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Complexities of Falling in Love Chapter 4

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader 18+ minors dni

Word Count: 6754

will contain explicit content, eventual smut, plus sized reader, light angst, mutual pining, fluff and smut, strangers to lovers, falling in love, drunken confessions, love confessions, insecurities, high honor arthur, somewhat canon compliant

Summary: Arthur invites you out for drinks as thanks for having him over for dinner

Taglist: @photo1030

A smile curls along the seam of your lips as you feel your body fill with warmth, the sweet and tender touch of strong, masculine hands. Rough skin against supple, pliable flesh, bodies intertwined in a flurry of passionate kisses, gravelly quiet whispers and flighty giggles. “Mmm,” you murmur, twisting your body onto one side. In your mind, you can hear the man beside you chuckle against your skin, his lips grazing across the pulse points of your neck.

Your body, for once, feels light as if ascending, floating on the precipice of euphoria before eventually falling. Blurred images of the man cradling you, gently cradling you, rousing goosebumps to prick your soft skin. You smile again, giggling as if a lovesick schoolgirl, sneaking around behind buildings, taking part in naughty acts with her beau. You card your fingers through tousled strands of your lover's hair; the beautiful colour of sandy beaches and honeycomb that seem to shine in the sunlight. He begins to lift your chemise, just above your navel when you suddenly feel a small…hand? It presses into the fat of your belly, causing you to flicker your eyes open.

“Huh…?” you mumble, pressing your fingertips into your eye sockets as you are broken from your vivid dreaming, rubbing the sleep away in the very early morning. Pumpkin stands on top of your body, his nose twitching as he leans close to sniff your face, all four of his little padded feet sinking into the fleshiness of your abdomen.

“Mornin’, Pumpkin,” you coo, lazily raising your hand to scratch at his scalp. Pumpkin closes his eyes, purring as he cranes his neck to meet your palm, your fingertips rubbing right behind his ears, just where you know he likes it. You smile, stretching your arms above your head, extending your legs and spreading your toes under the duvet as you yawn.

“Mornin’, Arthu-” your greeting is cut off when you reach your arm out to your right side, finding only cold and empty sheets beside you. You frown, dragging a hand down your face as your cheeks fill with blood. Cupping your face in your hands, you groan out of shame and embarrassment, muttering a quiet ‘shit’ to yourself. Tearing the pillow from below your head, you smother it against your face, loudly grunting in frustration as the padded stuffing of the pillow muffles your sounds of anguish.

It was this moment that made you realize, the reality you were living was an often cruel and merciless existence.

There was something about your excessive dreaming though…

Amidst the shame, the embarrassment, the guilt that you felt for dreaming of your friend so intimately, it felt… good. Good to imagine battered rough hands against your skin, good to feel his fingers wrap around your hips, pressing gently into the fatty flesh that was settled there.

Good to imagine a man loving your body and its imperfections .

Sinking back into the warm covers, Pumpkin's small furry body curled beside you, your eyelids droop closed for a moment before you open them again. You yawn and look out the window, dim moonlight peaking through the curtains. Still dark…

You smile to yourself for a moment, gazing to the clock hung on the wooden doorframe of your bedroom, reading two o'clock in the morning. You thanked the Lord himself for allowing you some extra long hours of rest before your early morning shifts at the stables.

In the silver glow of the moonlight through the window, your eyelids become heavy once again, your body silently begging for the remainder of your peaceful rest. Your eyelashes flutter against your cheek, only darkness behind your shut eyes as your mind begins to whirl. Oh, would it hurt to let yourself indulge in little dreams of Arthur? Surely, it would not.

No, it would not hurt because you were only friends, though you knew how you felt for him. As much as your soul tried to push the aching feeling down, you knew what your heart was telling you.

Yearning, wanting, desperate for Arthur's love, his warmth, his kindness. Your experience with menfolk was lacking, having been courted once or twice and explored the feeling of lips touching another's. But intimacy, love had not found you just yet and if it meant finding it with Arthur, you would be more than thrilled to wait.

So you let yourself indulge, even if it was a silly fantasy.

