HELLO!!!

Arthur Morgan x Reader (fluff)

A Sip of Mayhem

Description: Arthur captures a bounty who'd drug his customers by offering them “juice” just to rob them blind. He confiscated a bottle to show the sheriff, but forgot it in his satchel, deciding to deal with it the next day. That night, when he witnesses your stumbling figure practically catcall him from across camp and found the bottle on his desk, empty, he faces a lot of trouble getting you to settle down. ⚠️Warnings: reader is basically drunk, tries to jump into a stream, mentions of religious upbringing, being orphaned. this aint dark, just stupid and funny `(*>﹏<*)′

The small jeweled bottle of strange liquid sat on Arthurs desk, glowing softly under the moonlight. He’d meant to take it to the sheriff first thing in the morning after catching a bounty–a man who’d drug his customers and rob them blind, but after the long ride back to camp, his legs had screamed at him to sit down for a while, and he’d forgotten all about it.

Now, with the party in full swing celebrating Sean’s return to Horseshoe overlook, the bottle was the last thing on his mind. Laughter and the sound of a badly played fiddle filled the air as Sean drunkenly exaggerated some story during his time as a captive, waving a bottle of whiskey around like it was a prop in a stage play.

Arthur wasn’t much for parties, so he sat back in his chair, rolling a cigarette and letting the chaos unfold. He was half expecting you to join him, usually not one to enjoy loud gatherings or drinking yourself. He remembered you told him that your folks were real religious-like prior to their passing, before you had stumbled upon the gang of outlaws as a child. He enjoyed those quiet talks with you. He chuckled a little, outlawing was one thing, but drinking was where you crossed the line. That was until he heard your voice cut through the camp, slurred and way too loud.

“Well! aren’tchu a fiiine cowboy,” you practically purred from across camp.

Arthur’s head snapped up.

You stood there, dressed in your casual attire, a comfortable blouse and a long skirt. But you were unusually swaying like the wind was about to knock you over, a loopy grin plastered on your face. Your normally calm nature was nowhere to be found, gone, vanished, replaced by whatever nonsense had taken hold of you. 

You pointed at him dramatically, eyes nearly crossing,

“Arthur Morgannn,” you drawled, dragging out his name like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. “You got nice-“ you hiccuped, clutching your chest for a moment, “nice hands, made for holdin’ a lady, you know that?” You slurred as you stumbled toward him. 

Arthur’s cigarette nearly fell out of his mouth as his face reddened under the brim of his hat. “What the hell-”

Dutch, who had been dancing nearby with Molly, chuckled, “Now that ain’t normal.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. It was then he noticed you hiccup again, looking oddly glassy-eyed. It didn’t take a genius to realize something was wrong. Then, like a switch flipping in his brain, he remembered.

The bottle.

It was on his desk, but opened, empty.

“Aw, hell,” Arthur groaned. He shot up from his chair and started toward you. “You didn’t—tell me you didn’t drink somethin’ off my desk.”

You hiccuped again and winced like he’d just accused you of murder, “Well..I did!” 

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and you spoke again, “it was a pretty lookin juice, Arthur! You’ gonna tell me juice is a crime now?-“

“Oh it weren’t no juice, woman!” Arthur snapped. 

“Well, what was in it?” Hosea, who had heard the ordeal nearby, appeared at his side, eyeing you with a suspicious yet concerned look. 

“It was a drug from a bounty! One I meant to turn into the sheriffs…” he trailed off, feeling foolish for the slip up.  

Hosea let out a long-suffering sigh beside him. “Great. She can’t even handle a cup of coffee without buzzing, what the hell’s a spiked drink gonna do to her?” 

“I don’t know,” Arthur muttered, reaching for you, but you took a dramatic step back, swaying. 

“Noooo, no, no,” you wagged your finger at him, “I don’t need your help.”

Arthur groaned before holding you by the shoulders and looking into your dilated pupils “Now, darlin’,” 

“Yeah?” Your gaze drifts here and there, seeing the world bend him in a funny way, before his finger snaps in front of you,

“You’re drunk off your ass, so you gotta let me and Hosea sit you down and-”

“Drunk?!” You gasped again, stumbling back from his hold. “I am not!”

You absolutely were.

“I do not-I don’t drink!”  You shout.

Then, before they could grab you, you turned tail and bolted.

Your brain was working at half-speed. Or maybe it was working at double speed. Who knew? Who cared?

All you knew was that Arthur was chasing you, and that was hilarious.

“You ain’t gonna catch me!” you whooped, dodging around the campfire, startling Uncle so bad he nearly fell off his log, 

“The hell’s wrong with you?” you heard the old man yelp, “knockin me round knowin’ i got lumbago-”

Arthur swore behind you. “Damn it— get back here girl!”

