#charles smith fic

[wickedscribbles]

Groove To The Beat Of My Heart

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Summary: Jack overhears something he shouldn't. Charles and Arthur scramble to cover their asses.

My first RDR2 commission and I don't think I could have had more fun with it! 💖 Thanks, friend.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Charles Smith (Third Person Omniscient -- switches between Charles and Arthur)

Rating: Explicit

Tags: modern AU, established relationship, married couple, fluff, flirting, pet names, teasing/banter, pet names, humor, healthy relationships, light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, past trauma, past abuse, explicit consent, Arthur is bi, dom/sub elements, hair pulling, smut, begging, praise kink, anal fingering, anal sex, body worship, dirty talk, shower sex, blowjobs

Word Count: 8.3K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

The sight of little Jack swinging his legs in the seat of Arthur’s pickup truck always amuses the man. Wedged between Arthur and Charles with the center console pushed back, there’s no denying that the boy loves riding in the dusty old behemoth, sitting up as straight as he can in an attempt to see over the dash. Abigail would throw an absolute fit if she knew he was riding without a carseat, but you could look all over this Earth and not find two more men devoted to the boy’s care. Even now as they hit a rough bump, Charles hurries to put an arm around Jack’s skinny shoulders, making sure he doesn’t bounce too far out of his seat. 

They’d been tasked with watching him for the day. John and Abigail had had their eye on a rather boozy fall festival for weeks now, and both had turned their prettiest puppy dog eyes to Charles and Arthur, asking if they could do them just the tiniest favor. 

It was hard not to laugh. Arthur remembered what it’d been like to be their age, itching at the opportunity to get off work and party with the masses. Nowadays he leaves the house for such occasions maybe once or twice a year, feeling his age in the morning when the hangover hits him. Though Charles is a little younger, he’s never been a fan of such social mingling, either. It’s just in his nature to stick closer to home, and that suits them both. 

So of course, they’d agreed to watch Jack. He’s a sweet, inquisitive kid at the age of four (and a half, as he likes to remind them). His favorite thing to do is to visit the animals, to be held up to the horses with their great sniffing, velvety noses. Or to toss handfuls of cracked corn to the hens, giggling as they gather at his feet before leaving again when the treats have been cleared. Sometimes if the weather’s damp, they’ll don their rubber boots and go on frog hunts, which the boy goes wild for. Nothing seems to please him more than to hold a wriggly frog up in both hands, chasing after it as it breaks free. 

Charles and Arthur delight in it, too. Though they’re satisfied with their life as it is – don’t want to add children to the mix, at least not right now – these interludes with Jack are entertaining. He’s a sweet boy, rarely fussing if things don’t go his way. Curious, smart, more likely to laugh than cry. Everything you could want from a little nephew, really. 

Before Jack is due to visit, a few things have to be done to prepare the house. It isn’t as if the two of them have guns and knives hanging from every surface, but Arthur’s diligent in making sure Jack can’t get into anything that might hurt him. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if Jack sustained an injury under his care, even if it was something as simple as a nick or scrape. So they move through the house like ghosts, sweeping slow over every surface, checking and double-checking. 

Occasionally something is brought up, like a staple or nail from under the couch, quickly disposed of. Leftover from some home improvement project or another. 

“Really oughta vacuum under this thing more often,” Arthur comments, lifting the couch with one hand. 

“Easy with the gun show there. Hot damn.” 

Charles’ voice comes from across the room. He’s peeking from the kitchen as Arthur’s frozen in place, couch still lifted, no effort involved as that bicep strains. 

“Aw, shut up,” Arthur mumbles, but they both know he’s blushing at the unexpected compliment. He lets the couch down easy. The vacuum is located, the rest of the mess dealt with. 

Their day with Jack had gone well, without incident. After many times coming to stay with Uncle Arthur and Charles, he has the routine down, knows everything fun to do there. Before bed the night before, they’d all watched It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown, and today they’d picked a massive pumpkin from a local patch. Arthur carved while Jack handled the gut scooping, up to his elbows in the mess. Charles extracted the seeds for roasting, sending a bag home for John and Abigail. 

“Hope they ain’t too hungover,” Arthur muses, helping Jack locate his shoes as they get ready to go. “You know how John was the last time they went to one’a these things.” 

“I have a feeling they’ll keep themselves in check. Found it!” Charles answers from the other room. “One shoe.” He walks into the room, settling on the couch before Jack, and acts as if he means to put it on his own foot. “Finally.” 

“Noooo, Uncle Charles!” Jack howls with laughter. “It’s not gonna fit you!” 

“Oh.” Charles blinks, trying his best not to break into a grin. “Are you sure?” 

This only prompts more giggles. Charles finagles the lost shoe onto Jack’s foot as Arthur leans in the doorway, watching with something that can only be described as helpless affection. Charles always says he’s the type of man who would be terrible with kids. Claims he’d be an awful father, that he needs too much alone time to ever imagine having a baby. But looking at the two of them together now, Arthur can see it plain as day – Charles having a child of his own. He’s so nurturing and kind in everything he does, with everyone he cares for. 

“You coming?” comes Charles’ playful voice. “Don’t know if your truck would take kindly to me trying to drive her.” 

“Yeah, I’m comin’,” Arthur answers, blinking back into himself. “Sorry.” 

“Go on, Jack, we’re right behind you.” 

Charles opens the door for their little charge, and together they watch as the boy runs outside, kicking at the falling leaves. For a moment they linger there, taking a moment of quiet. It’s nice to have Jack around, but it’s strange to have a small person interrupting their usual energy, too. Charles laces his fingers in with Arthur’s, leaning in close to place his lips to the other man’s. Something gentle and soft, a kiss that a child wouldn’t feel scandalized to see. 

“C’mon, babygirl,” he purrs, teasing. “I ain’t touchin’ that truck’s gear shift. You know she hates me.” 

“She don’t hate you,” Arthur says with a grin, affection stirring strong in his chest. “Maybe you just don’t know how to please ‘er.” 

Charles only waves a hand in response, already out the door to tend to Jack. Arthur shakes his head, looking forward to what the two of them can do together when they drop the boy back off with his parents. 

—--------

John and Abigail are sitting out on the porch when the truck pulls up on the dirt path. Abigail, Arthur notes with amusement, is nursing a glass of water, and John’s sporting some serious eye bags. Though they move to stand as soon as the truck hits gravel, he has a feeling they did some heavy drinking the night before. Their big yellow Lab, Rufus, comes jogging up to the truck with his tail wagging. 

“There he is!” John exclaims, tossing his son up once Jack’s out of the cab. “Hey lil’ man!” 

“Hi, daddy!” 

“The heroes of the hour,” Abigail greets them, watching Jack sink his fingers into Rufus’ thick ruff of fur. “Thanks for doin’ this again, guys. We needed to get out.” 

“Now it looks like y’all need help gettin’ sober,” Arthur says, making sure her son isn’t listening. She only rolls her eyes, grinning nonetheless. Charles catches it too, shooting his husband a mischievous look. He knows that Arthur loves ribbing John in particular about this sort of thing, but that Abigail is like a sister too, and thus not immune to teasing. 

“Oh, hush. You know Jack’s a good kid, but you don’t have him all the time. A girl can miss gettin’ a little crazy,” says Abigail with a smirk. “Not too crazy, though. God, I’m gettin’ old.” She sighs, taking a sip of her water. “Did he have a good time?” 

“Reckon he did,” Arthur replies, watching as Charles kneels down in the driveway to receive sloppy Rufus kisses. “Went down to that pumpkin patch a few miles down the road. Oh – Charles roasted some of the seeds for ya. Got ‘em in the truck.” 

“Aw, jeez, Arthur,” Abigail pretends to complain. “Makin’ us look like bad parents, takin’ him to the pumpkin patch first.” She hits him playfully on the shoulder. “That reminds me. We got y’all some of that good apple cider whiskey as a thank you – let me grab it.” 

Arthur turns to watch Jack trailing a stick through the dirt for Rufus, who’s bent low to the ground, watching it with his tail wagging in excitement. 

“Now – get it!” he exclaims, throwing the stick with all the force he can manage. 

The dog takes off like a shot. His body is still lanky with the looks of a puppy, too much leg and not enough body, eager to find out where the fun new toy had gone. John watches the two with quiet amusement, leaning with his arms crossed against the side of Arthur’s ancient pickup. 

“Trust you didn’t get too shit-faced, Marston?” Arthur asks. 

“What, me?” John scoffs. “Nah. Had to hold up Abigail half the time. She had too much tequila and started cryin’ cause she was sad about winter.” He rolls his eyes as Charles lets out a deep laugh. “All the way through the first band.” John pitches his voice higher in a fair imitation of Abigail. “The leaves are fallin’ off, John! It’s only a matter of time! Jack’s gettin’ older and he’s gonna be grown!” 

“Aww, don’t give ‘er a hard time about that,” Arthur protests. “He’s your only boy.” 

“Yeah,” John relents, scuffing his boot in the dirt. “I know it.” 

From the porch Abigail herself appears, looking frustrated. “Can someone come in and lend a hand? John felt the need to put this stuff on the highest shelf and he knows I’m short –” 

“Comin’, I’m comin’,” John says, wearing a faint grin. “Hold onto your britches, little miss.” 

