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margowritesthings · 1 year

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The Greatest Gift A Cowgirl Could Ask For

a @rdrevents Valentines gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader word count: 4,400 words warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, explicit language, sexual themes, vaginal sex, mentions of death, unprotected sex, throwing up (TW EMETOPHOBIA), very brief mention of SA in the past, unexpected pregnancy, mentions of Micah Bell a/n: am I britney spears in her 2000 grammy award winning song??? because oops, i did it again. i don't know how I managed to get Bea as my recipient for a SECOND time, but it only felt right to carry on building this universe I've made for her and lying to her about it all week. Whoops.

Bea, my beloved, Happy Valentines Day. You deserve the world and Im so glad I could dedicate this fic to you. Honestly I probably couldn't have gotten the motivation to get back on my feet and write again if it wasn't for you. Thanks for everything you do bby and I hope this lives up to your 'if by some miracle you get me for your gift exchange disregard my prompts and write a TGG prequel' (yes she actually said that) idea. Love you lots xxx

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes @luvliewriting @mrsarthurmorgan7 @photo1030 @snobbybastard

My Darling Wife,

I’m writing to you from up near Tempest Rim. I’ve tracked this bounty all over the goddamn Grizzlies and I’m ready to come home to you. I miss you so much and I’m real sorry I can’t be home in time for St. Valentines. Hopefully I can catch this bastard soon and make it up to ya. We’ll go to the theatre and sit right at the back, how’s that sound? I’ll move heaven and Earth to be beside you soon, you know I will.

I can’t wait to see you, sweetheart. I’ll be there as fast as I can be with enough money to take you out on the town. Won’t be long, I promise.

All my love, Arthur

Your finger runs over his looped script, over and over as if it will somehow will your husband out of the crumpled paper and into your bed. It’s been 2 months since the letter arrived, 2 months of the agony of not knowing if he’s dead or alive robbing you of sleep each and every night. You miss him, more than you could ever imagine one person could miss another and you honestly don’t know what you’ll do if he doesn’t come home.

It’s a 600 dollar bounty, it’s sure to be a tough job you constantly reassure yourself, unable to focus on anything but the absence of half of your very soul in every waking moment.

The day he comes home starts like any other. Time's arrow marches on, the sun rises and sets over your makeshift family as they work and plan and rob and hunt. You busy yourself planning a job with Karen, cushioned into your schedule between menial tasks so that it’s just that bit easier to not think about him. As usual, your efforts are in vain, but at least the chores are done, your steed Diesel is happy, and, all being well, you and Karen will have about 30 dollars to split between you when the week is out.

An hour before he comes home, everyone retires to bed, save for John (who’s on watch tonight) and you’re left alone by the campfire. It crackles and pops, embers swirling the air around you. It feels like you stare at the twisting flames until your eyes blur and burn and you can’t tell which are tears of irritation to your senses and which are your heart breaking once more.

Moments before you’re reunited with the second half of your heart, you hear John yelling. It’s instinct that drives your hand into your holster, still resting against your hip despite the late hour, and you perk up like a startled deer, straining to decipher Marston’s words.

“Who is it?!” “Arthur, you dumbass!”

Arthur.

Arthur?

“Arthur?!” It’s a breathless shout, barely heard over the rushing blood in your ears as your feet take you to your husband before your mind can even fathom that he’s here.

But sure enough, when you reach the edge of camp, heart racing, you see Arthur Morgan riding his chestnut mare straight towards you, spurring her into a gallop as soon as he lays his eye on his waiting wife. Marston probably makes some remark about who ‘decided to show up’, but to you, there is nothing but you and Arthur, two magnets parted by an unnatural force finally reaching each other again with a deafening crash.

And it is. A crash, that is, when Arthur all but throws himself off his saddle and your bodies collide, great big arms wrapping around your frame. It is then that the tears fall down your cheek, soaking into Arthur’s coat that smells so much like him it truly feels like a dream.

You thought he was dead.

