you stop in surprise, and just as you realize how much warmer you suddenly are, the dragon is tucking it’s wing back into it’s side, revealing to you the interior of a massive cave
🐲 the ceiling reaches to nearly the height of the mountain itself with stalactites dripping downwards and shimmering with what looks like diamonds embedded in the rock
🐲 in fact the whole cave glitters, every wall decorated with winking stars that take your breathe away and keep you fully entertained until you feel something nudging you at the small of your back
🐲 the dragon let’s out the tiniest of huffs as it urges you further into it’s cave and towards the massive bonfire you somehow completely missed when you entered
🐲 you comply easily, the warmth of the great fire a welcome change from the snow you’d been trudging through all day, and go to take a seat around the edge of it
🐲 before you can make contact with the dirt floor, you’re landing on something soft and plush, and look down to see a large, velvet, and emerald green tasseled pillow beneath you, and a dragon behind you now making itself comfortable upon yet another thing you’d missed about the cave- it’s massive, dazzling hoard
🐲 it raises it’s head to gaze at you, blinking slowly at you for a few moments, then speaks to you in your head once more
🐲 Rest, it urges you, and you can suddenly feel the day catching up with you
🐲 your eyes are drooping and you’re slumping in your seat, so you let yourself fall back onto the cushion and let it envelope you as you sink into it
🐲 ’just a few minutes’, you tell yourself
🐲 just a few minutes with your eyes closed and then you’ll start thinking about getting home
🐲 but before you even realize it, you’re asleep, and you sleep the whole night through as the blizzard rages on outside the cave, frigid and furious
🐲 but you are safe where you are, comfortable on your cushion, and warm in front of the fire
🐲 and under the watchful eye of the Beggar’s Mountain Dragon
–
Don’t worry, the story’s just getting started! I have this whole big idea, but then I spent waaay too much time on the set up, and it would just be grotesquely long if I tried to continue with the rest here. And I think there’s still a text limit? And I just don’t think anyone wants to sit through a million word post in headcanon style. So I’ll be splitting this story up into parts. I’m not sure if they’ll all be done like headcanons, maybe I’ll write drabbles of in between moments and keep the story like this. I haven't decided.
But yeah, for anyone hoping for more dragon romance, stick around ! It’ll only get fluffier from here💕
Notes Before the Fic: I think i went a little overboard on this :/
--
It was quite the risk to rob the wealthy family you'd been serving for the past few years, you'd told yourself this countless times.
You had no prior experience in thievery, no sort of reference to go by, and certainly no guarantee you'd even get five feet away from the Miller estate before being found out.
All you had going for you was a burning determination, and a few sparks of luck.
It just so happened that the Miller family was just about the stupidest group of people you'd ever met.
They were far too trusting with their house staff, they told them everything, from where the safe that held their family fortune was kept, to how much was in there, and never seemed to be aware in the slightest that this information could be used against them.
So far it hadn't, and that, more than anything, felt like a sign to seize the opportunity while it was still in your grasp.
All five of them (a mother, father, older sister, and two younger brothers) were leaving for a holiday out in one of their various houses in the countryside, taking with them a few important members of their house staff, and sending the rest away for the week. That left you, one of their most trusted servants, all alone, to take care of their home while they were away.
You were giddy when you were helping the daughter pack her suitcase, and you were practically vibrating as you watched them pile in to one of their carriages, waving farewell along with the rest of the house staff.
By sundown, it was just you, alone in the estate, and after checking and rechecking you had all the supplies your saddlebags could carry, and your horse was safely munching on a pile of hay, hitched to a post you could see from the window of the upstairs drawing room, you finally felt secure enough to begin.
You could feel a slight shake in your hands, from both nerves and excitement as you gripped the handrail of the grand staircase, and made your way towards the oldest daughter's bedroom.
You already knew you wanted to start there. That girl owned more pieces of jewelry than any one person should be in possession of, and you knew several items that you could live off for months that would hardly be missed.
Even so, as you reached the top of the staircase, you found your glee fading ever so slightly as you met the passive gazes of the large family portrait that hung at the entrance of the second floor.
Looking at their painted faces, you couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of guilt dampening your spirits.
