A.M x fem!reader ─ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 (𝐁𝐲 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲)
ಇ. one-shot
Warnings/MDNI: fluff, a little angst, emotional too? it touched me a lot though 😭, reader is preggo, arthur is paranoid af even from trees--to the point of losing his mind- Syno: Arthur meets an old lady, and his greatest fears are left ruffled. he isn't going back to normal now. +++ it's kind of a self-indulgent oneshot based on things I heard growing up, hehe. Arthur pic by Caramello on Pin.
┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list
He’d found her near the fork in the trail, hunched by a busted wheel and muttering curses. Old, but not frail, her eyes were sharp and her tongue sharper as she waved him down like he was late to something.
"You! Boy!"
Arthur slowed his horse, brow raised. "Ma’am."
"You got hands, don’t you? Good. Help me get this damned thing back on the axle before I throw it in the creek."
He could’ve ridden past. Should’ve, maybe. But something about her tone, bossy, impatient, proud , reminded him of you.
So he dismounted without a word and started working. Took him fifteen minutes, a few grunts, and one splinter, but the wheel was back in place. The old woman clucked her tongue like she approved, but didn’t say thanks.
"Figured it was a good day for helping folks," Arthur said, brushing his hands off on his pants.
She squinted at him. "You from these parts?"
"Not really."
"Got family?"
He hesitated, blushing. "Sort of."
She nodded, like she knew what that meant. "You’re not law, are you?"
He smirked faintly. "No, ma’am."
"Good. I don’t like ‘em. Too nosy."
That made him chuckle under his breath. "Ain’t got much reason to like 'em myself."
She jerked her head toward the bench on the cart. "Come on. You’re ridin’ with me to the river. Least you can do after helpin’ is keep me from dyin’ of boredom."
He didn’t argue. He helped her up, then climbed in beside her.
She started talking before the horse even took a step.
And that’s how, somewhere between a crooked mile and a winding bend, Arthur learned about her niece , about the girl’s sadness, the things she shouldn’t have done, and all the things her husband failed to do. He didn’t say much. Just listened.
"Lost the baby," she said, matter-of-fact. "Girl didn’t take care of herself properly. Started acting odd, too. Very...odd. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn't talk. Spent a lot of her time in her garden, alone. Quiet, under trees."
Arthur glanced sideways. "What’s trees got to do with it?"
"You don’t get all pretty, dolled up and sit under them, especially when the sun's goin' down. Pulls in bad stuff y'know. Makes the air heavy. Don’t hang clothes under open sky for long either, or leave hairbrushes lying around. They attract things. The old folks always said so."
Arthur nodded slowly, like he wasn’t paying attention, but he was already filing each word away.
No trees. No clothes hanging. Put the brush away.
"She sat in the dark too much. Alone. Cryin’. That’s no good. You sit in the dark, you invite things you don’t understand. You keep a house with warmth and sound in it. Laughter. Music. Light."
He looked down at his hands. You’d cried last night. Quiet, somewhere alone in the camp, when no one was looking, thought he wouldn't know. He knew because your eyes were swollen a bit too much when you had lain down beside him at night. Upon questioning , you had refused to answer him which led to an argument.
Dammit, I am a fuckin' bastard.
"Her husband was useless," the woman added with a sniff. "Didn’t even talk to the baby, didn’t keep her company. A woman carryin’ life needs love louder than the fear in her head. Needs someone holdin’ her hand more often than not."
Arthur swallowed hard, his jaw clenching out of instinct.
All this time, he’d been so focused on saving for the future , for the child, for safety, for the mess the gang might leave behind , that he hadn’t realized he was already failing at the most important part.
Being there.
Being present.
Being a father now, not just later.
"She was always angry before the baby passed," she said more gently. "You can’t sleep angry. That sort of feeling gets into everything. Into the child, even. Husband should smooth her hair, put a hand on her belly. Say good words. Doesn’t matter which ones. What matters is how he says ‘em."
"Right," Arthur murmured, jaw tight. "Got it."
"And feed her fruit. Good fruit. Give her water from your own cup once a day. Makes the child feel known. And keep her off her feet when the wind’s wrong."
Arthur looked up. "When the wind’s wrong?"
"You’ll know when it is. If you love her."
She patted his arm as he helped her climb down the wagon. "Men think protecting a woman is about killin’ things for her. Sometimes, it’s just makin’ sure she eats right and don’t cry alone."
She looked at him , really looked and said, "You got a woman carryin' your child, don’t you?"
Arthur blinked with a faint smile, his neck once again going red. "...Mhm...wife."