You tire out eventually, surrendering for a bit, “Fine! Fine I’ll sit down” you gasp catching your breath. 

“You better,” Arthur warned.

You plop down near Sean and Karen, looking back at Arthur who stands there half expecting you to bolt off again. 

Sean was running his mouth about something-something dramatic, no doubt. His accent was thick, his hands flying everywhere, and for some reason, that was hilarious too!

You scoot closer beside him,

“Ah, yes,” you said in a mock Irish accent, your voice dropping to a ridiculous brogue, “and then I took on ten men at once with only me fists and me Macguire bullocks!”

Sean blinked at you. “What the-”

“And I won the day for you lady!” you continued, grinning, wagging a finger in Karen’s face.

Sean’s face scrunched up. “Are you mockin’ me, lass?”

You gasped, “Mocking? I’d never!”

Sean turned to Karen, who was already laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Is that what I sound like?” He asked, genuinely curious.

“Exactly,” she wheezed.

Arthur called out for you, but you were already on the move again, stumbling toward where Abigail, Tilly, and Mary-beth sat at a bed roll a few feet away.

You plopped yourself down between Mary-Beth and Tilly, sighing deeply, 

“Ladies,” you slurred, looking utterly exhausted.

They turned to you, amused.

Abigail chuckled seeing the obvious drunken flush in your face. “Well, if it ain’t our resident good girl. Thought you didn’t drink?”

“I don’t,” you huffed. “I was tricked. Hoodwinked.” You sighed dramatically, placing a hand on Mary-Beth’s knee before laying down entirely and resting your buzzing head in her lap.

“And now there’s some…admittedly, handsome fella, chasin’ me!” You whine with furrowed brows, stuffing your face into Mary-Beth’s torso.

Mary-Beth gasped, playing along. “Handsome fella? Who?”

You picked your head up a little too quickly, feeling the world spin a little. 

You looked around wildly, seeing Arthur linger a few feet away before whispering “Arthur.” 

The women exchanged a look before breaking into exaggerated gasps.

“No!” Tilly gasped, “that ruthless outlaw out to get you?” 

You nodded solemnly, “Yes ma'am.”

Abigail shot a look over your shoulder, and you turned, following her gaze, right to Arthur, who still stood with his arms crossed, rolling his eyes but, notably, fighting back a blush.

You pointed at him. “See? There he is.”

Mary Beth leaned in conspiratorially. “What’s he gonna do when he catches you?”

You considered it for a moment before your gaze caught the pistol tucked into Arthurs holster. Gasping, you felt a wave of fear overcome you, “Probably shoot me!”

“I wish,” Arthur scoffed, before leaning down to your level “Alright, time to go.”

He grabbed your arm gently, but you yelped and recoiled, flinging yourself back into Mary-Beth’s arms, hiding your face as if the boogie man was right there in front of you

 “See? He’s grabbin’ me!”

Arthur sighed, ripping you away from the girls and holding you up, “Pardon me ladies, just-gotta get this one to rest.”

But you were already wriggling out of his grasp. 

Nope. No way. You weren’t about to let him take you away like some unruly sack of potatoes. 

You were free. You were fast. You were-

“Gonna jump in a river!” you declared proudly, running full speed away from the camp and toward the small stream near camp.

“The hell you are!” Arthur hollered running after you, grabbing the attention of John who was keeping watch of camp. 

“The hell's wrong with her?” He asked Arthur, gesturing to you running off. 

“Long story,” Arthur groaned, before motioning John to help him out. 

You giggled maniacally as you turned back to see two fuzzy figures chase after you, “Try ‘n’ stop me you demons!”

“How the hell is she faster drunk?” John yelled through a strained breath.  

“I don’t know,” Arthur replied, darting through the foliage leading up to the river.  

Finally you reached it, a stream but it wasn’t just any stream, it was a darker blue with speckled stars and clouds stirring and swirling below it.

A perfect portal to jump through and explore, maybe it was the gates to heaven itself! 

You giggled, 

Who would’ve thought paradise was out here in the middle of nowhere? Were your parents there? 

You wondered if they were looking at a similar stream from the other side, waiting for you. 

Maybe they’d lecture you for accidentally drinking…and robbing…and killing…and stealing.

Well, there’s only one way to find out-

Right before you could fling yourself into the water, a pair of firm arms caught you from behind. The world really did turn upside down as Arthur lifted you right off your feet and tossed you over a shoulder.

“Agh! Put me down!” You flail wildly.

“This is for your own good” Arthur drawled, adjusting you like you weighed nothing.

John scoffed, flicking your forehead as he trailed behind, “Now who gave you a drink?” he asked incredulously. 

“Arthur.” 

The two escorted you back toward camp, your limbs flailing the whole way, mouth conjuring up the most unique insults directed at the two as you could. 

When you tried to grab John’s rifle, he leaned away quickly, “You better watch your drunk self.” 