You had spent years with these people, getting to know them under the good, steady paying job they had given you. And they had never treated you nearly as bad as you knew other families were to their servants. You could live a decent life here with the Miller’s, if you wanted to.
But that was the thing, wasn't it? You didn't want to.
You didn't want to live the rest of your days living the life of a servant while waiting on a family that had more money than they'd ever spend, not when you could take some of that wealth for and go live the life of freedom and self-dependence you'd always wanted.
You wanted better for yourself, knew you deserved better, and you were going to get it by any means necessary.
You turned your nose up at the portrait and walked right past it. You could feel remorse later, right now you had a job to do.
Finally reaching the eldest daughter's room, you immediately go for her vanity, and quickly opened all the drawers you knew she stashed her jewelry in.
You felt a tingling sense of excitement as you rummaged through the overflowing drawers, and you can suddenly picture yourself as a skilled thief or conman, the kind whose name was known by all but seen by few, and could rob the pants off a man and be half way across the country before he’d even notice they were gone. The kind of person who lived by their own rules, away from the strict hierarchy of civilization.
How childish, to be dreaming about such things while doing something so monumentally real, but you couldn't deny how thrilling that fantasy was when you actually pictured yourself in that situation.
Once you had taken all the jewelry you dared, you plan to visit the parents room next, you knew the mother had plenty of jewelry as well, and you’d always admired the father’s pocket watch collection-
Suddenly, the sharp sound of shattering glass cuts through the silence around you, and your heart nearly bursts out of your chest in panic.
The first thought to pop into your head was that the family had returned, and you'd be caught red-handed before you’d even began. Then you think, of course it isn't them. If the Miller’s were back, they would have simply walked through the front door.
No, whoever was in the house with you (and you could definitely tell there was someone now, you could hear them stumbling about through the shattered window) must be here to do the same thing you were.
Not on your watch.
You weren't about to have your one-way ticket to freedom be stolen or forcibly shared. Whoever was down there was either going to be walking out of here empty handed, or never walking anywhere again.
You had planned to try to off them with the pistol you knew the father kept under his pillow, but before you could try to sneak out of the room, you hear the footsteps of the intruder start to make their way up the stairs.
You curse, knowing there wasn't anything in this room lethal enough to make this quick, so you pad over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room as quietly as you can and stuff yourself inside. The element of surprise will have to be your weapon of choice.
The sound of heavy footsteps reaching the top of the stairs can be heard from inside the dark cupboard, and as they entered the bedroom, the ominous sound made your heart race and your palms sweat, but at the same time, only fueled your determination.
You listen for a few moments as they walk further into the bedroom, and thank your lucky stars when for some reason, they pause before the wardrobe.
Taking a slow, deep breath to steel yourself, you place your hands flat against the back of the door, then shove it open with all of your strength.
You feel great pride in the sharp smack you hear as the wood comes in contact with the intruder’s nose, and you watch him stumble back from the force of it, clutching his nose in his hands and groaning, before you throw yourself at the man and tackle him to the ground.
He hits the floor with a thud, his hat detaching itself from his head on impact, and looking properly disoriented as you straddle his chest. As much as you'd like to take the time to pat yourself on the back for taking down what you can now see is a very large, well built man, you have a job to finish, and you pull back your fist, ready to deliver what you hope will be another disorienting blow to his throat.
Before you could even try, suddenly it's you who’s on their back, as the man looms over you in a dark silhouette. His big, rough hands have your wrists pinned to the ground, and it seems he's every bit as strong as he looks, any attempt you gave to try to wiggle yourself free was proven fruitless as he held you down with his weight. The bandanna he wore over the lower half of his face forced you to stare directly into his eyes, which were currently regarding you with something you couldn't quite discern at the moment, too blinded by your own frustration at this turn of events.
"Back off," you growl. "This house is mine, find somewhere else to loot."
The look in his eyes changes, brows pinching together as he leans back from you slightly.
“Aint you a house servant?”
His eyes flick downward across your body, and you were nearly offended, until you realized he was merely looking at the uniform you were still wearing.
"So?" You spit back.