John straightens up, prompting the pickup to let out a groan. With a quick look to check that Jack’s still tussling with Rufus, he nods at Charles and Arthur to say he’ll only be a minute. Jack comes skidding over to where the two men stand, red-faced, scraps of leaves and debris in his hair and clothes from where he’d joined his dog on the ground. Rufus is, of course, at his heels, panting happily. 

“Look at you,” Charles remarks, leaning down to brush off Jack’s shirt. “Your mama’s gonna have a field day.” 

“What’s that mean?” Jack asks, his face innocent. 

“Oh, well, it just means that when she sees that your clothes are dirty she’s going to go through a lot of steps to wash them and get you clean,” he answers carefully. Not wanting to imply that his playtime would make Abigail upset – though she’d probably be at least somewhat annoyed. “Does that make sense?” 

“I guess so.” Jack wrinkles his nose. “I have another question.” 

“Okay, kid, shoot.” 

Charles gives Arthur an amused glance. The two of them are more than used to the endless questions of a four-year-old. Why do the pumpkins grow in fall? Why is Rufus yellow? Why do the chickens love corn so much? Things that they’d never really thought about until the question had been raised by the ruthlessly curious kid. Each man does their best to answer in a way that makes sense. 

He looks Arthur right in the eye. “Why did Uncle Charles call you babygirl? What is a babygirl?” 

Oh, shit. 

The two men look at each other again, this time to communicate panic. There are certain glances that lovers share – especially those that have known each other for years. Fond looks, amused looks, longing looks. It almost feels like reading minds, and now in Charles’ eyes, Arthur can clearly see a string of expletives as he struggles to figure out what to say to the kid. 

What comes out of both of their mouths, at the same time, is a very eloquent “uhhhhh….” 

And at that moment, John and Abigail reappear, toting the whiskey. 

“Well, that was a pain,” she mutters. “Here you go, fellas. As promised.” 

Still fighting back internal panic, Arthur accepts the bottle with a smile, knowing that Charles is playing this far cooler than he is without even having to look. Knowing what he knows about Jack, the boy will do one of two things. Either press the question further now that his parents are here to provide more potential answers. Or get distracted and move on to something else. Arthur hopes and prays that the latter option happens, because he doesn’t have a damn clue how he’s going to explain their little faux pas to the Marstons when the question’s been sprung so quickly. 

By some miracle, Jack fixates on the whiskey being handed over instead. “What’s that, mama?” 

“It’s a grown-up drink, honey.” 

“Can I try some?” 

“Definitely not.” 

“Aww…” 

Charles and Arthur say their goodbyes, each choosing a side of the truck and slamming its rusted doors back into place. They wave to the Marstons as Arthur turns the key in the ignition, and the old thing roars into life, spewing a quick cloud from the exhaust before they’re moving. There’s a moment of awkward silence as the ranch home shrinks in the distance. 

“So –” Arthur starts, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah,” Charles answers. 

“That was awful.” 

“Not great,” he admits. “That was my bad, I shouldn’t have said that; not with the door open. I never meant for him to hear it.” 

“‘Course not,” Arthur mumbles, keeping his eyes on the road. “S’fine.” 

Hesitation from Charles’ side of the cab. Dread bubbles up in Arthur’s stomach at the thought of this turning into a disagreement; he hates fighting with Charles. Because Arthur’s the sensitive one, the one that always seems to fly off the handle, to get upset or cry. Charles is the one who keeps his cool. While most of the time, Arthur would consider that a good thing, right now he can’t help but be a little jealous. (Can’t he be irrational for once? Why does Arthur have to be the one with his heart on his sleeve all the time?) 

Already he’s struggling not to let his thoughts wander a more negative path. God, he used to have such a trigger temper. It’d taken years of self-discipline to remedy, but sometimes, he can still feel it trying to take over. The familiar scenery passes by as he keeps his trap shut, wondering what sort of soothing talk is going to come pouring out of his husband’s mouth to remedy the situation. 

“It doesn’t sound fine,” Charles points out. “What’s bothering you?”  

Ugh. Arthur scrubs a hand down his cheek, chasing an itch that only exists in his head. 

“Jus’ –” he sighs. “Kid shouldn’t’a heard it. And there’s no tellin’ whether he’s gonna go off repeatin’ it. You know that.” 

“I know,” Charles says at once. “I’m sorry.” 

“Ain’t mad at you.” says Arthur, his voice quiet. 

He can tell that Charles is thinking about the implications about that comment, what he means by it. As they’re pulling into their own drive, scattering wayward chickens, Arthur puts the truck in park. Something tells him that Charles won’t want to leave the truck until he figures out what the issue is. So he waits, unbuckling the seatbelt and leaning back with a sigh. Turning his head, he sees his partner chewing on his lip, a sure sign of deep thought. 

“Embarrassed, then?” Charles offers after a moment. 

Arthur nods. “Guess you could say that. Usually we’re so careful with that stuff.” 

“Can’t be perfect all the time.” 

“Yeah.” 

Arthur knows that he should leave it here, end it and go inside. He shouldn’t be hung up on something so stupid. But being himself, he has a propensity to get caught up on little things that others wouldn’t. To fixate and pick away and notice, long after the matter has come to pass. It’s one of the things he loathes about his own personality, the hidden anxiety that always hides so close to the surface. Lurking. 

“It’s just –” Arthur blurts, and already his voice has changed, more vulnerable, cracking. That, too, annoys him, upsets him. “God knows I heard and saw all sorts of things I didn’t need to when I was a kid. Awful things.” 

His heart beats faster. There are a myriad of examples dancing behind his open eyes. The way his father had screamed at and abused his mother. His drunken outbursts that seemed to come from nowhere. Arthur never knew when he was safe. How over time, his Pa turned that condescension and hate onto Arthur himself. Insisting that the older he got, the more he’d be able to bear it. Even now, fast approaching his forties, he can see his father glaring down at him from some long-faded memory. 

He never wants Jack to have to go through something like that. And somewhere in the middle he’s gotten his wires crossed, because he knows Jack’s about the most loved little boy he could ever find. He was there when that kid was born, and he cried when Abigail handed that baby over. The most tiny, wrinkled thing with a tuft of dark hair. Jack already looked like his parents, seconds out into the world, and that’s what pulled at Arthur’s heart the most. That even as a newborn he could bear such a strong resemblance to those what made him. 

Having such a strong reaction is irrational. Hell, what Jack had overheard was funny, for God’s sake. They both know it. But as his therapist had once told him a few years back, people can’t help what makes them remember, and now he finds himself gulping back tears. 

At once Charles is leaning forward, stretching the seatbelt to its limits. 

“Hey,” he says firmly. “Arthur –” 

He places a hand to Arthur’s face, trying to get the other man to look at him. Stubborn, Arthur holds steady, his eyes focused on the coating of dust and bits of gravel stuck to his floorboards. Really ought to get in here and clean this out sometime, he thinks, trying to think of anything but the tender way Charles is touching him. Trying to tell him that everything’s fine, because Jesus, shouldn’t Arthur know that already? Shouldn’t he be past welling up at stupid shit for no reason, at his age? 

“Can you look at me?” Charles coaxes. 

Swallowing hard, Arthur does, his eyes brimming with unnecessary moisture. Eye contact has never come easy, growing up as an anxious kid – especially in an abusive home. He never knew whether eye contact was the wrong thing to do. But Charles makes it feel so safe.

“Are you okay?” 

Arthur nods, remembering to look at Charles. “Yeah, I just – had a minute there. You know.” 

“I know.” 

“Sorry.” 

“No apology needed,” Charles says. “Promise.” 

It’s funny how all the parts of himself that Arthur used to feel embarrassed about – the parts that his own mind often insisted were weaker or dumber – are assuaged with only a few words from the man he’s made his life partner. He feels himself smile, can’t help it, and Charles ducks forward to brush his lips across Arthur’s forehead. A reassurance. 

“I’ll be a lot more diligent the next time we have him,” Charles adds confidently. “Swear. Hell, if you want I’ll call you Mr. Morgan so there’s no chance of us being anything less than downright formal.” 

Arthur lets out an abrupt laugh. “Think that might get us into an entirely different kinda trouble.” 

Charles smirks. “Think you might be right.” He unbuckles too, scooting closer over the space separating them until his knee bumps his husband’s. “Though it’s been a while since you wanted me to call you sir.” 

“It has,” Arthur relents, his breath catching as Charles’ big, broad hand slips over his covered thigh. 

“Hmm…one might think you don’t like being in control at all.” 

All at once Charles is rising over him, pressing him back against the driver’s seat window. It’s not exactly comfortable, but then again, Arthur doesn’t exactly care. Something about having an ever-vigilant four-year-old in their house for the past two days has gotten both of them wound up now that their nephew’s gone. Now that they’re free to do as they please, reminded of the flexibility of a child-free life. Arthur lets himself be held down, heart thumping away like a teenager’s, as Charles does his best to climb on top of him in the crowded space. 

Then his knee hits the horn, ringing out in the open country space. The chickens protest, and both men freeze in place. Arthur peers up at him with a slow grin, watching as Charles gives him a sheepish look. 

“Okay then,” says Charles, laughing a little. “Not here.” 