Only when you’re safely in his arms, when he’s pressing frantic kisses to your head, whispering your name over and over into your hair do you allow yourself to admit that fact. You thought he was never coming back, and yet here he is. Words fail you, the overwhelming emotion settling right in your throat.

“Oh, god… oh, darlin’ I-I missed you so much…”

You feel two large hands cup your cheeks, pulling you in for a kiss that holds everything and anything the past 3 months could have been had you not spent it apart. But everything fits back into place, the world starts spinning again and you’re whole the second Arthur Morgan’s lips meet yours. It lasts a lifetime, it lasts a fraction of a second. You want to stop time, keep Arthur in your arms forever and never again have to go through the torture of being away from each other. The two of you only part to throw near identical scowls at John, who is amusing himself by telling you to get a room.

Unfortunately, as Ms. Grimshaw so often reminds you all, the Van der Linde Camp is not a hotel, so tonight you will not be afforded the luxury of a private suite as John so kindly suggested. There is only your tent, hitched against the gang’s weapons wagon, the old canvas pulled around to offer a little privacy when you and Arthur first started… well, needing the seclusion.

Calloused fingers intertwine with your own digits, Arthur’s other hand flipping John off before his weight pulls you towards your little corner of camp. There's so much purpose in his stride, the need to have you all to himself, not even share you with the lord above or wildlife below, driving him forward. Driving him home.

When you’re finally, truly alone, the tears welling in your eyes glistening in the candlelight, no words are needed. Soon enough, you’ll talk for hours on end, catching each other up on every little detail of the last few months. But for now, all that there is and all that could matter is right this very second, when Arthur reaches for you, brushing a thumb over the tear tracks on your left cheek. His eyes, looking almost emerald in the dark of night, roam over each and every detail of you with such an intensity in him that you think he’s trying to remember this moment for the rest of time. You’re sure it’s one you could never possibly forget.

Arthur snakes both arms around your waist, guiding you backwards until the backs of your knees gently hit the cot and you lay back onto it. He covers the full length of you and then some, making you feel so fragile and small. It’s nice to feel breakable for once, to let go of the need to be the strongest in the room, lest you be ridiculed for being too sensitive or too weak or too womanly. Arthur knows just how strong you are, you need to prove nothing to him, so you can submit to his embrace, allow yourself to just breathe for once knowing you can break and there’s re will always be somebody to put you back together.

He lowers himself to your lips, pressing a kiss to them that doesn’t last nearly long enough. Arthur then kisses your nose, then your cheeks and chin, before trailing down to the crook of your neck. Your skin feels as though it’s on fire, so starved for the man you cannot live without that now he’s finally here everything feels that much more intense. The tiniest scrape of Arthur’s teeth against your flesh shoots through every single nerve in your body and you moan right into his ear. You can actually feel him harden against your thigh at the sweet melody of your pleasure.

Pushing Arthur’s hat off to the side, your fingers rake through his hair, nails scratching at his scalp encouragingly as he nibbles at your skin.

“Oh, Arthur… Oh, I missed you so much…” You breathlessly whisper, feeling your heart skip a beat when he pauses his movements to glance at you from under impossibly long eyelashes, jade green eyes glistening up at you.

“I missed you too, sweetheart. So so much.” His voice is soft, as if he’s handling the peacefulness around you so delicately and it causes the overwhelming emotion to well in your chest and choke up your throat. Arthur sees this, trying not to be too taken with his own surprising amount of emotion himself, and relieves you of your job of a response by directing his attention to the buttons of your shirt. You don’t remember him pushing your jacket off your shoulders, but there it lies on the floor beside the entrance to your tent, so he must have.

Despite the juxtaposition of such dainty buttonholes and such large fingers, Arthur expertly undresses your top half until you’re bare to him. He takes no time at all to take one of your nipples into his mouth, kissing and sucking at it with a hunger you feel right in your toes. You moan loudly, unable to stop yourself after yearning for this very feeling for so long.