He’s quiet for another moment, thinking, and you can already tell you wont like what he comes up with as you watch the gears turn in his head.
“So that must mean you know where everything is around here.”
"And what makes you think I'll tell you?"
He sits up slightly and shifts both of your wrists into one hand, and you watch as his other goes to wraps around the handle of the gun against his hip.
You tense at the sight of it, and just know he's smirking at you under the bandanna.
"That enough to convince you?"
You chew at your lip and seethe, the last thing you want is to admit is that he has you intimidated.
"Listen," he starts again, hand moving up to the piece of fabric covering his mouth and hooking a finger under it. "I didn't come here to hurt you. And so long as you behave we can keep it that way. Now here's what I'm suggesting-"
He undoes the bandanna and brings it down to your wrists, and you would've started squirming again if it wasn't for the sudden realization that hit you as you stare up at his now unobscured face- you seen this man before, on a wanted poster. This was none other than, Arthur Morgan a notorious outlaw with a hell of a bounty on his head, and now he was here, pinning you to the ground and proposing a deal.
"You're gonna show me where the family's safe is," he continues, voice low and threatening as he secured the fabric around your wrists. "And help me get it open. And if you can do that without causing me any trouble, I'll let you take anything else in the house, and we can pretend neither of us saw the other."
Of course he was after the safe, you wouldn't be surprised if the whole country knew the Miller’s kept all their riches within their home. And sure, they had plenty of nice things that would fetch a pretty penny once you pawned them off, but they couldn't provide a life long support like the money in that safe could. So even though there was a very real fear starting to speed up your pulse as you looked down at your bound wrists, now as the mercy of this incredibly dangerous man, there was also an idea forming on how you could turn this situation back into your favor.
"Alright," you conceded, trying to make your voice sound small and unassuming, and he nods.
"Good choice."
Finally he gets up off of you, then pulls you up to your feet by the bandanna between your wrists.
"The safe is behind the family portrait at the top of the stairs," you grumble, and he nods, leaning down to pick up his hat and place it back on his head.
"Shoulda guessed," he chuckled to himself. "Thing's too ugly for anyone to keep around without a good reason." Then he grabbed you by your wrists again, and all but drags you back to the top of the stairs.
Now standing in front of the large painting, you watch from behind him as he inspects the intricate frame, before finding the side that unlatches, and swinging it open like a door.
While he’s distracted, you test your bonds, frustrated to feel that there’s practically no give whatsoever. You might be forced to chew yourself free if you couldn't find something to cut it with.
“You know the combination?” He asks, drawing you from your plotting.
You shake your head. “The Miller’s are stupid, but they aint stupid enough to just give away that kinda information to anyone.”
He sighs, sounding tired as he gets down on one knee so he can press an ear against the safe, then spins the dial a few times to reset it. “Guess we’ll just do this the old fashioned way.”
You watch him for a moment as he goes through each number on the dial, waiting for a tell-tale click or the feeling of some resistance, while you try to think of some way to incapacitate him once he’d finally gotten the thing open.
Just as you were imagining strangling him with the bandanna around your wrists, and maybe even turning him in to the law to collect his bounty, you hear Arthur let out a frustrated groan. You’re surprised to see the safe door is open, considering the type of noise he made, until you step closer to peer inside, and see that instead of the overwhelming riches you both had been expecting, there’s a metal box sitting there with yet another lock keeping it shut.
You make a noise of disbelief, surprised that the Miller's of all people would think to take extra precautions, and suddenly you're very glad you didn’t attempt to strangle Arthur the moment the safe was opened.
“Don’t suppose you know where the key to this is?” he asks, inspecting the silver padlock for a moment then letting it clatter back into place.
You shake your head again. “I didn't even know that was in there.”
He seems annoyed, but not overly bothered by this new hurdle to jump over, as he fishes a small, curved metal tool out of his boot, assuring this was nothing he hadn’t handled before.
You watch curiously as he sticks the metal piece into the lock, twisting it one way or the other until there's some give, then he turns back to you.
"You think you can find me a hair pin?"
You nod, now feeling almost eager to aid him in this task, and scurry back off to the daughter’s bedroom, in search of a pin without any sort of ornamentation on it.