"Then go home, boy," she said, reaching out to straighten the fold of his shirt like he was twelve. "And stop leaving her alone with her sadness. You ain’t just protectin’ her body. You’re protectin’ the world you’ll both live in once that baby arrives. Make sure it’s one she wants to stay in."
He was left speechless and...heavy with an uncountable amount of feelings. He stood there a minute longer after she was gone, then rubbed his jaw thoughtfully.
When Arthur got back to camp, he didn’t waste time.
Didn't greet anyone. Didn’t even scold Sean like usual when the boy hollered something about the horse looking tired.
No, he went straight to you.
You were sitting by the fire, poking at your plate, looking exhausted and a little distant, like you’d been left alone with your thoughts too long. You’d been doing that a lot these days. Same quiet place. Same untouched food. Same hollowness behind your eyes.
And it wasn’t like you.
Not you, who used to slam down your fork when dinner was cold. Who used to bite back at Dutch, roll her eyes at everyone, and make jokes, insult John like a hobby, to make Abigail smile. You loved poking people for fun not a piece of meat on a plate.
But now…
Now you just sat there. Under the dark sky, firelight soft against your skin, shadows deep under your eyes.
And you looked alone.
Arthur’s throat closed up.
Camp was still moving. Bill and Javier were somewhere near the wagons. Mary-Beth was chatting with Tilly. Uncle and Sean were probably off yelling about something that didn’t matter. You were surrounded by people.
And yet, he had never seen someone look so alone in a crowd.
His vision blurred for a second. He blinked fast, looking away, dragging a hand down his face as if that’d somehow fix what he was feeling. His chest ached in a quiet, unbearable way.
He’d been too focused on everything else. And there you were. His girl. His wife. The mother of his child. Sitting right in the middle of it all, still feeling like nobody saw her.
He swore under his breath, quiet, and started walking toward you before his legs could second-guess it.
He wasn’t about to let you sit in the dark by yourself another damn minute.
Arthur squatted down in front of you, his big hand sliding over your knee, startling you. "You eat?"
"Um...hi?". You shrugged. "And yeah, a...little."
"Not enough."
Before you could argue, he plucked an apple from his bag, one he’d bought on the ride back, carefully picking the ripest one like it was mission critical, and set it in your palm. "Eat it."
You blinked at him. "What are you doing?"
"Feedin' you."
"I know but-"
"You’re gonna eat it," he said firmly, already brushing crumbs off your lap and pulling your legs gently into his. "Ain’t no harm in lettin’ me fuss over you a little."
You squinted at him, suspicious. "What’s got you so-"
He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, holding the back of your neck to calm himself. "J-us'---jus' heard some things today."
"About...what?"
"About how a woman in your condition oughta be cared for. And how I ain’t been doin’ enough of it."
You frowned, but you bit into the apple anyway.
Arthur sat back, watching you like you might disappear if he looked away. His hand absent-mindedly rubbed your shin, his thumb circling the spot where you’d complained about aching last night to Karen.
...You’d even stopped sharing your problems with him.... Whether it was because you didn’t think he was worthy of them anymore, or you just didn’t want to be a burden, he didn’t know. But he knew one thing. He didn’t like it
Slowly chewing, you spoke up, "You’re acting strange."
"Yeah, well," he muttered, "guess I figured out I ain't just protectin' you from guns and bad men. I gotta protect you from bein' sad. From bein’ tired. From...feelin' like you gotta do this alone."
You stared at him, gulping.
He caught the look and clicked his tongue. "Don’t go gettin' all weepy on me now. I'm still mad you didn't finish your lunch."
"You sound like...Uncle Hosea."
"Good. He’s smarter than me, always has been." He brushed your hair behind your ear, voice dropping as he added, "Also, always put your brush away. And we’re sleepin’ with the lamp on. No arguments."
Your brows shot up in confusion.
"Not arguin’," he said sweetly, cupping your face. "Just lovin’ you loud enough to drown out the fear. That’s the rule now."
You sat there for a beat too long, caught in his stare, your fingers tightening around the apple.
Finally, you mumbled, "I was fine, you don't have to."
Arthur smiled faintly, pressing a kiss to your temple. "No, you weren’t. You aren't. And don’t you dare say ‘you didn’t have to’ or ‘don’t do it’, not to me, you silly girl." His voice dropped, softer, but firm. "Who else’s job is it, huh? Mhm? You should’ve beat my sorry ass to make me do it sooner. Don't think you ain't a priority of mine, not...more important than the gang. You are...I jus' never made you feel it, I guess. So be selfish, very, very selfish, ya' hear me?"