“Reckon we can make it in the door.” 

Arthur's glad that they're home. There, the embarrassment of the little slip up with Jack seems to fade – though it'd occurred right there in their living room. He's grounded again by the familiar sight of their jackets hanging on the coat rack, the coffee mugs on the shelf. Every little rustic touch that makes the combined space theirs. Books and art and the smell of hardwood. 

He toes off his boots by the door, and hangs his jacket. Charles does the same, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. 

"Looks like it's just you and me," he says softly. "What do you feel like?" 

Charles is goddamn considerate like that. Because they both know as much as Arthur loves to be taken charge of, made to make his mind go blank, to forget, Charles would also never jump into anything without his husband's consent. Everything they do is carefully planned and agreed to. 

Arthur knows he could say any number of things right now and get that wish granted. Charles’ hands are calloused and clever, rough from years of hard work, almost as experienced as Arthur’s own. They’ve known bitter winters and sweltering summers, endured fencework and broken horses. Most of all they’ve been gentle, running their way over Arthur’s body like a spring rain. Washing away insecurities and doubts, fears and sorrows. Leaving him as he was meant to be, fresh and whole in the afterglow. 

So Arthur can’t help but lick his lips, anticipating, as those hands come up to brush against his waist. Toying with his shirt, tucked into jeans, threatening to pull it loose. Running lines up and down his body from thigh to chest, his brown eyes dark and open, waiting as long as he needs to for Arthur’s answer. 

How a younger version of himself would've gone wild for this sort of treatment. There are many differences between the Arthur of the past and the man he is now, but he often amuses himself thinking about that particular lack of control. Charles hasn’t even kissed him yet – doesn’t have to, to get him wound up – and he’s growing hard. Twenties Arthur would be begging for it, eager both to please and to receive at the slightest sign of affection. 

Didn’t even know I liked men back then, he thinks wryly. He is, of course, more than aware of it now. 

“Anything,” Arthur says in answer to Charles’ question, and that’s all the incentive Charles needs to turn the fire a little hotter. 

He knows all his husband’s little quirks and cues. Arthur’s gorgeous sea-blue eyes get shy in a moment like this, flitting to his face and then away as his face goes pink. It drives Charles crazy. To have known and befriended and fallen in love with and married this man, only to still have Arthur give him such a look of bashfulness? It does far more to him than he thinks Arthur knows, gets him stiff in the confines of his own jeans. 

Of course, he’d much prefer Arthur to look at him – when they’re making love, when they’re talking, over dinner. Any time. Because that first glimpse he’d gotten of the man was incomparable next to the way his heart seemed to stammer and freeze when he got a good look at his face, at his eyes. Charles tries to tell him how beautiful they are, how beautiful he is, but Arthur doesn’t want to hear it. The man can’t take a compliment. 

So Charles most often settles for quiet admiration. 

“Oh, you’re letting me pick?” he says, low and playful. “Decisions, decisions…” Charles lets his hand trail down to the shape of Arthur’s bulge, giving it a hard squeeze. Arthur sucks in a quiet breath, fingers flexing at his sides. “You know how I like to see you, babe. Isn’t that right?” 

Though Arthur stands a few inches taller than Charles, he feels as if the other man stands above him now, and he realizes he’s leaning back out of habit. Already longing to collapse on the nearest soft surface and give himself over. Charles wants Arthur just as Arthur himself wants to be had – on his back, gazing up, open, submitting. 

“Yessir,” Arthur mumbles, his voice painted in colors of want and lust. 

With the lightest growl, Charles closes the gap between their hips and kisses him. The effect is instantaneous, a lit match to tinder, and Arthur lets himself go up. He’s weak for this man, this clever, younger man with the silver tongue and the watchful eyes who’s taught him about half a dozen new things about sex and living. Arthur surrenders to the kiss, letting his hands wander up and down Charles’ shirt, eventually stopping to ravel in his hair. 

In answer, Charles’ mouth opens against his. He’d never tell anyone – hasn’t even verbally told Arthur – but having his hair played with is heaven. The minute that Arthur winds his fingers into the long, silken strands, he’s guaranteed to melt. Even better if he pulls. Not enough to hurt, but enough to get his attention. Needless to say, Arthur has every scrap of Charles’ attention now, and won’t lose it for hours to come. 

Arthur responds beautifully to having his mouth explored. Hesitant at first, then growing more confident, letting his tongue tangle with the other man’s. Charles can’t help the sound he makes as Arthur threads his fingers in tighter, grasping more of his hair, bucking his hips into the welcome bulge of his cock. He nips at Arthur’s full bottom lip, tugging. Arthur all but shudders against him, letting him do as he pleases. 

“Bedroom,” Charles murmurs, and he gets no argument. 

They arrive in various states of disarray. Shirts untucked, hair mussed, eyes shining with that thought of what they’re about to do. Right away, Arthur’s fingers go to the buttons of his own shirt, eager to be free of it, but Charles moves to block him. With a smirk, he replaces his husband’s hands with his own, delighting in the look of combined irritation and arousal that comes over Arthur’s face. Because he knows that Charles will be slower. And inevitably, more careful. 

Looking up into his husband’s warm blue eyes, Charles undoes the first button, exposing a few inches of that broad chest. Frowning a little, Arthur places his palm on Charles’ bulge, pushing it in and up through his jeans, making his impatience known. Charles huffs out a laugh, undoing the next button, and the next. When it’s hanging loose on his shoulders, Arthur shrugs the shirt to the ground, pressing in to rut his very obvious cock against Charles, enticing him to hurry up and get undressed faster. 

“Alright, alright,” says Charles. “Have it your way.”

“Want you to touch me,” Arthur replies in a low voice, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his husband's jeans. “Please.” 

“So needy.” 

Charles kicks off his pants, amused to see that Arthur’s already beaten him to it, naked. Clothes lie all around him, scattered in his haste. That’s nowhere as interesting as Arthur himself, standing tall and bare in the midst of it like a tree in a hurricane. His body is incredible, a monument to decades of physical labor. Brawny and thick, and not overly toned, Charles knows that he’s insecure about his body type – though Charles has never seen a more attractive man with his own two eyes. 

Removing his own shirt and underwear, Charles is finally just as bare as Arthur is, and he doesn’t hesitate to brush their cocks together. The motion draws a little whine of need from his lover’s throat, something deep and primal. Charles can feel his own impatience threatening to flare to the surface. Something that demands he take Arthur and now, toss him to the mattress and pin him down, spread his legs and work his way into his tight body. 

He reminds himself that they have time. With no little ones underfoot, they have all the time they need. Taking Arthur’s hand, he leads him to the edge of the bed, and Arthur sits without prompting. 

“Good boy,” he says quietly, running his thumb over Arthur’s bottom lip. 

Arthur goes pink at the simple compliment, opening his mouth. Between his legs he’s already leaking at the tip, no doubt aching just as Charles is. 

Not yet, Charles reminds himself. Rushing in too soon would ruin all the fun of seeing the look on Arthur’s face as he builds anticipation, teases him further. Like doing this, for instance – sliding the tip of his thumb into Arthur’s mouth, enough to feel his warm breath, satisfied when his lips grab it to suck. Just the lightest pressure, an indication of what else he could be doing with his mouth right now. But God, does it set something in his chest tight. 

“Look at you,” Charles breathes, moving to straddle Arthur’s waist. “So fuckin’ gorgeous for me, aren’t you, baby?” 

Arthur’s hands come up to grasp at Charles’ back, needing the contact, needing more. He whines out what could be an affirmative or a protest, letting himself be lowered flat on his back. Ever since they walked in the door all he’s been able to think about is being stretched open on loving, patient fingers. Finally being filled after two long days. Fucked the way he knows Charles will fuck him, long and good and slow. 

“I’ll give it to you,” he says now, reading the look on Arthur’s face as easily as if he’d spoken aloud. “But looks like we forgot something, didn’t we?” 

“Fuckin’ lube,” Arthur grumbles, both of them casting their eyes to the drawer of the nightstand. 

“Mmmhm.” 

Scrambling off of him, Charles goes to the drawer and retrieves what they need, watching as Arthur scoots back and gets himself more comfortable in the center of the bed. Stroking himself idly, Charles takes a moment to just look at the man before him, laid out on their blankets and pillows. Knowing how lucky he is to call Arthur his partner, his only, his best friend in all things. 

“See somethin’ you like?” Arthur teases, one hand propped behind his head. 

The other trails almost casually over his thigh, his cock, his abdomen. He’s really testing Charles with this little show of playfulness, and Charles licks his lips, tossing the bottle of lube on the bed. He sinks a knee onto the mattress, joining him again. 

“That’s not a strong enough word for how I feel about it,” says Charles, spreading his husband’s legs further. 

Arthur gasps at the sudden motion, letting his thighs part easily. A part of Charles wants to take that long, thick cock in hand and stroke him hard, to leave Arthur right on the edge until he’s begging, looking up at him with his brows scrunched together and his mouth all twisted in a pout – 

But he doesn’t. Instead he exhales, uncapping the lube and drizzling some onto his fingers. Taking the time to warm it on his breath, Charles reaches down to Arthur’s tight hole, smirking as Arthur bucks up into the touch. 