You can feel the same tingling sensation in your fingertips from before as you sift through the various drawers. Just earlier this night, you’d been imagining yourself as an outlaw, and now here you were, working side by side with a real one to steal from the wealthy and dole out your own personal sense of justice against a world that had forced you to the bottom of the food chain for far too long. It felt almost dirty to admit, but you like this feeling, going against the law to strike back at the system that held you down in the lowly position you were born into.
You liked it so much in fact, that it had you dutifully marching back to Arthur, presenting a single, plain hairpin with both of your hands still bound, the thought of attempting to loosen the bonds while you were left unsupervised never even crossing your mind. Not when all that money was so close you could taste it.
You lower yourself onto your knees when he pats the ground beside him.
“You're gonna help me with this,” he says softly, plucking the pin out of your hands, then guiding you by the wrists up to the metal tool already stick out of the lock. “Hold that still for me.”
You do, and you watch him as he slowly works the pin into the keyhole beside the piece you're holding. You watch him work in silence for several moments, his eyes cast off to the side as he envisions the inner workings of the lock and searches for the correct pins that will open it up. You almost assume he’s forgotten you were even there until he speaks up again.
“So what are you doing, robbing the family you work for?"
The question definitely takes you by surprise, and you debate for a moment on if you should even answer, if it would be wise to give up any information at all to a man like Arthur Morgan.
“I just… don't want to be a servant anymore.”
“And you’d rather be a thief?” You can see him looking at you from the corner of his eye, and the judgment behind his question irks you.
“I would if it means I get to live freely.”
He looks away after that, and you do too, suddenly very uncomfortable with the closeness between your bodies, but not daring to try and put some distance between you two, for fear of losing all of your progress if you shift in the slightest.
“So what does that mean to you?” he starts up again, breaking the stretch of silence that had fallen between the two of you. “Living freely?”
His question surprises you again, you didn't think a hardened criminal such as himself would care to know these things, and you have to stop and think for a moment to find your answer.
You think about how you've felt tonight, fancying yourself an outlaw like him, someone who roamed as they pleased, dodging the law and pulling schemes, and never having to dust a piece of ancient furniture in a stuffy parlor for the third time in two days.
You told yourself that the first thing you would do with your money, if you were successful, would be to buy a nice plot of land and spend time lying low and making it a home, that that would be all you would need in life, but now when you thought of the future, it was clouded by that wonderful spark of adrenaline you felt when you committed acts that would surely have you doing time if anyone were to find out.
Was that life what you really wanted?
You spend some more time wondering how you would put any of that into words for Arthur, but before you could even begin, he's suddenly turning to you with a triumphant look on his face, as the lock finally clicks open.
You untangle your limbs from each other as you slide your tools free, and you both leave the previous question unanswered as you crowd yourselves around the metal box in anticipation.
“Let’s hope there ain't a third box in here,” he says as he grips the sides of the lid, and you would’ve chuckled if the suspense wasn't starting to eat at you.
Loud, theatrical sighs of relief are let out by the both of you as the sight of several stacks of green bills come into view.
Arthur quickly counts through them, and just as you get to your feet, remembering your earlier plans to cross him, hes grabbing you by your satchel, and stuffing a good amount of cash into it.
"Sixty/forty," he says, when you give him a bewildered look, and you struggle to find your words.
“I… thank you.” There was definitely much more to this man than you thought.
He just shrugs and goes to stand himself. "You helped get the thing open, s'only fair."
The rest of the money fits into his back pocket, and you watch him for a moment, before blurting out, "I didn't think wanted men cared about fairness."
He pauses long enough for you to begin to question if it was a bad idea to let him know you knew who he was, as you watch multiple emotions flash across his face.
"Decent ones do," he answers after a long, deafening silence, and something about the way he says it sounds loaded.
A moment longer and you wouldn't have been able to stop yourself from asking if he was one of them, but then you hear it- the clatter of carriages coming down the pathway.
You tense, and Arthur frowns.
"That ain't-?"
"It is."
For whatever reason, the Miller's had returned, not even a full day from what was supposed to be a week long trip, and were going to come home to see their entire fortune shared between the pockets of you and a notorious outlaw.