Arthur coos and shushes you and it vibrates across your skin, not helping you stay quiet in the slightest. The hand not tugging on his dirty blonde locks reaches between your two longing bodies to begin to unbuckle his belt. You can feel your own heartbeat throbbing between your legs, your coil growing tighter and tighter by the second. It’s been almost 3 months since your bodies have joined like this, and yet you’re not sure you can wait another minute.

You’re purring for Arthur, twitching and grinding as your hand fumbles desperately at the belt. His absence from your skin is agony the second he pulls his hips back to sit up straight. Spotting your downright bratty expression, bottom lip protruding in a pout, Arthur chuckles lowly, “Patience, baby… I gotta get these damn clothes off us.” He gestures to his belt, still very much buckled around his waist. Definitely not your fault. He was being far too distracting.

He’s quick, you’ll give him that, shedding his clothes without taking his eyes off you. You burn under his stare, even more so when he crawls back on top of you to slide your boots off one by one and peel your pants and undergarments down your legs.

The heat radiates off his huge body, his cock pulsing with need. The way he’s putting his weight into his arms to stop from crushing you with his weight adds a definition to his already beautifully sculpted body. Reaching down, you brush the tip of your finger oh so gently over his rosy head, finding a bead of cum already leaking, and you snap. You can’t wait a second longer, scratching and gripping at him like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Please, Arthur, please I need you. S-So long, it’s been so long-” “Shh, I know, princess, I know. I’m gonna take care of you, okay? Gonna take care of your pretty little cunt, I promise.” He soothes you, though his own voice is shaky from the very effort of restraining himself, maintaining his control to not drive into you and ruin you. While he whispers to you, he lines himself up at your entrance and you quiver in anticipation.

In all your years before you met Arthur, you never really saw sex as anything but something to give, or worse, something to be taken from you. You never truly understood, not until you met Arthur, who taught you it’s something to share, to experience. With Arthur, it’s different. It is connection and pleasure and it’s wonderful and god damn it, it’s addictive. So when Arthur slides into you, letting out a visceral, guttural groan as he does, everything is right in the world.

You feel so full, especially when Arthur pushes all the way to the hilt, connecting you completely at the pelvis. The moan that escapes your lips is downright obscene and Arthur crashes down into your mouth to swallow it.

Maybe it’s the fact that it’s been so long, or the emotion of it all, but you swear you can feel everything. Every vein and ridge, every twitch and movement of his perfect cock as Arthur slowly starts to move in and out of you.

“Fuck… s-so good, darlin. So tight- y’feel so fucking good, princess…”

You’ve never hurtled so close towards a climax so quickly in your life. His torturously slow, deep thrusts drag into your sweet spot every fucking time and trying to hold back brings a blur into your vision. Your own hips grind against his, Arthur gripping into your flesh to guide you perfectly in time with him.

“I-I’m so close already, Arthur… fuck…” You breathe out, your breath tickling Arthur’s ear and sending a visible shudder down his spine. He looks proud at your admission.

“You missed me that much, huh? Gonna cum for me already, darlin’?”

He gives you no time to respond, pressing a thumb to your clit and rubbing in time with everything else. You implode, pulling Arthur down to catch the scream you’re about to wake everybody up with. It has never felt so intense, and with every thrust Arthur fucks into you it only grows and grows, shattering you to pieces for Arthur to fix back together again.

When you return, a rhythmic thudding in your ears, the first thing you see is Arthur, of course. His jaw is fluttering madly, a bead of sweat clinging to his forehead but the candlelight makes him look ethereal. You still can’t believe he’s here, alive.

Tears start to glisten in your eyes. You’ve never cried during sex before, not for anything positive, at least, but somehow this doesn’t feel wrong. Arthur slows again, watching you, and you spot an extra shine to his own jade orbs. He knows. He feels it too.

He’s right there with you. As he always is.

He brushes a piece of hair stuck to your forehead away, and the gesture is enough to send the tears falling down the same worn path on your cheeks as before.