“Easy, cowboy. You know I’m not rushin’ this. Remember last time we thought we could?”

“My ass sure does.” 

Chuckling at that, Charles massages circles against that ring of muscle, content to watch his lover’s face as they both ease into the familiar act. Charles feels relaxed here, between the brackets of Arthur’s legs, letting him get used to the feeling of his fingertip inside him. Nice and easy does it. 

That one frantic night hadn’t been good for either of them, early on in their relationship. They'd been so sure they could rush right into the dick portion of anal sex. It’d left Arthur hurting and Charles wracked with guilt. It serves as a firm reminder to Charles, every time they make love. No matter how anxious they both are to get to the last leg of the race, they can’t skip this. 

So he keeps going at the same pace, sliding that finger inside Arthur, watching and listening to his every reaction to make sure nothing hurts. He’s glad when the sounds his husband makes are only the softest cries of enjoyment, his toes curling at Charles’ sides. Shifting and squirming with impatience as he’s opened up and prepared. Before long, he’ll be begging for more, restless for the sensation of being filled. 

More lube, more fingers. Arthur’s having trouble focusing on Charles’ face now, or keeping his eyes open at all. Charles is familiar with the sensation. It’s incredibly distracting to have something thrust in and out of you, brushing up against that small gland capable of delivering a world of bliss. He does his best not to be too agonizing in his slowness, reading Arthur’s steadily increasing volume loud and clear. 

“Fuuck,” he gasps as Charles adds a third, scissoring them in his considerably looser body. “C’mon, sweetheart, what’re you waitin’ for?” 

“For you to beg for me,” he purrs, sliding those fingers out careful and slow. 

“Asshole,” Arthur says, but there’s no menace to it. 

“You are correct. That’s where I’ll be putting my dick.” 

“Oh my God.” 

They both crack up, despite the heat of the moment, losing it at Charles’ deadpan joke. (Charles can and will laugh at his own jokes, despite denying the fact over and over.) And then Charles is rising over him, the smirk still apparent on his face, hands gripping Arthur’s broad thighs, cockhead nudging his wet hole.

 Arthur’s grin melts into a soft look of need, his hips longing to arch up, to get more, but Charles holds him steady. He knows he’s not allowed to take more than what he’s given in this first, delicious stretch. So he swallows the whine in his throat and keeps still, breathing hard, watching. Loose strands of hair hang over his lover’s face as he braces himself against Arthur’s body, mouth set in determination, and he begins pushing in. 

The effect is instantaneous. Arthur’s body is greedy for it after all that preparation, the first inch of Charles’ cock sliding in, and each of them make a noise of enjoyment. All the work they’ve done to get here is about to pay off. Even Charles has to bite his lip and force himself to go slow, so slow as he eases the rest of himself in. All the while he checks in with Arthur, getting met with huffs of restlessness and sighs of bliss in equal measure. 

At last he finds himself seated fully inside the other man’s incredible warmth, stopping for a moment as they both adjust to the sensation. Charles thinks of himself as an even-tempered man, and in almost every scenario, that description holds truth. He’s not the kind to lose composure when he’s cut off in traffic. He doesn’t get overwhelmed in crowded grocery stores. Anything that most other folk would get bothered by doesn’t seem to get to him  – to Arthur’s chagrin. 

But watching his husband’s face change as he takes every inch of his shaft? That could easily break him if he isn’t careful. If there weren’t a risk of hurting Arthur, there would be nothing stopping him from snapping his hips forward into his waiting body, chasing that pleasure for everything he’s worth. God, sometimes going slow is so damn hard. 

Charles takes a breath, steadying himself, and pulls back just the tiniest amount before thrusting in again. The barest motion, working Arthur open deeper. Pleasure already soars through him to be squeezed so tightly by Arthur’s body, to see Arthur gazing up at him like that. His face is so open and trusting and earnest. Like he knows that Charles will give him everything he wants, everything he needs. And God help him, Charles is going to try. 

He strokes his hands up and down Arthur’s thighs, gentle contact, feeling as well as seeing the goosebumps spring to life under his touch. When he’s certain he isn’t going to hurt Arthur, he starts his pace; in and out, pulling out slowly before pushing back in. The little sound the man beneath him makes is something akin to relief, edged with need. Yet the rhythm Charles sets can hardly be called fucking at all, more of a soft rocking – and Arthur’s face pulls into a pout. 

“You ain’t even tryin’,” he complains. “C’mon, Charles, fuck me.” 

“Hmm…” He looks down, still running his hands over Arthur’s skin, as if he’s considering. “Should I? Should I go faster?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he smoothly ruts in deeper, delighting in the look of surprise and ecstasy that sparks in his lover’s eyes. Arthur spreads his legs wider, fighting to hook his legs around Charles’ waist, to get closer. 

“Yeah, jus’ like that,” Arthur whines. “God, Charles –” 

All Charles gives in response is a low hum, caught up in the intimacy of the moment. Something about seeing their bodies joined together is so satisfying, every bit as erotic as the sensation of what they’re doing. Every once in a while the realization comes back to him; he’s actually inside Arthur, letting his cock slide in and out of his opening. And Arthur lies below him, hands reaching up to anchor him at the hips, ensuring that he’s not going to leave. 

With a grunt of effort, Charles reaches under Arthur’s thighs and hitches each to his waist, forcing a cry out of him as Charles works his way in even further. Now he’s having a very difficult time keeping the pace anywhere near slow and steady, reaching down to take Arthur’s neglected cock in hand. 

“Yes, sweetheart, please, yes, fuck –” Arthur babbles below him, arching up into the contact before Charles even has the chance to start stroking. 

“Needy today, huh?” Charles says, smiling, keeping his grip somewhat loose. No use in Arthur coming too soon. “Look at you, trembling all over. We’ve barely started. Did you get that worked up, missing me inside you with two days not havin’ it?” 

“What do you think?” Arthur pauses to huff, his fingers digging into Charles’ skin. “Kept thinkin’ we could do it real quiet maybe and he’d never know –” 

Charles breaks into a smirk. “Oh, you devil, Arthur Morgan.” 

His grip on Arthur’s cock slackens, and Charles ignores the little whimper of need. Instead he devotes his attention to leaning forward, pinning Arthur to the mattress, drinking in the accompanying gasp. Driving into him harder, faster, finally giving him the urgency he’s been craving. And Jesus, how Charles has craved it too, to see the sweat bead on his skin, to see his mouth fall open in bliss, everything in Arthur going lax with the pure thrill of being fucked. 

Desperate pleasure claws at his own stomach, building at the base of his cock. The threat of coming is getting harder to ignore now, but Charles tries. He doesn’t want things to end so quickly – even if they’re both up for another round, he’s not a teenager anymore. They’ll have to wait a spell before getting back to it, and he doesn’t want the whole affair to be over in a blink. 

“You look so goddamn good,” he breathes, his voice low and strained. “So pretty for me.” 

“M’not,” Arthur protests, darkening further with a blush. 

There’s the chip in the armor, his Achilles heel. Because although Arthur is one of the strongest men Charles has ever known and will likely ever know, he’s found a weakness in these tender moments, one that sends fire through them both. Arthur won’t budge at being called handsome or good-looking, fit or even hot. He’ll only roll his eyes, brushing past the endearments. 

But if Charles calls him pretty. Oh, that gets to him. In mere moments he’s flustered by the word – flustered, not angered or riled up. The first time Charles had said it, in a playful tone, he’d been completely taken aback by the reaction. They both quickly discovered how much they enjoyed the results. 

And Arthur is pretty, for God’s sake. There’s something beautiful in his eyes and their long lashes, in the plush set of his mouth. That fact doesn’t negate his masculine traits. The two aspects of him coexist, making up one very good-looking man. He’s confused many a straight feller in the local bars, walking past in a pair of tight jeans. Charles has caught the lingering glances before their eyes darted away, their cheeks burning. Arthur could have that effect on people. If Charles were a man prone to jealousy, it might be an issue. Luckily for them both, he isn’t. 

Arthur’s eyes are glazed over with lust as he watches Charles above him, and he feels like he’s glowing from the inside out. He’s not as close to coming as he could be – though he knows Charles is barely holding on. He can see it in the tense set of his jaw, hear it in the rough stammer of his breath. 

All he wants – all he could ever want – is to please him. Charles is always going above and beyond for him, whether it’s here in the bedroom or in their everyday lives. It only makes his fool heart love the man even harder. Because even if Charles takes a minute to warm up to you, once he loves you, there’s nothing else for it. You’ve got him for life. Gazing up at him as he holds back from coming, to prolong Arthur’s pleasure just that little bit more… That’s so fucking Charles. 

So Arthur nudges him along, in his own subtle way.

“Please don’t stop,” he moans out, pitching his voice higher. “Charles you always fuck me so damn good, you’re so fuckin’ good, please –” 

The effect it has is catastrophic on his husband’s self-control. 

“Arthur, I can’t –” His eyes slip closed, brows knitting together tight. “Godfuckshit I’m right there –” 

He can hardly stand how cute Charles gets when he’s about to come. Excited and frustrated all at once, because he always wants Arthur to get there first. Each of them born and bred gentlemen, despite their difficult childhoods, but Charles is keen to spoil and outdo Arthur at every turn. Often they butt heads about who’s supposed to be taking care of who at any given time. You’re not likely to find a more stubborn pair – or a more devoted one. 