Arthur grabs you by the wrist, and tries to lead you down the stairs, but you stop him, you had a better idea.
“This way,” you whisper, leading him further down the hallway till you reach the drawing room.
He throws open the doors, and you both slip inside and out onto the balcony. Over the railing, you could see that thankfully your horse was exactly where you left them, beside a pile of hay that looked cushioned enough to not break the bones of someone hurtling towards it from two stories up.
“We’ll have to jump,” you tell Arthur, who had no doubt already assumed your plan, as he stared wearily down to the ground.
“On the count of three,” you attempt to offer as you throw a leg over the railing. But before you could even say ‘one’, Arthur had already jumped, taking the plunge and landing safely in the sea of hay below you.
You watch him shamble to his feet in disbelief, ready to curse him out for what seems to be his betrayal, ditching you to be found by the family and take the fall for everything, only for him to turn back around, arms held out high above his head, looking to you expectantly.
"Come on, I'll catch you," he says, as quietly as possible for it to still reach your ear.
You have to stifle a laugh at the almost... chivalrous act, mainly at how unnecessary it is, but you appreciate the thought behind it.
You almost wanted to make him wait for a moment, just to tease him, but then the faint sounds of an opening door and confused voices reaches your ears, and you're throwing your other leg over the railing and pushing the rest of your body off of it.
The fall is short, with little time to panic, and you're safe in the arms of Arthur Morgan before you even registered you'd left solid ground.
Instead of grabbing you by the bandanna around your wrists like he's been doing so far, he chooses to hoist you over his shoulder and carry you over to your horse (you would've scolded him for it if its wasn't over so fast), and tosses you stomach-first onto its back, before unhitching the reins and mounting as well.
He whistles, sharp and pointed and you cringe at the sound of it, knowing it wasn't doing anything to help keep your location a secret.
A second goes by, and then another horse is coming into view, and a beat after- just like you feared, one of the Miller sons.
"Hey!" He shouts, pointing at Arthur with fear in his eyes, and you can only imagine how this must look. One of their servants, bound at the wrists and thrown over the back of a horse with a dangerous looking man dressed in dark colors at the reins. At least you'll be more likely to be remembered as a victim than a suspect.
Without another thought, Arthur spurs your horse forward, and into the surrounding forest, his own horse easily keeping pace, and you watch the house go as pure adrenaline pumped through your veins.
You felt triumphant, a little annoyed by the constant jostling of your body as Arthur rode hard and fast away from your pursuers, but triumphant nonetheless.
You've done it, you actually managed to pull it off.
Eventually, Arthur comes to a spot in the trees he deems safe enough, and slows both your horses down to a trot, before stopping them completely.
He dismounts, then goes to grab you around the waist to help you to your feet, chuckling when he catches the look on you face- wide eyed a breathing heavy from the peril, but with a hint of a smile on your face.
"That always gets the heart pumpin’," He laughs, two steadying hands on your shoulders as you find your feet again.
When you're no longer swaying in place, he finally goes to undo the knot keeping your wrists bound, and you watch him with silent admiration for the ease with which he works your free. He rubs at the skin of your wrists with those big, rough hands to get the blood flowing again, and suddenly it's the nicest feeling in the world. You let him work his magic, telling yourself you're simply too tired to wave him off, but really, you know you just like the feel of his hands on you. You almost suspect he knows too.
When he finally pulls away from you, you’re brought back to the present, and your high starts to fade ever so slightly with his next question.
“So,” he starts, as his horse comes up to him, and starts to nudge at him until he gave it a few pats. “You know what you're gonna do now?”
“Well,” you say, slipping your bag off your shoulder and attaching it to your own horse’s saddle. It turns its head to you, and you offer a few reassuring strokes to its coat. “I didn't get nearly as much as i was planning to. I should be alright, though. But I might have to find work somewhere else.”
When you turn back to Arthur, it's clear he's thinking something over, almost looking like he's about to offer you something, but you continue before he could say whatever was going on in that head of his.
“That, or I could just pull this scheme again. Being a criminal don’t seem too bad now. You wouldn't happen to need a partner in crime, would you?” you ask, only slightly joking.