“I ain’t drunk,” you insisted. “I’m just—” 

A hiccup cut you off and Arthur finally set you down. You staggered violently, grasping onto Arthur’s vest as John held out his hands in case you fell. 

Hosea met the three of you, arms crossed, looking more amused than anything. 

“Well?” he asked.

Arthur scoffed, motioning to you, “Crazy girl was about to drown herself.”

Hosea smirked. “So, what’s the plan? Tie her up like a runaway calf?”

“I ain’t a calf!” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Nah. Just gotta wait it out, get her to bed I guess.”

Hosea nodded and John huffed,

 “Good luck with that.” 

“Now,” Arthur turned to you and shook his head with a smirk, “don’t go drinking any more of my…” 

He paused, not wanting you to go off on a rampage about not having drunk alcohol, “Juice no’ more, you hear me woman?” 

You sulk a little and mutter, “Fine.” 

“Good, you don’t need any more of that,” John rolled his eyes as he walked off, “already a damn smart mouth when you’re sober.” 

“Come on now y/n, let’s get some rest, alright?” Hosea said, gently guiding you. 

“So, the ‘handsome cowboy’ did save her?” Dutch chuckled from where he stood outside his tent, smoking a cigar as he watched Hosea coax you into your tent. 

Arthur rolled his eyes, but as he turned away, he flushed a little as he recalled your drunk flirting. 

As much as he hated to admit it, he was amused by your flirtatious slip ups. 

But then his mind went back to you almost lunging into the stream.  

He is never going bounty hunting again.

❛ common interest ❜

note: hope you enjoy anon 💖 ty for requesting!

i really want to write something about charles next bc that man is my legal husband and baby daddy 💞

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"Oh look," Tilly announces, drawing the attention of the other two women. "Here she comes, back into camp."

Karen follows Tilly's gaze and rolls her eyes in distaste. "The Ice Queen herself."

Mary-Beth, who'd had her head buried in a book - sneaking in a few minutes of reading when Grimshaw was off doing something else instead of barking orders at them - looked up with a frown. "That ain't right, Karen. She's just not overly talkative, that's all."

"'Not overly talkative'?" echoes Karen in disbelief. "I don't think I even heard her speak once!"

"Maybe she can't," Mary-Beth suggests empathetically.

Tilly shakes her head, disagreeing. "I seen her over with the horses a few times. Heard her speaking to them."

Karen snorts. "So she can talk to horses but not people? What a freak."

"Karen!" Mary-Beth scolds, glaring disapprovingly at the other woman.

"What? It ain't normal, is all I'm sayin'. Preferring the company of damn horses to people. It ain't right."

Unbeknownst to the three women, chatting away about you, there was another set of ears nearby taking it all in.

Kieran Duffy had been tied to this tree for the better part of a goddamn week. It sure felt longer, with the way his muscles burned from being forced to stay standing on account of the ropes around him and the way his empty stomach ached with a gnawing hunger so consuming that even the dirt was beginning to look appetising.

For the most part, he pleaded with anyone passing by, begging to be set free, or just some water and food. One girl, the younger one - Tilly, he believed her name was - had listened and given him a sip of water, which he'd drank with such euphoria he had to hold back a moan.

The other woman, the one with her head buried in a book half the time when she weren't doing chores - Mary something or other - had quietly come to him when it was dark and fed him a few spoonfuls of their usual stew the camp cook makes for their dinner every evening.

It tasted almost as good as it smelled, and Kieran would know exactly how it smelled because the cruel bastards had tied him to the tree right beside the food wagon to watch as they got their dinner each evening.

Not many other people talked to him or even paid him much attention, other than the men who glared at him with murder in their eyes.

Didn't seem to matter how much he swore he weren't an O'Driscoll. He might as well have been trying to convince them the sky was purple instead of blue. They were convinced he was the enemy, an outsider, and they sure as shit treated him like one.

When the three women gathered near enough that Kieran could overhear them gossiping, he listened eagerly. It wasn't often he could listen in on a conversation to take his mind away from the constant pangs of pain and hunger.

His eyes found the one they were talking about, the one they referred to as the 'Ice Queen'. He weren't quite sure what that meant exactly but he presumed from the rest of the conversation that you didn't mix well with folk here.

You were over by the horses, going from animal to animal, stroking their manes, brushing out their coats, sneaking them some treats of apples and carrots and whatnot. From this distance it was hard to tell but he thought he could just about make out your mouth moving as you spoke to the horses.

If he hadn't been tied to a tree for days on end, left to starve and dehydrate, he would've found the sight a lot more endearing. As it was, he didn't have much energy left for endearing.

So he simply filed the information away for later, if there would be a later provided the men of the gang didn't carve him up and add him to the goddamn stew.

The thought caused him to grimace.