Sometimes their love feels like an arm wrestling match, with neither willing to give in. Other times it feels like letting go, falling asleep, something as warm and gentle as sunlight. Neither would ever change what they have with the other. Even as Charles realizes now what Arthur’s doing beneath him, that soft grin on his mouth, encouraging him to give in and succumb to the all-encompassing pleasure building at the base of his cock. 

Only seconds later, Charles is giving in with a long, low groan, stilling his hips deep in Arthur’s waiting body.  

They only stare at one another for a long, long second, Charles panting, Arthur grinning. 

“You oughta know,” says Charles, “that you’re gonna pay for that.” 

“I was hopin’ for it.” 

Carefully, Charles slides out of Arthur, noting every small twitch of his face. Checking for discomfort, keeping one hand on his thigh to brace himself. They’ll leave a mess on the sheets, but that can be dealt with. For now, all Charles wants to do is get this stubborn man up and into the shower, where the warm water can rinse them clean. Where he can keep his promises. 

They’ve done this enough that Arthur knows right where Charles wants to take him, and he eases up off the mattress with a light grunt. 

“You alright?” Charles puts a hand on his arm, knowing the man’s knees will be weak after taking him. 

“Mm, yeah.” Arthur flashes him a bashful smile. “Thanks.” 

“You know I got you.” 

Arthur leans in and places a kiss to Charles’ cheek, still achingly hard, looking forward to what awaits them in the shower. In no time at all they’ve migrated, leaving the bedroom looking like a tornado’s passed through. The bathroom is in much better shape, though there’s no telling how it'll look in a few minutes’ time with them together in it. Arthur reaches down to start the water, and Charles slips behind the curtain, not the type to wait until the temperature’s right. 

Grinning a little, Arthur keeps his hand beneath the stream, only placing a foot on the ceramic surface when it’s warm enough. Call him what you will, but he’d rather do a number of things than step into cold water of his own volition. Strands of hair are already sticking to Charles’ face and shoulders by the time Arthur makes it inside, his eager cock brushing bumping his lover’s belly. 

Without saying a word, Charles meets Arthur’s glance and folds gracefully to his knees. He places the tip of Arthur’s cock in his mouth, an instantaneous, overwhelming heat. Arthur places a flat palm on the wall of the shower, moaning out a curse. There’s no delicate working up to this – and Arthur isn’t sure that’s what he wants. Not when he’s already been fucked open so thoroughly, Charles’ come dribbling down his thighs. 

Charles braces both hands on Arthur’s hips, gripping tight. Arthur groans aloud at that firm contact, at his hot breath, knowing he’s about to get the cocksucking of his life. His deep brown eyes stare up, smirking, as he laps up more of Arthur’s shaft, groaning out a soft sound as he goes. Arthur lets his fingers gravitate to the wet strands of his hair, tugging, driving a more enthusiastic response from Charles in turn. 

He feels Charles’ mouth tighten around him, the flat of his tongue pressed to the glans of his cock, and hisses out a sound of helpless need. All around them the water pours, a little hotter than Arthur really wants it, but he can’t bring himself to care. His vision is tunneled to Charles at his feet, one of his strong hands coming up to work him at the base, all of it sending so much so much pleasure coursing through his belly. 

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he spills into Charles mouth, gasping and moaning his name into the echoing close space of the shower. And all the while Charles looks up at him, grinning, taking every goddamn bit of it. They’re in the shower, he could open his mouth and let it spill out, but – he makes a point to stay suckling Arthur’s cock. And something about that sends a deeper wrack of bliss through Arthur’s body, that point proven. I want to swallow and I’m going to. 

He’s never been more attracted to anyone else in his life. Good thing, too. He married him. 

“Jesus, darlin’, that was –” Arthur pauses for breath, for words. “You are – incredible.” 

Charles wipes his mouth, giving Arthur a slow smile. “Well, thank you…babygirl.” 

Arthur’s expression quickly arranges itself into one of solemnness. “I’m gonna end you right here.” 

“After I just sucked your dick? Rude.” 

—----------------

Hours later, as they’re lying together on the couch, Arthur’s phone vibrates with a series of texts. One after the other after the other – and that could only mean John. Fishing his phone out of the pocket of his sweatpants, Arthur takes a moment to read from the beginning. 

Thought I had to take Abigail to the hospital she was laughing so hard 

John: Alright which one of you said it

Which one of you

Babygirl? Really? Y’all call each other that? Nastyyyyyy 💀💀💀

Y’all trying to kill my wife with your babygirl nonsense

Arthur rolls his eyes, nudging Charles to show him the exchange. Meanwhile, the messages keep rolling in. 

John: Jack called Rufus babygirl 

He called ME babygirl

I’m not mentally prepared for this 

“To be honest… that’s probably the safest thing he could’ve overheard,” Charles muses. 

“Mm…yeah. Probably right.” 

Arthur chuckles down at his phone as John’s complaints keep coming. Well, that’s a mistake they’ll not soon make again. At least they’d manage to annoy John and amuse Abigail with the slip-up. Many years down the line, when either uncle asks Jack if he remembers the incident, he’ll respond with absolute confusion – and thank goodness. In the end it becomes just another memorable incident in his childhood. 

And Charles and Arthur go on living, go on loving, as they always have. 

#groove to the beat of my heart ao3 #wickedscribbles #red dead redemption 2 #charthur #charles smith x arthur morgan #arthur morgan x charles smith #charthur fluff #charthur smut #arthur morgan fic #charles smith fic #rdr2 fic #rdr2 smut

[rottingcorps3s]

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…⋙

Red Dead Redemption 2 - ✦ "Unsure" - A.M. & C.S. → Arthur Morgan & Charles Smith x Original Female Character → Unplanned pregnancy. 16+ ✦ "Kate McCannon" - A.M. → Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character → A dramatic storytelling of Arthur and his late lover. 16+ ✦ "Muse" - A.M. → Arthur Morgan x Original Female Character → Nude model for Charles Chateney has a run-in with a familiar quiet, cowboy. 18+ ‎ ♡ ‎Modern Warfare II - ✦ "Icebreaker" - S.R. → Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader → The ice is quite literally broken between Ghost and his partner. 16+ ✦ "Mistaken Friendship" - S.R. → Simon "Ghost" Riley x barista!reader Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 → Simon is put off by how friendly the local barista is and hurts their feelings when he turns down their ‘friendship’ he refused to admit that they had. 13+ ✦ "Daddy Issues" - J.P. → Captain John Price x f!reader → Uhh...title explains it pretty well. Could end up being multiple parts. 16+ ✦ Modern Warfare II Blurbs Masterlist

♡

Anything I've ever written and posted myself should be linked in this post :)) My Ao3 - rottingcorps3s

⋘ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ⋙

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan fic #arthur morgan x original female character #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #charles smith #charles smith fanfiction #charles smith fic #charles smith x original female character #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x original character #supernatural #supernatural lucifer #supernatural lucifer x original female character #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer fan fic #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #angst #masterlist #simon ghost riley #cod ghost #cod modern warfare #call of duty #simon riley x reader #john price cod

[necrobratz]

dont u just love babies

#inspired by a fic im a teeny bit obsessed with #she does not have a name yet #but she is my lil cutie patootie #i need to draw her as an adult from the front so u can see her features better #cus babies r so squishy and round and soft u cant fell #my art #rdr2 #rdr2 art #charthur #arthur morgan #charles smith #charthur baby #rdr2 oc #oc

[strrwbrrryjam]

the genuine discomfort i feel in my chest when I'm reading a charthur fic where charles is portrayed as this big, dominant man whose always smirking, in contrast, arthur is portrayed as this meek, submissive man who flushes at the slightest mention of sex is. unmeasurable. not only is it not who arthur and charles are, they aren't even arthur n charles anymore, it's also just. incredibly racist. can we please leave this portrayal behind in 2023 and not bring this into 2024, its disgusting

#i'm not naming names cause i'm not going to start something but i could barely get through one fic in the series. its. ughhh #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 charles smith #charles smith #rdr2 charthur #charthur #strawberry speaks

[8cuttlefish]

some scenes from my fic how easy it is to be with you! charthur gives me brainrot like no tomorrow so i'd love if you give it a read <3

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #charles smith #arthur morgan #charthur #arthur's crows feet are so important to me #also its my birthday today so if you see this you legally have to read my fic #im just a little birthday boy come onn #8cuttlefish art

[kenzie-mm]

How I think my fav Van Der Linde gang members react to you asking “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” (Text fic #01)

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #charles smith #john marston #sadie adler #micah bell #hosea matthews #kieran #javier escuella #text fic #rdr2 x reader

[griffther]

you guys ever just get stuck thinking about how arthur died facing east? and when charles came back to bury him, he specifically moved him and buried him facing west like arthur wanted? that charles, who wasn’t even a part of the original conversation where arthur revealed that wish, knew exactly how arthur wanted to be buried and went out of his way to make sure it happened?