And when you slowly leaned into his chest with your eyes glistening, food forgotten, Arthur wrapped his arms around you like he never planned to let go.
That night, you found your brush tucked neatly away. Arthur had fussed a bit more over the fire, made sure you ate more than you could even, and massaged your feet till you dozed off.
All the while as he just shrugged and muttered, "Wind’s wrong." He pulled you onto his chest, his big hand resting over your belly like it was the most natural thing in the world. No words. Just the warmth of his palm, the steady hum of his breath, and the soft glow of the lamp in the tent, he absolutely refused to turn off.
Because love protects in ways no gun ever could.
And you were delusional to think it wouldn't get much more than this...
❀˖°
You hadn’t even been under the damn tree for five minutes.
The breeze was soft, sun low, and you’d just finished pinning your hair up the way you liked, a little loose, a little elegant, with one of the new combs Arthur brought back from town. You smelled like rosewater from your bath. Felt good for once, onto some evening reading. Fresh and light, pretty, settled, calm.
Which is exactly when you heard thundering footsteps.
"Hey!" Arthur’s voice cracked through camp like a whip. "Get up."
You looked over your shoulder slowly, like you were dreaming. There he was, stomping across the clearing like a man possessed. Hat crooked from running. Eyes locked on you like you'd personally offended him.
"...What did I do now?" you asked flatly.
"You're sittin' under a tree."
"So?"
"So?!" he panted, stopping a few feet from you, "you look... like that."
You blinked. "L-like what?"
"Like... you got your hair all done up, smell like a damn field of flowers, and you're glowin'. And you're sittin' under the one thing I was told to keep you the hell away from."
"...Arthur."
"She said don't let you near trees if you're glamoured up!" he hissed, glancing up at the branches like they were about to lunge at you.
"But I just wanted to-"
"YOU NEVER LISTEN, WOMAN! THEY NOTICE--BAD THINGS NOTICE, AND THEY'RE GONNA GET YOU! OR GET INSIDE YOU, I DUNNO! JUS' GET YOUR ASS UP!"
Your breath caught. He'd never spoken to you like that before. Never so sharp. And it scared the hell out of you.
You hadn’t meant to make a mistake. You were just tired. You wanted peace.
Your lip trembled before you could stop it. You tried to blink away the burn in your eyes, tried to breathe through the rising weight in your chest... but you couldn’t. Not this time.
That’s when Susan stormed over.
"Arthur Morgan! What in God’s name are you barkin’ about?! What could she possibly have done?"
Arthur spun to her, exasperated. "She's sittin' under a fuckin' tree!"
"And?!"
"And she ain’t supposed to! Not when she’s all pretty and perfumed and-" He gestured toward you, like that explained everything.
Susan crossed her arms. "The tree’s gonna gobble her up, is it?"
Arthur clenched his jaw. "That ain’t the point! It ain’t safe. Evil, horror things--I dunno!"
But Susan’s eyes had already flicked back to you. She saw the tears brimming, the way your shoulders were shaking.
And then it happened.
You broke.
A sob tore from your throat as you covered your face, crying in spite of yourself.
Susan’s expression softened. "Oh, sweetheart, are you alright? Ignore him."
Arthur’s heart plummeted.
In two strides, he was in front of you, crouching down low, voice suddenly low and raw. "Hey. No, no, c’mere. I ain’t mad at you, alright? I’m just--hell, I’m scared. I didn’t mean to yell."
But you were already leaning into Susan, hiding in her arms as you cried harder.
Arthur’s hands hovered before gently cupping your chin, coaxing your gaze to his. "I ain’t scared of much," he whispered, eyes glistening, "but losin’ you? I’d burn down every tree in the damn country if it meant keepin’ you safe."
Susan shook her head, fighting a smile. "Well, now you’ve done it. She’s crying, and it’s your fault."
Arthur didn’t look away from you. "I’m so sorry, darlin'. Look at me."
You blinked up at him through tears. He brushed your jaw with his thumb, then pressed a long kiss to your forehead, staying there like he could kiss away the world.
"Lemme walk you back, alright? No more trees today."
You hiccupped quietly. "I w-was co-mfortable."
Arthur smiled softly. "I’ll build you a chair outta blankets and hold your hand the whole damn time. Deal?"
You nodded, finally leaning into his chest.
Susan chuckled as she walked off. "Lord, you two’ll give me gray hair."
Arthur murmured against your temple, "Mine’ll go first at this rate," and then added under his breath, "Damn old ladies… damn gorgeous woman… damn hauntin’ trees…"
He tugged you up gently by the hand, draped his jacket over your shoulders like a shield, and guided you back toward the tents, never letting go.