Fortunately, they didn't kill him.

Once Kieran led them to where some of the O'Driscolls were hiding out (after they'd threatened to castrate him, mind you) and he'd saved the life of the feller called Arthur, they'd taken a slightly more kinder approach to him.

Even let him stay with them after he'd argued he had nowhere else to go. If he left, Colm and his boys would surely catch up with him and kill him for squealing.

Even though the Van der Linde gang hadn't treated him all too kindly, staying with them was his best option for survival.

They didn't fully trust him enough to let him in on any robberies and schemes, which suited Kieran just fine. He found himself gravitating towards the horses, a natural instinct for him.

He'd always loved horses, even when he was riding with the O'Driscolls he'd look after all the horses and make sure they were fed, clean and healthy. The only reason Kieran figured they hadn't cut him loose back then was because he'd taken such good care of their steeds.

Kieran ran a hand over the smooth coat of a Blood Bay Thoroughbred, admiring the glossy red colour. It was a beautiful mare, calm and friendly, and it seemed to take him to him fairly quick in comparison to the other horses.

Dutch's horse, the Count, had kicked him when he wasn't careful enough and even tried to nip at him a few times.

"Yeah, you're a good girl, ain't ya?" Kieran murmured to the horse, feeding it an apple. "A lot nicer than that nasty Count, that's for damn sure."

The sound of a twig snapping from behind made him freeze and whirl around, expecting to be met by one of the male members of the gang glaring at him. Instinctively, his hands twitched to cover his crotch.

But it wasn't a man.

"O-oh," Kieran stuttered, visibly surprised (and a little more than relieved). He quickly took his hands off his crotch. "Um...hi."

You blinked, face impassive.

Kieran gulped, feeling his nerves grow under your steady, stoic gaze. "U-um, it's Kieran. I - I mean, that's my name, is, uh, Kieran. Not that you're Kieran, obviously you ain't a Kieran, you're a woman and I don't think women are called Kieran - not that there's anything wrong with a woman being called Kieran, o' course, but I just don't think it's a pretty enough name is all..."

The silence was deafening.

Kieran felt mortified. His face was on fire, his hands were clammy and trembling, and his throat was constricted, making his breathing a little shallower.

Then, almost interciptively, the corner of your mouth twitched. A glint of amusement flitted across your eyes. "You sure talk a lot."

The man grimaced, still feeling utterly embarrassed by his idiotic, anxious rambling. "I--I'm sorry, miss, I didn't mean to, I just - I guess I'm still a little nervous."

Instead of turning away in disgust and ignoring him, you held out your hand and offered him a carrot.

Kieran blinked, taken aback. His mind whirred with endless possibilities on why you might be giving him a random vegetable - and how to politely say thank you without seeming as completely bewildered as he felt inside.

It must have shown on his face because the corners of your lips lifted further, forming an amused smile that made the corners of your eyes crease. "It's for Leyla."

It took a moment to register that you were talking about the horse.

"Oh, right, o' course! Um, I didn't realise her name was Leyla." Kieran gingerly accepts carrot from you and offers it to the horse, who gratefully gobbles it down, making sounds of approval.

You smile fondly. "Named her after a dog I had when I was a kid."

His brows raise in shock as your words register. "She's yours?"

"Mhm," you hum in response with a nod. "Best damn girl in the entire country - ain't ya, Ley?"

Leyla, as if in agreement, stomped her hooves and swished her tail.

Kieran huffs a warm chuckle at the horses reaction. He had no idea she belonged to you. If he had, well, he doesn't think he could've treated her better, she was already getting a few more treats and brushes than the other steeds.

"You like horses then?" You ask nonchalantly, stepping around him to gently scratch under Leyla's muzzle.

Kieran cleared his throat, taking a step back, giving you some room. Being so close to you made him feel all jittery inside. "Uh, sure, yeah, I- I like horses as much as the next feller."

"It's nice, isn't it? To be around creatures who don't make you feel judged or make you second guess yourself."

A smile spread on Kieran's mouth as he nodded in agreement. "It is."

As you and the Duffy man continued to make conversation about the horses, you were unaware of three pairs of eyes on you from across camp.

"The first time she speaks to a human being and it's the O'Driscoll?" Karen hisses as she, Tilly and Mary-Beth watch in disbelief.

"I guess they both really like horses," Mary-Beth murmurs, and Tilly nods, agreeing with her.

The trio of women continue to watch on in intense intrigue as you and Kieran host a spirited discussion for what seems like hours.

Before that day, they'd rarely, if ever, seen you smile.

After that day, when they'd catch you talking to Kieran again, they swore they'd never seen you smile as much.

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note: fun fact. i called the reader's horse after my own dog and she is also, in fact, the best damn girl 🐾💓

i am not okay

i tried to download a song onto itunes like two hours ago and it wasnt showing up in my library so i put it in a playlist and called it "fuck you" and now two hours later its finally downloaded. Just a look into my twisted fucked up mind.