#i would actually do anything in the world for charles smith #best boy best boy best boy i love him #charles smith #arthur morgan #charthur #rdr2 #i have a whole fic idea based around a scene i have in my head of charles burying arthur and having an interaction with The Deer #i want charles to break down and cry and grieve bc he is NOT the emotional wall this fandom makes him out to be #he cares so much!!!!! SO MUCH!!! #anyways let charles have Big Emotions 2k23

[breeezytoast]

John: Why is everyone so obsessed with top or bottom? Honestly, I’d just be excited to have a bunk bed

Arthur:...

Arthur: I’m gonna tell him

Charles: Don’t you dare

#could you imagine John discovering the world of fan fiction #this reminds me of a charthur fic if you guess it you get my respect #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #incorrect quotes #john marston #charles smith #charthur

[kaphzzz]

I'm obsessed with modern au charthur where, y'know, all they have to do is be happy and smitten and stupid so I tried to make this seem as modern looking as possible www idk if it turned out giving off a modern kind of feeling though lemme know!

anyway it's snowing in my home country so here's two dumbasses freezing their asses off in the snow ❄️☃️🌨️

#charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #my vp #rockstar games #i have MANY THOUGHTS about modern au you have no idea #anyway if anyone want me to share my hcs lemme know #im so obsessed no joke might write a modern au fic over winter break

[outlaw-apologist]

RDR2 Writing Collection

Since it seems like I’m not stopping any time soon here’s an organized list of my RDR2 works. :) I’ll update this every time I write something else. REQUESTS CLOSED - Sorry really busy :’ ) I’ll come back someday

🌲 = New Story

How the Gang Kisses You

The Gang with a Plus Sized Lover

The Gang as Fathers

 The Gang’s Kinks and Fantasies 

 Valentine’s Day with the Gang

How The Gang Comforts You After a Nightmare

Micah’s Little Sister 

The Gang Catching Feelings for You

Bitter Sweet Goodbye - You Die in Their Arms

The Longest Night (Arthur x Fem!Reader)

Saved by the Gang - Your SO saves you from your kidnappers

Save Yourself - GN! Reader x Various (Arthur convinces you to leave the gang)

The Price of Cake - Charles x Reader 

Soulmates - Josiah x Reader

N/A

Ghost Riders - Reader x Arthur x Charles

#rdr2 #my writing #RDR2 Reader Insert #Arthur Morgan x Reader #john marston x reader #Dutch van der linde x reader #sean macguire x reader #kieran duffy x reader #Hosea Matthews x reader #Charles Smith x reader #Micah Bell x Reader #fics #requested

[vanderlesbian]

daughter of a cop

arthur morgan x fem reader

now playing: daughter of a cop - tv girl

— a short fic inspired by the tv girl song! this is my first actual piece of writing on this blog so i hope you guys enjoy it <3 i think i have a ghost fic planned that ill start working on soon :) (it may or may not be based off a mitski song)

warnings: slight suggestive content/references

masterlist

saint denis was the epitomy of growing industrialization. factories, tight neighborhoods, trolleys that didn't seem to care if someone was crossing the pavement, and most importantly; police. it wasn't a place for a man like arthur morgan to be lingering around, and he knew it. he didn't enjoy the city, anyways. it was congested, and there were far too many rules for an outlaw like him to follow. the constant glares from men in blue uniforms and silly hats irritated him—this was nothing like the west he was used to.

however, within saint denis, there was a spot where the police didn't go. a small saloon hidden within a maze of an alley way, disguised by the neighborhood homes that surrounded it, making it appear as just another residence. it was a place that arthur frequented, but not for any reasons that his fellow outlaws would think. he didn't go to gather intel, nor did he go to have chats with dutch. no, he went because of one thing. or, perhaps one person.

he went because of a woman.

he would never admit it to the others, for several reasons. one, he was simply just embarrassed over it all, but two, she was a woman of higher class. a young woman who wore a new dress each time he saw her, with her manners being rather formal compared to the sloppy outlaw, yet she never found his habits strange or uncivilized.

that woman was you, and you were nothing other than the daughter of a cop.

it was obvious that you liked arthur. from the way you let your hand linger on his bicep each time he made a silly remark, to always hushing him when he began to talk bad of himself, telling him that he was handsome and kind. though, arthur refused to believe that was the case. he tried not to show his own affection and often wrote notes to himself in his journal that he would never meet up with you again, but time and time again he made his way into that saloon, eyes searching for you in the crowd of other outlaws. he would curse himself for coming again, but all of his anxieties were eased the moment he saw you push through the saloon doors.

you stuck out like a sore thumb—or, to put in nicer words as arthur thought he should, perhaps a daisy in a field of clovers? the moon on a clear night? arthur crossed out several made up metaphors in his journal. whatever the metaphor was, you were different from the outlaw men that frequented the hidden saloon. you were full of life, clean, unscathed, and rather innocent. arthur noted the way your eyes widened each time he told you a story about his many days of being what he called "a bad man", and how you would bring a hand to your mouth as it fell into an 'o' shape from pure shock and surprise.

though, you were never scared of him, and that's something that arthur also took note of. you held some level of empathy for outlaws, for ones that come from challenging backgrounds. you had met arthur because he had saved you from a couple of strange men, and immediately you knew that he was a kind man. there was something about him that intrigued you, aside from the fact that you found him to be attractive, and you had made it your goal to get to know him.

"i know a place where the cops don't go." you had told him. before he could say anything, you grabbed his wrist and led him through that maze of alleys, leading him to the saloon that became your special spot.

"how do you know this place?" he had asked you the day you first took him. you simply shrugged and held a hushing finger to your lips. he chuckled, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

eventually you had told him that you were the daughter of a police man. you expected him to get upset at that fact—and he did, but it wasn't anything serious. he furrowed his brows and questioned in a low voice if you were in on some kind of ploy to catch him, to which you sincerely told him that it was nothing of that sort. your father wasn't even aware of the fact that you were seeing this man with a five thousand dollar bounty hanging above his head. arthur didn't grow as upset as you expected him to because deep within himself, he had already trusted you. it was more of a natural instinct to grow suspicious of you, but immediately felt eased the moment you placed your hand on his knee and told him that you weren't working for your father.

so, arthur continued to visit you. he waited for your letters at his camp, and he also kept each one. the other members of the gang would raise eyebrows at the mysterious parcels, to which arthur would always bashfully shrug off with a "it ain't none of your business" before riding his horse into saint denis. what was originally one visit maybe every three weeks became one visit every week, then two, then the both of you simply began to walk into the saloon any time you felt like it in hopes of seeing the other already there.

both of you knew it was risky, yet neither of you cared. your father began to question where you were going, to which you always had an elaborate excuse. dutch would question why arthur was in saint denis so often, and he would reply with some half thought out lie that made dutch raise an eyebrow in return, but ultimately shrugged off. the two of you had even began spending time outside of the saloon, out in the open streets of saint denis. arthur was rather hesitant about it all, not wanting you to be seen with a man like himself, yet you insisted.

you took arthur to your favorite spots around saint denis; gardens and parks where you sat along the edge of a pond, and to theatres where you would watch whatever event was on that evening. accidental faint brushes of finger tips had become full blown hand holding, and each time before you would hop on the trolley to depart, you would place a kiss on the stubble growing on his cheek. it was this strange stage between the both of you, one where neither of you had admitted your feelings simply because both of you were afraid of the differences in your life, yet the feeling of his lips against yours was no longer a foreign feeling, and it simply kept growing.

perhaps it was just the both of you being eager and needy, but there were several instances where you had found yourself pressed against the wall of an alley way with arthur's large, calloused hands snaking up the skirt of your dress and running along the bare skin of your thighs. privacy hardly existed within the city which cornered you into sometimes uncomfortable spots, yet you couldn't ride out on the back of arthur's horse, especially with the increased questioning from your father. the blindness of the love you were experiencing with this outlaw had completely shrouded you from the fact that your father had begun investigating your whereabouts—not until the police had barged into that saloon that had stayed hidden for so long.

you saw your father among the uniformed men, making eye contact with his furious gaze. you were the one who had grabbed arthur and ran with him out the back door of the saloon, starting a chase that was probably much bigger than it should've been. arthur had called you insane as the two of you snuck through nooks and crannies in an attempt to make it back to his horse, but there was an obvious hint of amusement in his voice as he said it. you were a woman completely separated from the world of outlaws, yet you were a natural escape artist.

eventually making it to arthur's horse, the two of you attempted to flee the city. the adrenaline was something you had never felt before, and you could hear arthur's thumping heartbeat as your ear pressed against his back while you held onto him. the police held no guns upon your father's instructions, insisting that they capture arthur alive and keep you unharmed. though, their numbers quickly increased, and you began to see the concern growing in arthur's expression.

while guiding him through the streets, arthur suddenly took a different turn than what you had told him. the feeling of his horse coming to a sudden halt made you gasp, and you hardly had time to process as he dismounted his horse and held his arms out to help you off.

"come on." he told you, eyes glancing to the side to check for signs of the law. "you ain't coming with me."

stubbornly, you refused. it wasn't until the sounds of whistles began growing closer that you saw genuine concern in arthur's face, and you hopped off the horse into his arms without a word. however, when you peered back up at him, arthur was smiling; a smile that looked as if he were holding back a chuckle.