Your slumber was solemn, calm and quiet the rest of the night, your mind painting soft images of Arthur's hands on your body once again. You dreamed of where his hands would wander, where they would linger. Would they skip over parts of your body that were typically considered unappealing to the male eye? No, you did not believe so.

You believed his touch would be felt everywhere, every inch, every crevice, every round and plump curve of flesh that your body carried. Arthur would adore all of you, love all of you.

And in your peaceful rest, his hands begin to move lower, down between the cradle of your thighs…

…

Sunny, golden rays of the early morning shine against your right cheek, providing a natural heat against your skin through the window. Your body lays still, sunlight beaming over your tired frame, sprawled out and comfortable in bed, wrapped in your softest blankets.

The weather in New Hanover was beginning to warm, breezy warm spring soon transitioning into dry hot summer. You notice the sun beginning to rise much earlier now while also setting much later in the evening.

Your eyes flick open, your hand moving to cover your eyes as they adjust to the rays, stretching your body below the covers.

Yawning, you reluctantly pull yourself up from the comfort of your bed, shivering as your bare feet hit the cold wooden floor. You once again stretch, threading your fingers together and raising your arms above your head, wincing as you hear the joints in your fingers and bones pop and crackle.

“ Coffee ,” you mumble groggily to yourself, rubbing the inner corners of your eyes. “I need coffee.” Before you make your way to the kitchen, you dress yourself in your regular attire; your white chemise and bloomers, a plain blouse and a skirt that resembled the amber shade of caramel candies from the general store that you adored.

Sometimes you wondered if those little candies were the reason why your body was so plush and rounded.

You make your way to the kitchen and immediately fill your percolator with ground coffee and water, placing it on the stove top to simmer. Feeding the leftover scraps from last night's dinner to Pumpkin, you pull the chair out from your kitchen table and take a seat, leaning your chin against your palm, your smile dazed and giddy.

The dreams from last night came flooding back into your memory; Arthur's hands on your body, touches slow and gentle, his rugged timbre in your ear, lips placed against the crook of your neck then trailing down your sternum, across the swell of your breasts.

Down…

Your body jerks up and your thoughts are broken as the percolator begins to erupt a piercing whistle, steam evaporating from the spout, signalling that your coffee was ready. You sigh and stand up, removing a tin mug from your kitchen cabinet, pouring the bitter, piping hot liquid into the mug. With the addition of a splash of milk and two sugar cubes, your beverage was complete and you once again sit at your table.

You stir the coffee to incorporate all the elements, taking small sips, continuing to replay the dream you had over and over and over in your mind. You wondered if you would see Arthur today, wondered if he actually meant what he said about returning the favour, a pleasant evening out for dinner to repay you for the hospitality you offered last night.

You shook your head at the thought. No. Much too soon , you think to yourself.

Once the remnants of your coffee had been sipped to every last drop, you place the tin mug in your sink. Though you usually cook breakfast for yourself in the morning, you had noticed that you were running much too late to cook a meal, let alone sit and eat your food.

Hoping to stifle your hunger until lunch, you grab an apple from the basket of fruits that reside on your kitchen table. Along with your breakfast, you grab your satchel filled with all your work and personal essentials, placing the strap across your body as you make your way out the front door after waving goodbye to Pumpkin. He did not respond to you, rather just sat on his haunches and licked his chops, tilting his head curiously as you left.

You bring the shiny, red apple to your lips as your feet pad down the dirt pathway, making your way over to Valentine to start another shift. Your teeth sink into the apple, breaking through the carmine skin and into the sweet flesh, ripping off a large chunk of the fruit and chewing with soft crunches. Full and juicy and round, similar to the way your body is shaped, you smile against the bite mark, pleased with the flavour of your small breakfast item.

Your leisurely stroll to work continued, your apple eaten down to the core and discarded along the way. You brought your palm against your forehead, shielding your eyes from the treacherous rays of the hot sun, your eyes stinging from the golden light. Opening your satchel, you pull out a fan and begin to wave it against your face, which did little to combat the heat though you figured it should do for now.

After some time of trudging through the heat, you finally reach the stables, the bustling streets of Valentine more lively than usual with the livestock auction being held in just a few weeks. All the preparation for the auction meant more wagons of produce and other needed goods whipping through the narrow roads, you could count on both hands how many times you had nearly been flattened by a wagon racing through the street.