Guess who just finished acrane and is writing this with actual tears on my face!!! I need some Vander fluff- i think i will emplode- it doesnt even have to be anything specific i just need comfort after that shit storm 😭

Yes my child. Mommy will make good on your request.

And don’t even get me started on S2. I can’t bring myself to watch it yet. I’m still not even over S1 and I KNOW for a fact it’s not even as sad as I’ve learned S2 is.

But shhhhh, Mommy’s got you. Here’s the fluff you asked for.

Piltover’s Got Nothin’ On You | Vander Fluff Flash 🍺🤎

(GIF cred: me <3)

Pairings: Vander x GN!Reader

Pronouns: No pronouns used.

Rating: SFW - Minors, you can look now. (But that’s debatable because Reader and Vander are lying presumably half naked in bed together— but I’ll let it slide since it’s very innocent)

Word Count: 524

Summary: Vander is enjoying a nice cozy morning with you, and reminds you exactly how he feels.

Tags: 18+ reader, just because it’s a little maturely themed if you whip out a magnifying glass, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Domesticity W/ Vander, OoeyGooeyRomance

Notes: None, just enjoy. Take a breather. 🤍

“Would I lie to you?” The question hung in the air, light yet loaded with meaning. It was enough to send a familiar flutter through your stomach, a soft, nervous twinge that made your heart skip. The sensation was strangely uncomfortable, yet in the most endearing way—like a gentle reminder of how much he could still make you feel, even in the simplest of moments.

You lay atop the man you were speaking to, both of you bare-chested, the warmth of your skin pressing together in an effortlessly comforting way. The coolness of the morning air was a distant contrast to the heat between you, a calm presence that made the moment feel serene to say the least. His steady breathing beneath you gave the moment a gentle rhythm, and for a while, there was nothing but the simple unspoken connection between you both before you responded.

“Maybe. Depends.” You tease, your words playful but laced with a hint of mischief.

His response is immediate—his large hand slipping into yours with a quiet sense of contentment, the warmth of his grip grounding you. There’s a comfort in the way he holds you, as if, in this moment, the world outside doesn’t matter. His touch speaks volumes, the unspoken understanding between you both more powerful than anything words could convey.

“Someone clearly thinks highly of me,” he teases back, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Before you can answer, he leans down and places a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead, his touch tender and full of quiet affection. The sweetness of the gesture catches you off guard, a simple act that somehow feels like the most genuine expression of his feelings—a quiet reminder of how deeply he cares.

You smile, a soft laugh slipping from your lips.

“All I was saying is that, as much as Piltover has its minor flaws—“ you begin, your voice light with amusement as you’re stopped short.

“Appalling flaws, really. Humongous, towering flaws,” he interrupts playfully, his tone teasing as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, still held firmly in his.

You can’t help but laugh at his wit.

“Yes, huge, appalling flaws. But despite all that, Topside is stunning at night. The lights here are beautiful, too, but nothing compares to the glow of Piltover.” You add, trying to make your point clear: a city’s beauty can stand on its own, no matter what darkness might lurk behind the scenes.

He regards you for a long while, his gaze lingering on your face with an amusement that never quite fades. The seconds stretch on, almost too long—what might seem like a few moments in the world’s rhythm becomes an eternity in his eyes. Each shift in your expression, each subtle change in your posture, draws him in, holding his attention as if time itself has slowed. And yet, even as eternity unfolds, it’s still not enough. To him, no amount of time could ever truly capture all he wants to see.

“That may be true,” he says, his voice steady, the smirk never quite leaving his face.

“But Piltover’s got nothin’ on you.”

Hello :D May I request some Oliver headcannons with reader from the main story of Threadville? Mostly about reader being an enigma despite looking like a puppet, like being able to crack their fingers or knuckles, swim and spill blood (puppets don’t have bones, get waterlogged if they attempt to swim, and have stuffing). That sort of thing :P

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. WITHIN DIRT, FLESH GROWS .* :☆ﾟ.

✿ Summary: A Compilation of Headcanons Featuring Oliver X Human-Like Puppet Reader

✿ Character(s): Oliver (Threadville)

✿ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

✿ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✿ Image Credits: @supernob12three on X

❀ You cracked your knuckles once in front of him—absentminded, offhand, just a little pop-pop-pop of bone and tension. Oliver dropped his trowel. “Jeepers! Was that your… hands makin’ that sound?” He leaned in, eyes rounder than saucers. “Weren’t no stuffing in there,” he whispered, like the garden weeds might be listening. He didn’t sleep easy that night, wondering what else inside you could bend without snapping.

