ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Pretty Boy Problems (Arthur Morgan x male!reader)

Summary: O'Driscoll eh? interesting

Warning: This one slightly long.. i guess..welp! every fics i wrote always long btw

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The first time Arthur laid eyes on you, you were tied to a tree, smirking like you owned the damn place.

Ann O'Driscoll. Caught snooping around the edge of Clemens Point.

Charles had dragged you in, bloodied but grinning. Dutch had called it "a potential opportunity." Hosea just sighed.

And Arthur?

Arthur crossed his arms, spat in the dirt, and scowled like he was staring down the devil himself.

"Well, look what crawled out of the swamp," he muttered. "Another snake."

You tilted your head and gave him that same cocky grin you wore like a badge. "Funny, cowboy. You look like you wanna kiss me or kill me."

Arthur's brows twitched. "Ain't ruled out both."

They kept you tied up for the first few days. Chained near the horses, fed like a stray dog, watched like a hawk.

You didn't seem to mind.

Every time Arthur passed by, you had something to say.

"Don't walk away, sweetheart. I miss you already."

"Y'know, if you're gonna keep starin', you could at least buy me a drink first."

"Is that your 'I hate how hot you are' face again?"

Arthur threatened to break your nose twice, and you only laughed harder each time.

You weren't just an O'Driscoll — you were a pretty O'Driscoll. That made it worse.

Too clean-cut. Too smooth-talking. And too good at getting under Arthur's skin.

But slowly, things shifted.

You earned a few freedoms. Started chopping wood, helping with chores, sleeping unchained — though Arthur still watched you like you might set the camp on fire with a wink.

One night, as you helped Charles patch a tent, Arthur muttered under his breath, "Still don't trust him."

Charles didn't even look up. "That's because you like him."

Arthur froze. "The hell I do."

Charles gave him a look. "You think I don't notice the way you stare?"

Arthur scowled, but said nothing.

Because maybe he had been staring. Maybe a little too long when you laughed with Javier. Maybe too hard when you bent over the campfire or stripped off your shirt in the summer heat.

Maybe it wasn't just suspicion anymore.

That night, Arthur found you alone by the lake, skipping stones.

You glanced over your shoulder. "Well, well. If it ain't the grumpiest man alive."

"Just needed quiet," Arthur grunted.

You smirked. "Funny. I could've sworn you came to see me."

He didn't answer. Just stood beside you and picked up a rock of his own.