"you are one crazy woman." he told you in a hushed tone, lifting his worn hat from his head and placing it on yours before letting you go. "now get on out of here, you shouldn't be caught up in all this."

you immediately knew his hat was a sign from him telling you that he would see you again. it was too big for your own head and blocked your eyes from seeing his horse gallop away, but when you lifted it to look, the law was racing down a nearby street with arthur nowhere to be seen. a large smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but giggle to yourself as you disappeared into the alleys between buildings, taking a complex path back home to avoid detection.

needless to say, your father wasn't pleased when he came home to you innocently prepping tea for yourself. you didn't listen to his nagging words; something about uncivilized people, chaos and getting involved with the wrong kind. however, your interest was finally piqued when you heard that arthur had been arrested.

"it wasn't his fault." you immediately told the man, forgetting about the boiling kettle. your father scoffed, but you continued to tell him that you were the one who made arthur flee. though, he didn't budge, raising his voice as he nagged you for getting involved with such a dangerous man.

the word 'dangerous' seemed to strike something within you, because you had yelled back that arthur had saved you. that evening, those two strange men, the way arthur held your shoulders and reassured you that you were alright; there was nothing dangerous about him in your eyes. you saw your father's expression lose it's anger, and it seemed that was when he noticed arthur's hat sitting loosely upon your head.

"what's that?" he asked, pointing at the tattered leather hat.

you shrugged. "a gift from a dangerous man."

arthur had stayed in the saint denis jail for two days. what he thought was his fellow gang members coming to bust him out ended up being you, a soft smile on your lips as you wrapped your fingers around the metal bars of the jail cell. his hat still sat on your head, making arthur chuckle at the sight of you.

"did you think i was going to leave you in a cell to rot?" you giggled, allowing space for a law man to unlock arthur's cell.

"thought i was gonna have to use other means to get out of here." arthur replied in an amused tone as he stood up from the metal slab that the jail called a bed. the law man cocked an eyebrow, to which arthur raised his hands in defense. "kidding, of course."

your father waited at the jail entrance, arms crossed and a dismissive look sprawled on his face. he was the one that had told the law men to set arthur free, you explained. arthur seemed rather flustered at that information; he didn't want to thank a cop. he figured a nod of the head was enough of an acknowledgement, though it only earned a cold glare from the older man.

"how the hell did you get that bastard—" he cleared his throat. "apologies, that fine man to let me out?" arthur questioned as the two of you left the jail. you playfully hit his arm at the comment, then shrugged your shoulders.

"i was honest. told him you saved me." you answered, lifting the hat from your head and placing it back onto it's owner. you brushed a strand of arthur's long blonde hair from his face and smiled. "there ya go, cowboy."

arthur rolled his eyes, tipping his hat downwards before replying. "you know, i enjoyed that little chase of ours." he told you, holding out his arm for you to link yours with. neither of you knew where you were headed off to; you simply strolled down the street as if nothing had happened. "but don't think about doin' something that stupid again."

"i did too, actually." you then admit with a chuckle, somewhat ignoring his nagging. "it makes things fun."

after the events of that rather chaotic day, your father agreed to leave that hidden saloon alone upon your pleading requests, and it once again became your favorite spot to frequent with arthur. the two of you did earn a bit more freedom to roam saint denis and it's outskirts, allowing the two of you to enjoy some privacy, and eventually express your true feelings for one another. however, there continued to be close encounters with the law every now and then simply because of arthur's antics with his rowdy gang, but it always ended in silly laughter and breathless kisses from running so much.

arthur wrote many things about you in his journal, mindlessly sketching portraits of you next to entries about how you enjoyed sneaking around the city after dark and running errands with him whenever possible. though, at the end of his entry, there was a phrase scribbled in his neat cursive:

she was the daughter of a cop.

#music is my biggest fic inspiration lol #arthur morgan #x reader #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #fluff #dutch van der linde #charles smith #john marston #fem reader #tv girl #imagine #oneshot

[ceo-of-sloppy-men]

I read somewhere that Arthur and Charles was supposedly going to be a tragic romance and now when I play rdr2 it kinda feels like there are remnants of the idea in the script, and Lowkey adds extra depth.

#charthur #i ship it so hard #I should write fic for it #rdr2 #arthur morgan #charles smith #red dead redemption 2

[pluto-rainstorm]

New fic!! 🤠

#ao3: plutorainstorm #charthur #johnigail #rdr2 #modern au #arthur morgan #john marston #charles smith #abigail roberts #hosea matthews #bessie matthews #rdr2 fic #red dead redemption 2 #ao3 fanfic

[hylorien]

I almost forgot how nuts I am about charthur😭😭😭

#the fact they havent really spoken at all until coulter ???? #the fic potential brooo #the pining the looks the nerve it prob took charles to finally be like fuck this lets go huntin #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #charles smith

[agoldengalaxy]

Meant to Be

read on Ao3

words: 2768

Charles Smith lived on his own, in the woods, for almost fifteen years, but when a confrontation with the Pinkerton Detective Agency ends badly, he is helped by two kind, mysterious strangers who offer him safety with their gang.

--

Steadying his breath, Charles narrowed his eyes toward the other man, his mind racing. The man, after chasing him down on horseback, stood upon the hill alone, wearing a bowler hat, a gold pin, and a stupid grin.

“Ah, finally. The man in the woods. I’ve been wanting to meet you for quite some time.” The stranger’s voice was calm and condescending as his hand drifted toward his belt, resting lightly on the hilt of his gun.

“Why?” Charles asked, already wondering which weapon he should have at the ready. “What could you possibly want with me?”

The man seemed delighted by something. “So you do speak! Why, I figured you were more animal than human…”

Charles drew in sharp breath, deciding he should probably reach for the revolver he’d stolen some time ago if things went even more south. “That didn’t answer my question.”

His mouth twitched, and the man held up his hands in a surrender motion. “No harm, no foul.” He reached up to tip his hat. “My name is Edward Williams. I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Some reports came in about a man who lived in the woods; a man who was very good at hunting.”

“So you came to take me down because I need to survive?”

“No, no, nothing like that. Don’t get so defensive with me, sir.” Williams still had that grin on his face as he spoke. “No, in fact, I’m here to offer you a job with the agency. We need more detectives who are…ah…better in the field. Better at hunting. Besides, civilization is becoming quite popular these days. It isn’t necessary for you to live out here.”

Charles paused, thinking this must be some kind of sick prank. He hadn’t seen any humans around these parts for a while - how had a detective gotten out here? And stranger still, why would they offer him a job, the man who had been living in the woods since he was thirteen?

It had to be a trap. And even if it wasn’t, Charles didn’t want to work for the government system that took his parents away from him. His mother, the army. His father, the bottle.

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested. I’m sure you can find someone else that fits your description, Detective Williams.” Charles bowed his head as a sign of respect, however wavering it may have been, and watched as the detective’s mouth twisted a little.

“What a shame,” Williams sighed. “In that case, I hope I do not have to use force to ask you to come with me again.”

Charles eyed the man for a moment. “You said you weren’t here to take me down.” 

“I wasn’t. I was offering you the job, but since you’ve refused, we’ll have to take you in as a suspect instead.” The agent tilted his head. “Lot of complaints ‘round these parts about an Indian roaming around all suspiciously. We have to protect the women and children.” His gaze hardened. “Don’t resist, it will only make things harder for you.” A leaf crunched atop the hill, but it wasn’t Williams. Charles froze, watching five men join Williams atop the hill, all holding guns. They had been there the whole time, just out of sight, and Charles was beginning to wish he had just made a run for it the second the man opened his mouth. Williams smiled, fake pity on his face. “No need for the long face. My friends won’t hurt you, long as you come up here nice and quiet.”

His gaze swept across the six detectives. Surely he’d be able to take them, and he could just get back to his life away from other human beings. Pulling out his revolver as quickly as he could, he dove behind a nearby boulder while Williams yelled at his men to open fire. Bullets rained down and Charles muttered a curse under his breath.

He knew it was a trap.

Taking a deep breath, he listened to the sound of the bullets to tell him when he could peek up and aim. He aimed and shot. One in the chest, one in the head, one clean through the stomach. Three detectives remained, but they knew better than to stay where they were, beginning to close in on the boulder where Charles hid. He had to do this fast. He aimed upward, pulling the trigger while rolling behind the nearest tree. A yell of anguish filled the air and he knew they were just down to two men left. As he fumbled to reload his revolver, he felt cold metal press against his back.

“Drop the gun,” Williams hissed into his ear, and Charles reluctantly did so. “Much better. Now we can get along, hm?”

The other detective smirked, still aiming his own gun directly at Charles. He opened his mouth to say something when suddenly, a shot rang through the air. Blood splattered everywhere from the other detective’s face, and is body dropped to the ground. In his shock, Williams let go of Charles, who turned around to wrestle the man to the ground, kicking his gun away from him. Williams snarled, spitting on Charles’ face.

“You’re nothing.”

Charles, his breath heaving, stood up to aim his gun down. He didn’t hesitate.

Once Williams was nothing more than a corpse, Charles breathed in, looking around wildly for the source of the other bullet. It couldn’t have been the Pinkertons.

In the distance, near the clearing, stood two silhouettes, blotted out by the golden light of the setting sun. He remembered his father once talking about angels, but he never quite believed it. Now, he wondered if it were true.