❀ When you swam across the creek to save a floating turnip basket, he screamed so loud a flock of mourning doves took off. “You’re gonna get soggy! You’re gonna—wait… you’re… floatin’?” You emerged soaked, breathless, not bloated like a sponge left in the rain. Oliver blinked as you rung out your shirt, unwaterlogged. “Huh,” he muttered, holding his straw hat like a lifeline, “You really ain’t built like the rest of us, huh?” He didn’t stop you. But the next time, he followed with floaties and a rope—just in case.

❀ He once saw you bleed. Just a scrape—barely more than a paper cut. But the moment that red welled up, thick and metallic and not thread, Oliver backed up three steps and gasped like he’d seen a ghost. “Th-that ain’t stuffing…” He offered you a napkin, hands shaking like leaves in the wind. “Y-you alright? I didn’t mean to hurt you—oh jeepers—should I get Veena? Or a Band-Aid? Or a priest?”

❀ Veena doesn’t like you. Oliver doesn’t get why. But when he asked, she only said: “You brought something in that doesn’t belong. Something that walks like us but bleeds like something else.” Now when he has tea parties with her, he brings you up a little quieter. But not with any less fondness.

❀ Your laugh sounds different. Not stitched together like the others’. Not cued-up or pre-looped. It starts in your chest and shakes your ribs and comes out full and uneven. Organic. Oliver didn’t know laughter could crack like that— He likes it. He really does. But every now and then, he stares too long. Like he’s wondering if it’s real, or if you’re just really good at pretending.

❀ He tried teaching you how to sew a button one afternoon. You pricked your finger on the needle and bled. A single drop bloomed scarlet on the white thread like a firefly. Oliver stared. “I… I think the button’s cursed now.” You offered to finish it. He said no. He gave you his peanut butter and jelly sandwich as a peace offering. He doesn’t know why he was so scared, but it felt like he pricked something deeper than a finger.

❀ He likes how warm you are. Most folks here are soft and cool to the touch—felt or corduroy or cotton. But when your arm brushes his, he feels skin. He feels heat. He swears you’re like holding a pocketful of summer. And it confuses him—Because puppets don’t keep warmth. So where are you getting it from?

❀ He saw your shadow move when you didn’t. Not in a scary way—just… out of step. You turned your head. The shadow didn’t. Not right away. It caught up a moment later like it had forgotten to. Oliver didn’t mention it. But he pulled his hat lower over his eyes and whispered to himself: “Sun’s playin’ tricks again…” (But it wasn’t sunny.)

❀ You once helped Oliver with the morning harvest. He handed you a spade, not expecting much. Then you hoisted a squash as big as Rocky without so much as a grunt. He gawked. “You’re stronger than Rocky!” When you shrugged and cracked your back with an audible pop, Oliver nearly fainted. He called you “Farmhand of the Future” and gave you an extra slice of rhubarb pie out of sheer, wide-eyed awe.

❀ One evening, after a long day of planting, you two lay back in the field. He looked over at you, drowsy and thoughtful. “You’re real funny, you know that?” “…Funny how?” He squinted up at the stars. “Funny like… you don’t fit here. But not in a bad way. Like you’re somethin’ carved, not sewn. Like maybe you were meant to be here all along… just not made the way the rest of us were.” He smiled. “I think that’s alright, though. You still help the turnips grow just fine.”

PLEASE HELP ME

ATTENTION VANDER X READER FANFIC WRITERS!!!

I need to have reader save vander. I need reader to save the day what remains of their family- and then them leaving Piltover together on a ship and never coming back, and yes Vi brings her girlfriend along too I dont care

(The ship thing totally doesnt come from my oc being a pirate or anything- pirates are cool as shit let me live)

More Gaslight District X Mom!Reader

(Mostly Ken x Wife!Reader Headcanons)

Warning: There are spicy parts in here!🔞

Part One

(A/N: I’m actually glad you guys liked the previous post, so I guess I’ll make another one! Man, so many people liked it-🫀🫀)

• You and Ken’s relationship was the perfect example of unhinged and wholesome. Two proud parents of a big, happy psychotic family. You both have never been more happier in your lives.

• You were always the calm to Ken’s storm. Whenever the gears would shift in Ken’s head, you would always be there to calm him down during his random wrathful outbursts.

• You always thought losing his temper was cute, but work was too hasty for him to flip shit every 5 seconds. Ken would always feel ashamed whenever his wife would calm him down whenever he got too wrathful.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?! I SWEAR I’LL-!”

“Shh, Ken! You’re yelling again. The kids are sleeping!”

“…oh…sorry, honey.”

• Of course, you’re always there for your husband whenever he needs a hand. Being a father and a don of a mafia is never easy, so you’re always willing to switch places with Ken if it means that your hubby gets the rest that he deserves.