You navigate your way to your work station, pushing past the huddled groups of civilians, like you, attempting to make their way through the swarming town. Finally, you make your way to the front doors of the stables, ready to start your work when something catches your eye near the side of the building.

Two men in bowler hats and suits. Definitely workers of the government, you could tell. They were nailing a piece of paper to the wall, a wanted poster, no doubt. You laugh dismissively and shake your head, “probably for one of the O'Driscolls,” you mutter to yourself.

Yet, your curiosity had gotten the better of you as you make your way over to the two men. Before they noticed your presence, you could see the badges on their lapels.

Pinkerton Detective Agency.

“Pinkertons, huh?” you whisper to yourself, low enough for them not to hear. “Excuse me, gentleman, what're you two nailin’ on the wall here?”

The two men turned to face you, blank expressions on their faces as they were finally made aware of your lurking. “Bounty poster, miss. Group of degenerates had fled from Blackwater, we're on the lookout for them,” said one of the men, clean shaven with several scars littered across his face. His skin had deep pockmarks and when he removed his hat, you could see his head was shaven to short bristles at the sides.

The man beside him, his most discernible feature being a dark moustache on his upper lip, simply nodded at his partner's words. The bared-faced man spoke up again, “I'm Agent Andrew Milton,” he gestures to the other man, “this is Agent Edgar Ross. If you see the man on this poster here, report this information to your local sheriff immediately.”

Agent Milton tipped the brim of his hat to you, turning away with a simple “have a good day, ma'am” before taking off in the opposite direction with Agent Ross. You had heard of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, heard that they were ruthless when there was a criminal in need of capturing. You had also heard that they were being funded by a wealthy oil or sugar tycoon of sorts, you were not very sure.

“Nasty business,” you mumble to yourself, as you rip the bounty poster off the nail, taking a gander at the degenerate who was in the eyes of the law this time.

As you read the name on the bounty poster and observed the face in the drawing, your blood ran cold. A shiver trickled its way up your spine and your eyes widened in horror.

WANTED

$5000 REWARD

DEAD OR ALIVE

ARTHUR MORGAN

IF SPOTTED, DO NOT APPROACH

You blinked a few times and looked back at the drawing.

It was him.

The poster stated that he was wanted up in Blackwater, West Elizabeth and that he had fled with the Van der Linde gang into New Hanover. “Van der Linde gang?” you whisper in shock. You had heard of the Van der Linde gang, heard talk about them around town and Valentine residents kicking up fuss about spotting them around town. You had also heard that some of the gang was responsible for the beating old Tommy had received in Smithfield’s, most say his brain had turned to mush after the incident.

It frightened you when you heard the news; who would be strong enough to bring Tommy down?

Though you had your suspicions of Arthur's criminal activity, you wonder what warranted a five-thousand dollar bounty. What could he have done? Who could he have robbed? Who could he have hurt?

In a way, it was almost hard to believe that he could gain such a high price on his head, all the time you had known him, he had only been kind and gentlemanly to you. Not to mention, your first meeting together he saved your life.

The man you dreamed of running with such a high profile gang, the man you had as a dinner guest in your home only last night.

Yet, he was your friend and he had saved you from nearly being butchered by three O'Driscolls, God knows you did not want to think of what they possibly could have done with you if Arthur was not there.

You felt you owed this to Arthur, to repay your debt to him for allowing you the opportunity to keep on living. You tear up the bounty poster, shoving the remnants into your satchel to dispose of later. Arthur's appearance was much too intimidating in the sketch anyway, and definitely did not capture his beautiful likeness.

All you could do now was push the questions to the back of your mind, morbid curiosity of just what has Arthur Morgan done for a five-thousand dollar bounty? You shake the thought from your head, heading into the stables, dislodging the pitchfork from the hay bale and deciding to start your morning routine.

…

You wipe the sweat from your brow as the humid, setting sun shines upon your face. The day was busier than usual, folks from different towns down in New Austin all the way to Lemoyne had gotten word of the livestock auction. Valentine was not a high society town, to say the very least, and you had never seen so many folk look so out of place. Rich business men in polished suits and fancy hats littered the streets of Valentine, their faces twisting in disgust once they soiled their expensive shoes in the mud-ridden path.