“Hey, there,” one of the silhouettes called. Both shadows held up their hands to show they no longer wielded guns as they took cautious steps forward. “Are you alright?”

Charles still held his revolver, just in case. These men had saved him, but he’d learned a long time ago that many men would save people specifically for ulterior motives. “Yes, I’m fine,” he answered anyway. It was the truth. He was uninjured, and things had been a whole lot worse a few minutes ago.

Perhaps feeling a little more confident, the two men continued walking until they were just a few feet away, and now Charles could get a better look at them. They looked like normal men, but being able to shoot someone from that distance so accurately told him they weren’t normal. 

The older man, with kind eyes and gray hairs hidden beneath a dark hat, gave Charles a once-over. “I’m glad to hear that, son. Why were the Pinkertons after you?”

“I…don’t know,” he admitted, finding himself less and less intimidated by the second. “He said something about people reporting me to them. But I don’t talk to anyone.” Deep down, he knew the reason why. He knew, because of the looks people would give him just because of the way he looked, because of who his parents were, because of who he was.

“You know how some people are,” the other man, with the sandy hair and well-trimmed beard, mumbled, as if reading his thoughts. “An’ the Pinkertons are bullies.”

Charles nodded, glancing down at the body of Williams. “Seems that way.” He looked back up, clearing his throat. “Thank you…for the help. I should get going. They’re probably gonna be sending more this way, after all that gunfire.”

“Yes, probably,” the older man agreed, but tilted his head slightly. “It’s not safe for you here anymore. Would you…like to come with us?”

“Come with you?” he repeated incredulously, glancing between both men. The younger one had the ghost of a smile on his face, like this wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. “I don’t even know you.”

“My name is Hosea Matthews. This here is Arthur Morgan. We got a camp, few miles north from here, full of lovely folks. You’re welcome to come with us, check things out, and you can leave if you want.”

Charles narrowed his eyes slightly. “Who are you, really?”

“We’re a gang,” Arthur answered plainly, as if it weren’t a big deal. “We ain’t good people, but we’re better than those bastards.” He nodded toward the bodies, and Charles followed his gaze.

His mind told him to run away, to not trust these men. He figured nothing good could come of it. He’d survived this long on his own before, surely he could take more of those agents if they came. Though he knew that was the rational way of thinking, his heart told him to trust them. His heart told him that if not for them, he could be dead by now. 

Maybe it was Hosea’s kind eyes. Maybe it was Arthur’s smirk. He couldn’t tell.

“…Alright. I’ll come with you.”

Charles went toward one of the nearby trees to grab his small satchel. He could hear the two quietly talking amongst themselves.

“You’re never excited when we invite a new feller,” Hosea was saying goodnaturedly, probably not meaning for Charles to hear. Arthur scoffed.

“You seen how he handled them, Hosea. He’s pretty good.”

“So was Micah, and you hate him.”

“Micah’s an idiot. This feller ain’t.”

When Charles returned to them, Hosea straightened up. “Do you have a horse, son?” When he shook his head, Hosea glanced at his companion. “Well, then, you can ride with Arthur. We got plenty of horses at camp you can borrow.” They each lifted a hand to their mouths, whistling, and the sound of galloping hooves grew louder and louder until two horses appeared beside them.

Hosea mounted his, and Arthur gestured. “After you.”

Charles eyed Arthur for a moment. He couldn’t quite get a read on him. He wondered if it was possible that he really was just excited to meet him, to have him come join the gang. Without a word, he climbed on top of the saddle, and Arthur mounted in front of him. They took off.

They rode in silence for a few minutes. Charles watched the passing trees and mountains with the waning sunlight, the sky morphing into different colors with each new moment. Suddenly, Arthur spoke, his gruff voice carried on the wind.

“What’s your name?”

“Charles. Charles Smith.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles Smith.”

Charles couldn’t see his face, but he could hear a slight smile in his voice. He couldn’t help but do the same. “You too.”

***

To say it was all overwhelming would be an understatement.

There were a lot of people in this camp, and all the looks he got when they first arrived were not lost on him. Most of them seemed uneasy when he dismounted, and he found himself pressing a little closer to Arthur as they walked toward a nearby tent. Standing there, watching them approach, was a man with dark hair, smoking a cigarette. He looked straight at Hosea, his eyebrows raised, as if asking a silent question.

“Dutch, this is Charles Smith. He was being pursued by the Pinkertons, but he held his own very well. I told him he could lie low with us for a while,” Hosea explained, probably loud enough for most of the camp to hear. 

The man, clearly the leader of this gang, turned his gaze instead to Charles. His eyes almost seemed hungry as he took him in, but he gave him a kind smile on top of it. “Of course you’re welcome to stay, Mr. Smith. We shoot fellers as need shootin’, save fellers as need savin’, feed fellers who need feedin’, and I assume you need those last two.” Exhaling a puff of smoke, Dutch lifted his gaze toward the other prying eyes. “Everyone! Please make our new friend feel welcome. This here is Charles Smith. He’ll be staying with us for a while.”

There were some quiet murmurs, but eventually everyone went back to what they were doing before. Charles awkwardly bowed his head toward Dutch. “Thank you. For the welcome.”

“Of course. Let us know if you need anything.”

Perhaps able to tell he was overwhelmed, Hosea placed a grounding hand on Charles’ shoulder. “Are you hungry, Charles?”

He blinked, the question suddenly making him aware of how hungry he actually was. “A little.” He hadn’t had time to find food yet. He didn’t think he’d eaten anything since last night.

He let Hosea guide him, saying goodbye to Arthur for the time being, and took in the night while they walked. It was loud, but it still felt calm. Charles hadn’t been around this many people in a long time. At least he knew, for now, he could trust Hosea and Arthur.

They approached a man standing by a large pot, drinking from a small flask. “Mr. Pearson, good evening! Do you have anything left from dinner?” Hosea greeted.

Pearson finished his swig, then glanced between the two, seemingly doing a double take. “Ah, the new guy! Nice to see another new face ‘round here. Sure, made some broth earlier. Hope you like rabbit.” Carefully, the man poured some of the thick liquid into a bowl with a spoon, then handed it over. He beamed at Hosea. “Glad to see you’re talkin’ up my cooking for once, Hosea!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say ‘talking up,”’ he replied, the ghost of a grin on his face, “but when you’re hungry, everything’s good. Come on, Charles.” Charles thanked Pearson for the food and followed Hosea toward one of the picnic tables. “Here you are, son. Would you like to be left alone?”

Charles blinked in surprise. Of all the questions he could have gotten, that was not one he was expecting. Even more surprisingly, the answer was no.  “Um…Would you tell me about everyone here?”

For a moment, Hosea looked taken aback. And then a smile, a real genuine smile appeared on his face as he sat across from him. “Of course.”

***

Dutch was the leader.

Hosea was his partner in crime.

Arthur was their son. Not really, but the three of them began the gang.

John was next, and then the rest of them trickled in.

It would take a long time to remember all of these names, but he was strangely feeling at home here. He’d never been shown such hospitality before. Everyone had at least tried to be nice, except for the guy with blond hair and mustache who’d talked to him condescendingly like Williams. He couldn’t remember his name, but he was the type of guy he would expect to be in a gang. Surprisingly, he was the minority. All of these people were kind.

Charles sat quietly on a spare sleeping bag, looking up at the stars while the nearby campfire crackled. A lot of the camp was asleep now, but he didn’t feel tired yet, despite the day he’d had.

“Thought you would have run away by now.”

Lowering his gaze, Charles took Arthur in, his face illuminated by the fire. He held back a smile, shaking his head. “Not yet. Maybe tomorrow.” He didn’t see that happening.

Arthur smirked, walking toward his tent, which happened to be right next to Charles’ bag. “Just wait ‘til you hear Sean’s terrible singin’. Karen always swears she’ll never come back.”

Charles glanced back up at the stars, letting a few moments pass. Then, “The real reason you wanted me to come with you was because you wanted me to join the gang, right? You want me to help you get money ‘cause you saw how good I shoot?”

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a little satisfying that Arthur seemed taken aback. “Uh…we that obvious?”

“Yes. But…it’s okay.” Charles looked back at him. “You’re the one that shot the detective, aren’t you?” When Arthur nodded, he continued.  “You saved my life. So maybe my life is meant to be more than just my own survival. I’ll help you.”

Arthur stared at him. “Wow. You’re pretty amazin’.”

Strangely, his heart skipped a beat. He supposed it was because he wasn’t used to talking to anyone at all, let alone being complimented. “...Thank you.”

A comfortable silence fell between them, and eventually, Arthur lay down in his sleeping bag. Charles continued to watch the fire burn until it was just embers, and then he lay down as well. The sky was full of twinkling stars that seemed to tell him this was where he was meant to be.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #charles smith #arthur morgan #hosea matthews #charthur #rdr2 fic #sorry if this doesn't make much sense #just wanted it to be cool #enjoy <3 #my writing #agoldengalaxy #my post

[pawsdraws]

drawn from @saiyan-druid-art rdr2 fic

#this one is based off of chapter 8 :] #i reaaaally like this fic #its living rent free in my head ..... #its so good #i cant wait for the next chapter!!! #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #charles smith #charthur #red dead redemption fanart #rdr2 fanart #red doomed redemption #pawsart