• Marrying Ken was the greatest thing that’s ever happened to you. In all of your undead years of living in The Gaslight District, you’ve never thought you’d find someone to finally complete you. Ken has always felt the same way.

• Your wedding night with him was absolutely unforgettable, too. Instead of saying wedding vows at a chapel, you and Ken completed your vows by bombing the building of the rivaling gangs. You still remember how the remains of the victims rained down upon you and Ken while you two kissed, nearly staining your wedding dress.

• The honeymoon was even better. You two nearly spent the entire day gushing over one another and loudly bumping hips (much to Mud’s dismay). In bed, in the car, on the kitchen table, in the shower, even on the floor. Ken was always rough with you and you loved it.

• Ken knows how much of a hold he has on you and he loves it. To his deep and attractive voice, his handsome strongfat body, and his loving personality. This delicious man leaves you weak to the knees with the littlest effort.

• You also tend to do the same to him, only unintentionally. Wearing his favorite perfume makes him more clingy to you than ever, soothing him with your sweet voice leaves him all flustered, and bending over while at work can guarantee that he’ll leave a hard smack on your ass.

• Ken has a secret little hobby of flustering you out of nowhere. Watching you perk up and blush by his words really strokes his ego.

“You know, Ken. Considering how much beefy you were back in the day I’m not surprised you stretched your old clothes out!”

“Heh, that’s not the only thing I’ve stretched out, hon...”

“O-Oh, my…”

• The last thing you expected was starting a family with Ken. Sure, kids are great and parenting was a beautiful yet, difficult thing, but you never really saw yourself being a mother, considering how violent your life is.

• Although it has been hard for you to decide, you immediately changed your mind when you first saw Breadhead and then Mel as babies. Two beautiful bundles of joy that you would destroy the world for.

• When Breadhead was first born, you and Ken were all over him. Your firstborn son, fresh out the oven, joyfully being held in a bundle by his new tearful parents.

“Oh, Ken! He’s perfect! Look at his cute little bread head…”

“I know, look at him! Our son! Our little roll of joy…”

• After you and Ken became parents, you began to stay behind at the Butcher Shop to take care of baby Breadhead. Ken and Mud were bummed out that you couldn’t go with them, but someone has to babysit.

• Your favorite memory of Breadhead is when he first ate a Rotling in one bite when he was 3. You still have a picture of that moment.

• Watching Breadhead grow up was a wild but enjoyable experience. From his first steps, his first word, and his first kill, you were nothing but a sweet and loving parent to him. Hence, why he became such a mama’s boy.

• But when Mel came into the family, so much has changed in your life. You weren’t fully aware what kind of bad blood Ken had with the Virtues and he never really wanted to talk about it. You remembered how shocked you were when Ken arrived at the shop with the human baby in his arms.

• Like others, you were fearful of the legend of the human child that would end The Black Hand’s curse of immortality throughout The Gaslight District. You first had thoughts of getting rid of Mel out of panic, but you then stopped yourself after seeing her for the first time.

• You remembered how her small pale head poked out of the bundle she was wrapped in with her precious round red eyes looking up at you in wonder. This beautiful human baby girl gazed at you with no fear regardless of your deathly appearance and immediately your panic was replaced with love.

• Ken was unsure whether or not he could trust you with the secret that Mel is the human, but when you slowly walked up to him, with you’re eyes glued to baby Mel, relief was what he nearly expected.

“(Y/N), please just-“

“…She’s beautiful…”

“…I knew I could trust you.”

• Words couldn’t describe how relieved and overjoyed Ken was when you agreed to keep the secret with him without hesitation. You two both knew that he couldn’t carry that burden alone and you completely moved by the fact that he believed that he could trust you with such a thing. You and Ken became much closer while raising Mel.

• Unlike Breadhead, Mel would always want to spend more time with Ken, but unfortunately he would always go on missions with Mud and Breadhead so she was mostly stuck with you in the Butcher Shop.

• Mel barely admits it, but she thinks you’re way cooler than Ken. As much as a daddy’s girl she is she can’t get enough of you being badass. Especially the time where she watched you traumatize the hell out of a creep.

• Ken absolutely loves it when you and Mel have precious mother-daughter moments together. Nothing makes his heart burst more than seeing his two favorite girls having a great time together.

• Ken nearly cried tears of joy when he watched you two slaughter a gang of Rotlings trying to rob the store with absolute glee together. When the entire gang was practically mincemeat, you and Mel’s similar deranged laughs echoed through shop as Ken heart melted at the sight of his wife and daughter together.

• Like mother, like daughter, right?

“Ken, are you crying, mate?”

“With pride, Mud…with pride…”

• Even though your marriage is perfect, it’s not unheard of you two getting into fights. Usually it happens when it comes to regarding Mel’s safety from The Gaslight District. Of course, it would never get physical though.