Every year, it made you wonder just what purpose the wealthy had with auctioned livestock. Why they would pay for hotel suites and spend a few weeks in such a dirty, uneventful town such as Valentine was beyond you.

This made you assume that they were all involved in some shady business and quite frankly, high society folk were not that interesting for you to want to find out.

Rather, you were not really thinking about the auction today, despite the auction being the busiest season at the stables. Your mind, as it had been for over a month, was on Arthur. More importantly, you fantasized about the dream you had last night regarding Arthur's hands on your body; your plush, rotund, almost naked body. More than once throughout the day, the stable master had scolded you for staring off into nothing, eyes completely dazed in a dreamlike trance, wondering when you would see the cowboy with those melancholy, azure eyes and pretty lips.

Eyes devoid of any thought that was not related to Arthur.

Though at the back of your mind, the wanted poster haunted your thoughts and feelings of him. A five-thousand dollar bounty, you repeat over and over in your brain. Still, you could not bring yourself to turn him in, no matter the amount of cash promised to you by the sheriff or the Pinkertons. Arthur was your friend, a friend you felt strongly for, possibly stronger than a friend should feel.

He was polite and a gentleman. Weather-beaten and rough-hewn, yet sweet and kind. No matter the crime, you refused to turn him in.

Amidst all your lovesick daydreaming, you sigh, tidying the stables and giving the horses their final meals for the day before closing time. A restless and hectic day it was, you had to busy yourself dealing with customers which nearly made you grateful that your manager had usually put you on domestic work. It was normally the rich ones that would unnerve you, a demanding and snobbish bunch, the ones that most often make unnecessary comments toward your profession.

You were happy it was the end of your shift, the promise of heading home and spending the night with Pumpkin made your heart grow warm.

It was when you said goodnight to Dahlia and the other horses and locked the stable doors, jingling the ring of keys in your hand that you heard the familiar sound of hoofbeats approaching your direction.

Your eyes widened, elation and pure happiness reflected in your dilated pupils as you saw Arthur seated high on top of his mare. You smile at each other when he dismounts, approaching you as you tuck the stable keys away in your satchel.

“Arthur! What're you doin’ here? I just closed up-” you blurted before Arthur cut you off.

“Nah, ain't here for tack or nothin’. Came here to ask if uhh-” Arthur shifted on his feet for a moment, bashfully mumbling his words. “Came to ask if ya wanted to get some drinks with me.”

Your heart swelled with happiness, a bright smile playing on your lips as you peered right into his hopeful cerulean eyes. You nodded your head quickly, Arthur's face soon sharing that same brightness you exhibited.

“Won't be anywhere fancy, hope ya don't mind. But I did say I'd repay you for dinner last night, and well, I always repay my debts,” Arthur chuckled, holding his arm out to you.

“Didn't expect you to repay those debts so soon , Arthur,” you reply with a quiet giggle, your cheeks burning as you hook your arm with his, making your way down the road towards Smithfield’s. “And no, I don't mind that it ain't fancy.”

Arthur smiled timidly, you felt you could see a hint of insecurity in his eyes at being unable to bring you to a nicer establishment. You attempted to lift his spirits when you took his other hand in yours, a friendly gesture, nothing more. Though your heart began to pump faster when you felt the unbridled strength in his hands, his fingers twitched in your grasp as you gently cupped his hand with your other.

“Your company is more than any fancy saloon, Arthur. Promise,” you smile, setting his hand back down. He tipped his face below the brim of his hat, a redness peppering his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. It made you smile wider, a mannerism of his you noticed when he would feel particularly timid or flustered.

“Somehow I feel that ain't true, miss,” Arthur rasps, though letting out a soft laugh, you could hear the self-deprecation in his tone. You frown as the pair of you continue to walk down the road.

“Well, it is true, Arthur. I mean it when I say I enjoy your company,” you respond. Arthur turns his head to you, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again. Finally, he spoke up.

