ANYTHING, ANYONE ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ iv

Days go by like raindrops dripping in a puddle, they've gathered and spilled over the edge before you know it. Isaac has settled in, Dutch has grown to tolerate him.

Arthur tries his best, too. He really does.

You can understand that being an outlaw and a responsible father rarely go hand in hand, if at all, so his effort means the world to you. To his son too, you think. Little Isaac just doesn't know it yet.

You've grown quite attached to Arthur's son too, though you don't quite want to admit it. Abigail has teased you a good few times that you've taken the safest and quickest route into Arthur's heart, but you beg to differ.

Not like he'd want anything to do with you, save for the fact that you're practically a nanny to his child.

Part of you expects him to stop treating you so kindly once Isaac doesn't need your help anymore, but you dread to think about that day. Why should you? It's years away. Maybe one of the three of you will end up dead by then, what is the point in trying to predict the unpredictable?

None. None at all.

So when you're sat in the periphery of camp one morning, Isaac on your lap, one of Williamson's ripped pair of jeans in your hands, the last thing you expect is someone to disturb the makeshift idyll.

A shadow shields you from the late morning sun, Isaac squeaks with joy at the sight you haven't let yourself look at just yet. The aura is familiar, you don't have to glance up from the stitches you're making to know who it is.

"Mister Morgan." You greet but don't take your eyes off the needle for even a second. The smile on your face can be heard in your voice, your chest feels tight, but in a good way.

You finally muster the courage to look at him when he bows down to scoop Isaac out of your arms, then props him against his side with one hand. The sun shines from behind the both of them, it catches both in Arthur's and Isaac's similarly colored hair. The both of them appear golden in the morning sun, and the outlaw looks at his child as if the little boy actually is. Your smile widens, you can't help it.

Arthur notices, his loving expression turns slightly playful.

"I thought we both agreed on skippin' formalities miss (l/n)—" His voice catches in his throat when he realizes he's committed the same mistake as you.

A giggle is impossible to suppress.

"The boy behavin' himself?" He changes the subject, you nod. Isaac is a shy little thing, dislikes loud sounds above all else, and that includes his own cries. It's a blessing.

To say he's well-behaved is an understatement.

"Of course." You respond with a gentle, happy lilt to your voice. "He's been very good."

Arthur readjusts his hold on Isaac, who looks at him with big, curious dark eyes as he gnaws on his small fingers.

"Good, 'cause I been, uh..." Arthur scratches the nape of his neck with his free hand, his expression turns somehow shy. You're rendered speechless, you feel like you've seen something you weren't allowed to. "I been...thinkin'."

Arthur Morgan and reluctance have never mixed before.

"I been thinkin' bout how you've been— well, very helpful these past few weeks. To me, 'n to the boy. I— I appreciate it."

You smile, set Williamson's jeans aside as you move to stand in front of Arthur. "Like I said, mist— Arthur. You don't need to thank me, really, all I did was just lend a helping hand when it was needed. I don't want a pedestal for that."