• The outcome of these fights would never be pretty, but in the end, you and Ken would always make up and apologize for the conflict you two put each other through. Parenting is never easy, but you two always needed each other to keep things straight.

“Look, (Y/N)…about the things I’ve said before I-“

“No, no. It’s alright, Ken. I know you want what’s best for Mel. It’s just that…it’s really difficult…”

“I know. But, all I know is that we’re together in this and I know you have my back…”

• You and Ken would always love to go back on old memories together. You two would usually sit on the couch looking at old pictures of the family and talk about your favorite old times together.

• Mel, Breadhead, and Mud would often join in on these conversations. Mud really took time to remember each and every moment you, him and Ken spent together. Of course, he would always poke fun at you two being gushy over one another.

• And everyday, you and Ken always take the time out of your day’s to remind each other how much you love one another. You two would usually find romantic ways to pass up the time whenever you two were alone, either in a sweet or spicy way.

•You can’t imagine yourself being with another man other than Ken. Your life has changed so much for the better with your amazing husband. As for Ken, he feels the happiest man on earth whenever he sees you every day. Proposing to you was the best choice he’s ever made in his life.

• As the killer couple of The Smiling Dead, you two have made quite a reputation together. Every Rotling in the Gaslight District knew better than to oppose one of you two, knowing that you have each other’s back always. A mafia couple so strong that not even death could bring you two part.

No one understands how vindicated I feel right now. For years, i have been inlove with Murro Morton- I was TEASED I was LAUGHED AT and now after the Hullabaloo circus update I open the chat and FINALLY PEOPLE ARE PAYING ATTENTION TO MURRO!!!!!

Now wheres my Murro X Reader fanfics chop chop (pretty please with a cherry on top🥺)

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. FOOD FOR ANIMALS .* :☆ﾟ.

✿ Summary: A Compilation of Dating Headcanons Featuring Oliver X Reader

✿ Character(s): Oliver (Threadville)

✿ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

✿ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✿ Image Credits: @Super Skeleton Studio

❀ The first time Oliver realized he liked you was during one of your veggie-pickin’ hangouts. You plucked a tomato with dirt-streaked hands, held it to the sunlight and smiled so proud — and Oliver? He forgot how to speak. The radishes got jealous. “You got a way of makin’ things glow brighter than the sun,” he’d mutter later, kicking at the dirt. “Even tomatoes,” you’d say, nudging him. He turned redder than a boiled beet.

❀ Oliver gets real nervous about gift-giving, but every month he leaves a different wildflower on your windowsill — morning glories, daffodils, clover chains. Once, he left a rock with googly eyes glued to it because “you said you liked silly things”. It’s your favorite gift.

❀ He tries to teach you how to farm, but he gets so flustered when you’re too close. Like, flapping-his-hands-and-dropping-the-watering-can flustered. “O-oh! Your hand’s on mine! Jeepers—! I mean—I don’t mind, I just—WELL DOGGONE IT I CAN’T FOCUS WHEN YOU SMILE LIKE THAT!”

❀ Oliver writes you little love notes, but they’re always hidden. Inside the seed packets. In your jacket pocket. In the breadbox?? One time you found one in the laundry with “SORRY FOR GETTIN’ SOPPY ON YA, I LIKE YOU A WHOLE LOT” written on it. He can’t say it out loud yet. But he means it.

❀ He gets protective in the gentlest ways. Pulls you close when the wind picks up. Offers you his hat when it rains. Stands between you and Veena when she’s being a little too intense. “You’re so nice, it makes my teeth itch,” she grumbles. Oliver just shrugs. “Don’t reckon it costs nothin’ to be kind.”

❀ When you’re sad, Oliver doesn’t always have the words. He’s not great at deep speeches or philosophical comforts. But he’ll sit with you in the fields. Bring pie. Let you cry into his shirt. “We don’t gotta talk. Just let the dirt hold us up today.” It always helps.

❀ He plays the piano for you when he thinks you’re asleep. Soft, twinkly notes drifting through the barn at night. Romcom themes. Little lullabies. The sound of his heart playing itself out, one careful note at a time.

❀ He loves wearing dresses around you, especially on sunny days. One time you complimented how cute he looked and he short-circuited, tripped on a cabbage, and said “Y-you think I’m pretty?!” You do. He still blushes about it.

❀ Oliver can lift heavy things like they’re paper bags, thanks to years of farming. You didn’t expect that. Neither did Veena, who once watched him carry you, two crates of turnips, and a confused chicken across the yard and said “I’m scared. He’s too powerful.”

❀ When he says “I love you” for the first time, it’s quiet. Hesitant. Almost like a secret he’s not sure he’s allowed to share. But when you say it back—when you say it like you mean it—Oliver just melts. “I thought maybe I was too plain for somethin’ as beautiful as you,” he admits. “But if you love me back, then I must be bloom-worthy after all.”