“I enjoy your company too, more than I'd care to admit, if ya don't mind me sayin’ so,” Arthur smiled as he led you up the wooden steps of the saloon. Even from outside, you could hear the saloon was bustling with noise, the tinkle of a ragtime piano reverberating throughout the building. You could hear the howling of laughter, the clatter of poker chips against the table causing some men to cheer in excitement, others to grumble in anger.

Arthur held open the doors for you when you stepped beside him.

“Shall we?” Arthur chided with a grin.

You clap your hands together and laugh at his politeness for such an informal establishment. You lift the fabric of your skirts, bending down to give him a sloppy curtsy, before stepping into the saloon. Arthur hooked his arm with yours once again, the two of you proudly sauntering up to the bar. You stood straight, wiping your hands on the apron of your skirt as Arthur leaned his torso against the bar, his hands clasped in front of him.

“So, what would ya like? I can buy you somethin' to eat, a drink. Whatever ya want.”

You raise your eyebrows at Arthur's offer, feeling a pang of guilt at having him use his own money on you. “I mean, I have cash on me.”

“I said I'd be repayin’ you for dinner, did I not? Pick somethin’,” Arthur said sternly, although he had a playful grin on his face, only causing your own face to smirk at him in return.

“Alright. How ‘bout lamb's fry and a whiskey?” you say to Arthur, lowering your own body to lean against the bar. He nodded and waved the bartender over, placing the order for the two of you, ordering a beef stew and a whiskey for himself.

“You ain't gonna cause trouble in here tonight, are ya?” the bartender said to Arthur while cleaning the inside of a glass, a hint of fear in his tone.

“No, sir. Just takin’ a lady out for the night,” Arthur responded, straightening his back and raising his hands in surrender.

“Good,” the bartender says as Arthur nods, digging through his satchel to hand him some cash. He returns to his position against the bar turning to face you when you stare at him with confusion.

“What was that about?”

Arthur cleared his throat, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, “got into a fight a while ago with some folk I know. Ended up gettin’ attacked by this big feller, Tommy, I think it was. I came out on top though.”

Your eyes enlarged in shock, “that was you?!”

“Yeah,” Arthur admitted timidly, “sorry, don't mean to frighten ya or anythin’. I ain't the type to go around pickin’ random fights.”

You shook your head, patting him on the shoulder, feeling his muscles tense below your palm. “You didn't frighten me but, Jesus , to think somebody actually beat Tommy in a fight. Ain't sayin' he didn't deserve it- oh my!” you yelp in surprise, your hand coming down to rub your large bottom as a drunken patron collided with your rear.

“S-sorry, hic, ma'am. Didn't…see ya there. Jus’...tryna, hic, find m’way outta here,” the man slurred when you turned to face him, his eyes heavy lidded with a dopey smile on his face, a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

Arthur straightened himself, craning his neck as he glared at the man, “next time watch yourself, buddy.”

“ Hic, sorry , sir. Ain't…tryna make no advances to yer lady over here,” the man replied, stumbling as he attempted to straighten his body, sloppily gesturing to you. “Yer…a lucky man, sir. She's a… hic, fine lady. Real pretty, mister. Got…lotsa meat on ‘er bones,” the drunken man continued, smiling dumbly at Arthur and yourself.

Your face burned red at his comment and you could see Arthur getting visibly annoyed. “Why don'tcha stop worryin’ about the lady I'm with and worry about gettin’ yourself home?”

The drunken man saluted Arthur lazily, stumbling backwards, “‘course. Sorry again, hic, ma'am. Best be…gettin’ home. Don't feel too good.”

“That's quite alright, just get home safe, sir,” you dismissed, clearing your throat.

Arthur chuckled as the man wobbled through the doorways and out onto the streets of Valentine. He rested his chin on the heel of his palm as the two of you were served your drinks. You cleared your throat and quickly downed your glass of whiskey, feeling the amber liquid burn down your throat, settling warm in the pit of your belly. Your face scrunches at the strong taste, Arthur watching you amused as you order another whiskey, him still being on his first glass.

“Maybe wait until the food arrives? Don't wanna drink too much on an empty stomach,” Arthur suggested, though you wave your hand at him. “I'll be fine,” you murmur, as the bartender slides you your second glass of whiskey. Shortly after, the bartender brings you both your meals, much to Arthur's relief.