Now everyone was sure that...
Arthur was absolutely gonna start carrying an axe from now on.
Just in case.
Which made him target of stupid ass jokes from Bill , Sean and John like...
'Oi, Arthur! Need us to put up a fence around the trees for ya? Keep the lady safe from wild bark and seductive leaves?'
'Should we start packin’ flowers around her bed too? Maybe get her a tree-repellent candle?'
Even Dutch-"Boy, have I ever told you how proud I am? Chivalry. Romance. Tree-related overreactions. That’s what this gang needs more of."
"Dammit" Arthur closed his eyes like he was praying for patience. "I ain’t never talkin’ to old women again."
"You will," you said sweetly, "especially if they give more advice about how to treat me like royalty."
The camp howled.
Arthur gave up, dragging a hand over his face and shaking his head, but not before pressing a kiss to your temple again, just to shut them all up for a moment.
He didn't mind the notion at all. If that makes you happy and safe. Old people spoke wisdom anyway.
Two days later, you sat by the fire, reaching for knife to help Susan with chopping veggies for stew when-
Arthur appeared like a storm cloud.
He had said no things sharp.
And so he didn’t even speak. Just slowly pulled the knife from your hand, gave Susan a look of deep apology, and started chopping himself.
"Sharp things," he said solemnly. "Not today."
Also, did you mention how he tied a makeshift ribbon on your wrist made from his handkerchief? Soft. So that way, even when he isn't here, you know he's close. To you both.
❀˖°
By the end of the week, the notebook had:
A tally of how many times you sneezed
A small doodle of the tree you sat under (labeled 'Dangerous Shady Bastard')
A list titled "Food Cravings Approved / Denied"
Goose eggs cooked over a fire (ticked).
Well, this made you remember how he was chased down while stealing them, and you're laughing the whole time while Arthur’s yelling, "it ain’t funny, damnit!"
Pickled beets (ticked)
Blackberries (ticked)
Stagecoach jerky from Sean (crossed)
Whatever the hell that "river cheese" was (crossed)
One page that just read:
"Combing her damn luscious hair while sittin' under trees = VERY BAD. DO NOT REPEAT."
You’d tried to ignore it. You really did.
But on the eighth day, after Arthur pressed a warm hand to your forehead because you sniffled once, wrote 'Chill in air?' and asked if Dutch’s cologne was 'too strong for the baby,' you finally cracked.
"Arthur!" you burst, snatching the notebook.
"You gonna scold me for protectin’ my family?" he asked, full cowboy martyr eyes.
You stared at the page.
He’d drawn a tiny picture of you. Next to it, he’d written:
Don’t let her sleep mad. Night’s too long to carry anger. If she breathes funny, check her pulse. If she walks fast, carry her. If she rolls her eyes, kiss her.
Your face softened.
"…You’re so-"
Arthur grinned, not even letting you finish as he pulled you snug to his chest, his arms wrapped tight around your waist. "Yeah. In love. I know."
You tried to squirm, only half-heartedly. "And you’re gonna give yourself a stroke if you keep this up. You’re making me worried now!"
Instead of easing off, he simply leaned in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck like he was trying to melt into your skin. His voice was soft, all gravel and affection.
"Then I’ll die holdin’ this dumb little notebook and you."
You let out a snort, muffled as you buried your smile in his collar. "God help me. You’re gonna be so much worse when the baby’s here."
Arthur shifted then, gently pushing you back onto the bedroll, his body following yours like instinct. His weight was warm and grounding, his hand sliding behind your head as the other pulled the blanket up over both of you. He laid half on top of you, protective and lazy, like a man who had no intention of leaving.
"Oh, I already got a whole second notebook ready for that, sweetheart," he murmured smugly against your cheek.
You paused, squinting up at him. "What--Arthur."
He kissed your lips, slow and indulgent, like punctuation.
"Color-coded."
"Off the rails, aren't you?."
"For you," he said with zero shame, kissing the tip of your nose before resting his forehead to yours.
Then, softer, almost sheepish, "I just wanna do right by you. And the kid. Even if it means not sleepin’ and keepin’ track of how many times you throw a pillow at me."
You blinked slowly, the lump rising in your throat making it hard to speak.
Arthur kissed your jaw, then your wrist, then held your hand right over his chest, where his heartbeat thudded steady beneath your palm.
"I ain’t lettin’ a damn thing touch both of you," he whispered. "Not worry, not fear, not even a rough patch in camp. You hear me?"
You nodded, tucking yourself closer into his arms, his weight like armor and his words like prayer.
tag list: @sensitivegamergirl