He doesn't look very pleased at your words as he shakes his head.
“Trust me, a life of honest work is better than running from the law. More suited for someone like you.”
“‘Someone like me?’” you repeat accusingly, and he nods as his hands go to rest on his belt buckle.
“Don’t mean nothin’ by it. I’m just saying, if you have any other options, you best take ‘em.”
You take a step towards him, a smirk forming on your lips. “I think you just don’t want any competition.”
“I think you’d be dead in a week if you tried to live the way I do-”
“You're just afraid I’ll be better at it than you,” You tease, taking another step forward. “Robbin’ every homestead before you even get the chance.” And another.
You're practically chest to chest now, and the glare he's giving you would've been deadly if you didn't like being the cause of it so much.
“What,” you say, giving him a playful pout. “You don’t think I’d be any good at it?”
“I think you need to appreciate what you have now,” he says in a low rumble of a voice, nodding over to where your satchel rests against your saddle.
“Oh, well, then let me thank the man who made it happen.”
You weren't sure if it was the last bits of your adrenaline wearing off, or if something really has been awakened in you, but right at that moment, something about being in the presence of Arthur Morgan made you feel reckless and dangerous, yet invincible at the same time. So with almost no thought to your actions(there was very little thinking done tonight), you took a risk and threw your arms around his waist to bridge what little distance there was still left between you, and smash your lips into his.
His whole body immediately tenses, and even tries to pull away, but you've got a firm hold on him, and after his initial knee-jerk reaction, he seems to relax ever so slightly into it, and you swear you felt him lean into you. But you're pulling back soon after, can’t let him enjoy it too much.
You try to rein in your smile when you see the way he tries to keep his face hard and impassive while blushing bright red like a tomato, the color clear as day even under the shade of night, and you wonder where that big, tough outlaw from before went.
You drag your hands across his sides, letting one of them crawl up his chest and ghost over the exposed skin at the opening of his shirt, pleased to see him watching it, while the other went to rest behind your back.
“See you around, Cowboy,” you whispered, finally pulling away to back up towards your horse, taking great pleasure in the way he tries to hide behind the brim of his hat, and fiddle with his belt buckle to avoid looking into your eyes any longer.
Poor fool must not have been kissed in some time, you think as you mount your horse and spur it onward, down the pathway to the new life you’ll make for yourself. He couldn't even tell you'd stolen his cut of the money right out of his back pocket. ‘Someone like you’ he said. Heh.
"Pool fool, indeed," you tell your horse, as you pat the stack of bills now safely tucked away in your own pocket.
"Hey!" You hear Arthur shout. It's faint, you've already put a good deal a distance between you, but you can still hear the rage in his tone, and it makes a smile spread across you face. "Get back here!"
You urge your horse into a full sprint, just about cackling as you tear down the pathway.
"You're gonna have to catch me first!"
--
AN: Not necessarily a low effort fic, cuz there was an effort made, but it's definitely not meant to be a masterpiece. Just a bit of fun with a silly idea I thought of. So you're gonna have to forgive me if ol Artie is a little too ooc, I did get a bit carried away lol
Also there's not really any romance?? But trust me, I'm gonna make up for the lack of it here with the other fics I'm currently working on
And i think i gave the reader a bit too much of a personality, and for that I apologize, I’ll do my best to keep that to a minimum
I think a ‘I hope someone other than me can get something out of this’ is in order :P
((note to self: don’t ever try to post something when you’ve only gotten 3 hours of sleep. youll end up misspelling the title of your own fic))
Imagine your f/o's learning to be there for you when your mental illness spikes up.
Maybe they don't fully understand what's going on with you, but they're more than willing to learn, and are ready to meet your every need.
Maybe they mess up sometimes, or aren't very confident in their caretaking skills, but you can see that they're trying, and they want more than anything to be there for you.
So you show them gently what you need- maybe it's telling them what types of medication you need to take at what time of day, or reminding them you need a little bit more space at this time (or none at all! They'll be happy to give you all the kisses and cuddles you need💕).
Imagine seeing them adjusting more to the role you need them to play (the role they want to play for you), and how flustered they get when you tell them how proud you are of them.