The pair of you engaged in some casual conversation over your meals, picking up where you left off from last night. The conversation topic seemed to have diverted to hobbies, and you were attentively listening to Arthur talk about what he does in his spare time.

“A journal? You enjoy writin’?” you inquire, staring at him dreamily, taking another long swig of your whiskey glass, finishing half the liquid before you take your last bite of food. Arthur watched as your lips wrapped around your whiskey glass, finishing the remainder of the beverage. He noticed your cheeks seemed to tinge a brighter red with every sip you took. Your mind began to blur just slightly, as you went back to paying attention to Arthur.

“Yeah, I write about…I dunno. Places I go, interestin’ things I come across, people I meet. Sometimes I sketch things out,” he chuckled, watching his reflection as he swirled the whiskey around in his own glass, his first glass, before taking a sip.

“Sketches? You make art? Oh my, Arthur! Show me, please!” you squeal excitedly, grabbing his arm, nearly knocking him over. Arthur watched in delight at your interest in his “artwork,” though Arthur would hardly call it artwork.

“Oh, me and my big mouth,” he mumbled playfully, shaking his head. “Tell ya what, I'll draw ya somethin’ grand and then I'll show you, how's that?” Arthur replied, watching in shock as you waved the bartender over for another glass of whiskey, the flab of your arm jiggling as you moved.

“Mhm, mhm. Sounds good, Arthur,” you laugh, thanking the bartender for your third glass. You take another gulp of liquor, the familiar burn stinging your throat once again. “I'm gonna hold ya to that, Arthur,” you whisper, a sing-song melody in your voice as you say his name. You hum softly, taking another swig of whiskey, lazily resting your face on your hand, batting your lashes at your male companion. Arthur shakes his head at you, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he finishes his glass, setting it down.

“Why'd ya say my name like that?” Arthur murmurs, “I do somethin’?”

You shake your head vigorously, your body slumping against the bar, laying your head on top of your arms. “ No , no, ya didn't. But you got…such a pretty name. Arthur . Such a strong name. Sounds nice when it leaves my lips, Arthur,” you giggle, repeating his name in that same tone as before.

“Hah, don't think I've ever heard that before. Thank you kindly,” Arthur says, waving the bartender over and ordering a beer. You lift your head, your brain fuzzy with the effects of liquor, though you raise your arm to order another whiskey.

Arthur laughs at you, wrapping his lips around the beer bottle he was holding, his heart swelling with fondness for you in your drunken state. “ Jesus, a fourth glass? Hope binge drinkin’ ain't a common pastime of yours,” he chuckles, that deep twang of his intoxicating you more than the whiskey.

“It ain't,” you slur, taking a gulp of your whiskey glass, “but, Arthur , this is a… special occasion,” you laugh around the rim of your glass, sipping the strong liquid, feeling the buzz of alcohol cloud your brain.

“Oh, yeah?” Arthur says, a curious expression on his face as he raises a brow at you, setting down his beer for a moment to lean against his hand. “And what might that occasion be, miss?”

You swing back the rest of your glass, along with snatching Arthur's unoccupied beer, taking a swig from the bottle, your senses becoming more intoxicated by the minute. “Because, hic, Arthur,” you declare proudly, pushing yourself away from the bar, stumbling as you press your hand to your chest. “I am sharin’ a night with the most… beautiful, the kindest, and most… allurin’ man I've ever, hic, met,” You hiccup, bracing yourself on Arthur's shoulders as you stumble forward. “ Woah, there ,” he chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist to catch you, though his heart felt like it was being squeezed in his chest. The words you were saying, he knew you did not mean them, and he did not blame you. You were just drunk, that was it and all it ever will be. It was not a reflection of your feelings, as much as he wished it could be, as much as he wished he could tell you he was just as enamoured with you.

He let himself hold you for a moment, his body going stiff as he heard you hum quietly and wrap your arms around him. Oh, how soft you felt in his arms, your round, plush belly pressing against his own through your dress. The feeling of your lovely, curvy frame in his embrace made him dizzy. “Oh, you are very drunk, my friend. We should get ya home,” Arthur drawled, standing you straight, grunting as your body lazily slumped against him.

“Mmm, ya don't know…how nice it is for a girl like me,” you mumble, giggling as he leads you out of Smithfield’s, your feet dragging against the wooden planks on the floor, “to be, hic, held by a man as wonderful as you.”

“Ah, I'm flattered but I really ain't that wonderful, believe me,” he laughed, watching as you turned around, waving goodbye to the saloon patrons, making your exit known.

“Bye, Smithfield’s! I will be comin’ back to this…lovely establishment. Yes, I will,” you wail drunkenly. Arthur slides a hand down his face in embarrassment, quickly grabbing your arm and holding you upright against him. You snort and giggle at the way he pulls you close to him, though you break free from his grasp.

“I…got it. I can…walk down these steps m'self,” you holler at Arthur, his arms already out to catch you when you tumble on the first step. You cackle as he slides his arms underneath yours, and you think you hear a chuckle spill from his lips, though in your current state, you are quite unsure. Arthur hoists you up to stand straight, guiding you on the dirt path leading out of Valentine, whistling for his mare to follow.

You leaned closer to Arthur as he walked you home, breathing in his scent, fluttering your eyes closed at his musky aroma. “Ya smell good,” you murmur, laying your head on his shoulder.

If this had been a camp member, Arthur knew he would have been annoyed, knew that once they had sobered up, he would not let them live the whole fiasco down. With you, he felt a sense of pride that he was able to ensure your safety, able to lean your body against him for support, an anchor of sorts.

“What do I smell like, then?” Arthur whispered softly, holding you close to guide your steps.

“You smell like…leather and gunpowder. Yet kinda sweet…like warm honey,” you whisper, tripping a bit on a rock embedded into the dirt road. “That's rather kind of ya, miss. Let's just worry about gettin’ you home,” Arthur grits in that rough timbre.

Your house begins to come into your blurred vision as you trip up the stairs of your porch, gripping Arthur's blue shirt tightly. “Thank you sooooo much, Mister Morgan ,” you slur, collapsing against Arthur's body.

Arthur's brows furrowed as you called him by his surname, clearing his throat. “I may have forgotten but I don't recall ever givin’ ya my surname, miss. Not that I mind ya knowin’ or anythin’.”

Your heavy eyes blinked for a few moments to process what he said, your mouth opening as you realized what he meant taking a few steps back. “Saw these two fellers, oh, what were their names? Agent Mildred and Agent Roth or somethin’, I dunno,” you grumble inebriated, running your hand down your face. “Oh, no…Agent Milton and Agent Ross, yes. Those fellers with the fancy bowler hats,” you say, flicking the brim of Arthur's hat as he peered down at you. “They was…puttin’ up wanted posters and you was…wanted for five-thousand dollars . Lotsa money, Mister Morgan, lotsa money. And they had yer…surname on the poster. They said they was Pinkertons or somethin’, I dunno.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, running his hand down his face in shock, “aw, shit.”

You wiggle your finger at Arthur as you continue, “ but I tore up the poster, Arthur. Weren't gonna… hic, turn ya in. Ya saved my life and I repay my debts, sir. Just like you, I repay my debts,” you chortle. “Besides, drawin’ was too scary, looked nothin’ like ya. You are…much more handsome.”

Arthur laughed somewhat relieved and very grateful at your decision to not turn him in, though it puzzled him as to why you picked a nasty criminal like him over a five-thousand dollar reward. “You should've taken the money, I think,” Arthur laughed, running his hand over his jawline.

You simply shrug and stumble over to Arthur, “ya mean much more to me than five-thousand dollars, Arthur. You're my friend and…I like you. I think I like ya more than a friend should. Oh, Arthur Morgan, I think of you everyday, every hour. I wake up and I wonder if I'm gonna see ya at work,” you grip Arthur's shoulders tightly, though he is as stiff as a board, dumbstruck at the words leaving your mouth.

“I can't concentrate on anythin’ because I think of ya, your voice, those sea-blue eyes of yours. Shit, Arthur, I dreamt, hic , of ya last night after you left. Your hands on me, kissin’ me, touchin’ every inch of me, every roll of fat. Arthur Morgan, this ain't the whiskey talkin’, I'm…so in love with you I can't think ,” you say, letting out a long breath when you finish speaking. Your mind was still hazy, blurry from the alcohol and you knew you would regret it in the morning, but you did not care. Crickets chirped around you, the stars hung bright in the sky as Arthur removed your hands from his shoulders, placing them at your sides.