“I'm not the one who should be praised here,” they say, and go on to shower you with affection.
You're both proud of each other for being so strong, for marching on even when things get difficult.
Things may seem bleak where you are at this time, and it may take a while for things to get better. But they will, and your f/o's will be with you, holding you up and cheering you on every step of the way.
🎨 will drop everything to model something for you anytime you ask
🎨 he might feel a little silly doing certain poses, or get a bit flustered as you stare at him so closely and intently, but he'll hold still as long as you need him to, everything else can wait
🎨 ((he'd probably go real red in the face if you were positioning him yourself- the feel of your hands through his clothes, the certainty in your grip as you guide his limbs to convey the image in your head, the overall closeness, it all gets a bit much))
🎨 he likes the faces you make while concentrating, thinks they're very cute, and he'd tell you so, but he'd hate to break your focus
🎨 silently keeps track of all your erasers, making sure to replace them when they get too small or lost
🎨he'd totally get a kick out of taking you shopping to find a nice, good quality journal like his, and then insist on paying for it of course
🎨 and each one after that once you inevitably fill that one up
🎨 always so happy when you share a drawing with him
🎨 gets a big dopey grin on his face every time you come up to him with your journal in hand , ready to show off your latest masterpiece
🎨 he isn't showing his own sketches to just anyone, so it means a great deal to him when you want to share something he deems private and intimate
🎨 won't give criticism/pointers unless asked, until then it's just straight praise
🎨 but if you do ever ask him to critique your work, he'd do it in such a way that you'd never feel put down, and always learn something
🎨 incredibly supportive of your interest, whether you're drawing just as a hobby or as a skill to perfect
🎨 LOVES your personal style, whether it's heavily stylized or leaning closer towards realism like himself, he'll love it cuz it's yours, and no one does it better than you
🎨 if you ever gave him one of your drawings he'd probably get all choked up, and only be able to manage a weak 'thank you' (especially if the drawing is of him)
🎨 just give him a kiss on the cheek and tell him it's alright, it'll get easier once he's used to it
🎨 ((cuz that's definitely not the only drawing you'll ever give him, he's worth like a billion))
🎨 his heart will start beating real fast anytime he spots you by yourself, hunched over your journal, doodling away
🎨 just loves seeing you in your element, doing something you enjoy
🎨 makes him think about all the times you two have sat side by side, in blissfully comfortable silence while working on your own respective projects, letting conversation come and go as it pleases and just basking in that sense of wholeness you feel when you're together
🎨 it just tugs at his heart and gives him a little extra spring in his step
🎨 and of course makes him fall even deeper in love with you
Imagine teaching your f/o's how to wash your curly hair.
Maybe you two make an evening of it. Set up some nice scented candles around a bathtub, put a nice glittery bathbomb in the water, turn on a playlist you two made together and settle up against their chest while you explain all the products you use.
Imagine trying to teach them to comb out your hair. Maybe they're nervous about tugging on the knots and go too soft, or maybe they go in with too much force and freak out when you yelp, then are too scared to try again because they don't want to hurt you!
Imagine having them help put shampoo or conditioner in your hair, maybe splitting your hair down the middle so you both have a side to work on.
Think about how gently they handle your hair, subconsciously running their fingers through it and telling you how pretty it is. How much they love your curls and frizz, thin or thick, tight or loose, how you wouldn't be you without it!
Imagine the feel of their fingers against your scalp as they wash out your hair one last time, and how they'll help you out of the tub and wrap you up in a nice, fluffy towel.
Think about how you two could spend the time waiting for your hair to dry and stop dripping- maybe they'll whip up some food for you, put on a movie, watch you play a video game, or maybe just talk.
Imagine them getting excited watching your hair rise as the water evaporates out of it, and going absolutely BONKERS when it's dry enough and you allow them to play with it.
Just think of you, laying down on their chest, feeling them gently pluck at your curls, listening to them giggle as they spring back into place, thanking you for trusting them enough to let them touch it.
You feeling so relaxed and comfortable around them, even starting to fall asleep against them, and the last thing you hear before you're out is how they can't wait to help you wash your hair again.