“You don't wanna fall in love with a man like me,” Arthur grumbled, “ya deserve better than that.”

You shook your head with a pout, “but you're wonderful, Arthur. Just incredible.”

Arthur looked down, shaking his head, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Ain't true , he thought to himself, she's drunk. She don't feel the same for you, you'd be a fool to believe it.

“Would it be too much to ask for ya to kiss me, Arthur?” you whisper, falling against him once more as he braced you. Arthur shook his head.

“It's a temptin’ offer, any man would be lucky enough to kiss ya, but you're drunk. It ain't right,” Arthur said lowly. You frown and fish through your satchel for your house keys, pushing the door open and nearly falling through the doorframe before Arthur caught you.

“C'mon, let's get ya to bed.”

Pumpkin followed the two of you curiously as Arthur led you to your room, taking off your boots and gently laying you against the heavy duvet of the bed. You groan as your head hits the pillow, “ugh, can't sleep in these damn clothes,” you grumble, standing up and nearly falling onto the hardwood floor, sliding off your skirts and tripping over the fabric, Arthur's arms once again catching you. His face immediately reddened once he realized you were in your bloomers, seating you on the bed and clearing his throat, turning his back to allow you privacy to remove your blouse, leaving your top half in your chemise.

The moment he turned around once more, you were sprawled out beneath the covers, laying on your belly. Pumpkin was curled up at the foot of the bed. Arthur let out a sigh of relief, noticing how peaceful and divine you looked when you were asleep.

You shift yourself to look at him, your head spinning as he opens his mouth to speak. “I'm gonna get my bedroll and stay here tonight just in case somethin’ happens. ‘Cause you ain't in the right state of mind to be sleepin’ here by yourself,” Arthur said sternly.

“Ya don't need a bedroll. You can sleep beside me,” you murmur, your eyes blurry, attempting to make out your surroundings in the dark.

“It ain't right, miss. I'm perfectly fine sleepin' on the floor,” Arthur rumbles.

“But I want you to hold me, Mister Morgan.”

Arthur laughed softly, “miss, it would be lovely to hold ya but I'm afraid I will need to pass on that offer.” Arthur pulled the duvet over your body, letting the fabric flutter over your shoulders as you shut your eyes, one arm hanging off the bed as if beckoning him over.

Arthur retreats outside, removing his bedroll from the saddle of his mare before returning indoors, shutting the door as he makes his way back to your bedroom. He is pleased to find you still asleep, snoring quietly. Arthur slowly, carefully, removes one of the spare pillows from your bed and sets it on the ground, not wanting to wake your restful form. He unravels his bedroll, setting it down with the pillow and removes his hat and boots. As he lays down, he pulls the bedroll over himself, his mind playing over the events of the night, about what you had confessed to him in a drunken state.

“You're a goddamn fool for fallin’ in love with her. You won't bring her nothin’ but trouble,” Arthur grumbles to himself, turning onto his side, his back facing your bed. He sighs and peeks over his shoulder to your sleeping frame, back rising and falling with each breath, cheek squished comfortably into the pillow. Utterly radiant below the moonlight shining through the window, your skin glowing under the silver beam.

Arthur lets his head fall back into the pillow, shutting his eyes, desperate to just rest.

“Sweet dreams, miss…”

…

“ Ugh, my head,” you groan, awakening from your slumber with the most obnoxious headache that made your skull feel as if it was being split in half. You sit upright in your bed, yawning as you rub your temples, your eyes adjusting to the sunlight that only seemed to make your hangover worse.

You were surprised you remembered last night at all, given just how drunk and just how irritating you had been.

“Arthur?” you called, peeking over to the floor, finding Arthur, and his bedroll, completely gone. You looked out your bedroom window to find his mare had also vanished. Your heart filled with sadness as you sat slumped in your bed, alone and hungover with no trace of Arthur, who presumably had left early before you had awoken.

Your eyes brimmed over with tears as you cupped your face in your hands, sobbing into your palms and staining them with your sorrow.

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