“I love you, Mr. Morgan…” “I love you, Mrs. Morgan…”

It seems to become too much for Arthur to stay still, and you’re glad for it. You’re desperate for the friction, already flying towards another orgasm. He’s really fucking into you this time, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in. He’s groaning and growling and you decide in that moment that it’s your favourite sound in all the world.

“I… I ain’t gonna last much longer, baby…”

“C-Cum in me…” “Huh?” He slows, shuddering at the exertion required to control his movements, “I-”

But you’re not listening to his protests, your nails digging into the skin of his back and ass and anywhere else you can reach to urge him forwards again.

“Please Arthur, I-I need you… I need you to cum with me, I need you with me…” you plead with him, not truly understanding your need but honouring it. You’ve been without him for so long, you deserve him with you now.

He appears to consider you for just a moment, before diving down to lock your lips with his. His tongue delves into your mouth, tasting every bit of you and he starts to pump into you unreservedly. His body grinds against yours and the friction is perfect and you’re so fucking full and before you can even try to hold back, you’re cumming again, stars scattering your vision, heart pounding out of your chest to find release from it’s mortal, physical cage. Your inner walls twitch around Arthur’s length and this time, he doesn’t hold back either.

His eyes fly open and lock onto yours as you both climax together. It’s vulnerable and strange, but perhaps more connected than you ever thought possible for two people to be.

Arthur’s cock twitches inside you, pumping out his spend as he groans viscerally, completely losing control of his rhythm as he thrusts into you one last time, harsh and deep. You’ve never experienced this before, with Arthur or any other man, normally erring on the side of caution when it came to such matters, but even as you come down you can’t bring yourself to regret it. Whatever you and Arthur just experienced together felt spiritual, and worth much more than a little risk.

Arthur collapses, even as depleted as he is still considerate enough to collapse onto his elbows and not crush you. He slides out of you, earning a little wince, and rolls to the side so you can rest your head on his chest. It’s like a locket that’s been ripped apart, finally fixed together with the most satisfying click.

═══════☆═══════

Two months later, life has returned to its equilibrium. You and Arthur are perhaps clingier, still in a sort of second honeymoon phase where you just can’t seem to keep your hands off each other, more so than usual. It’s a side effect of prolonged solitude, you’re sure.

The first time it happens, you blame Pearson and think nothing of it. It’s pretty early in the morning and you’re sitting with Tilly and Abigail, peeling potatoes for the stew tonight. Abigail is venting her frustrations about when John did this and John said that, and everything feels so normal. Pearson arrives, throwing a rather large, rather dead fish onto the table you’re leaning against and you feel the thud from the weight of it vibrate against your back.

It isn’t until the smell invades your senses that everything starts to feel off. It smells exactly like all the other fish Pearson has ever slammed onto that poor table, which doesn’t explain why you immediately lurch forwards, grabbing an empty bucket and throwing up your breakfast. The fish stench is suffocating and all you can do is get the hell away from it, not noticing when Abigail’s brows knit together almost… knowingly?

You skip the stew that night.

―

The second time it happens, you try not to think about it. You’re riding Diesel and almost don’t make it off him in time. There is nothing to set you off, no horse shit or rotting animal at the side of the road, and yet in an instant your stomach feels like it has been flipped upside down.

The sheer volume of your retching catches Arthur’s attention and he tugs on the leather reins in his hands to steady his mare.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?”

His concern is evident in his tone and in the tight line between his brows, which deepens when he finds you unable to respond in anything but a frantic nod. He dismounts, spurs clicking against the dusty ground when he approaches you.

“Oh, sweetheart… that’s it, easy, easy… you’re okay…”

You feel gentle circles rubbed into the tense muscles of your back as you try to get through this again. It’s not lost on you that Arthur is speaking to you like a spooked horse, but it actually really does help. (You decide to prioritise peace of mind and not psychoanalyse why that is). Eventually, it relents and you regain your composure, albeit somewhat less gracefully than you’d have liked.

“Sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into me, maybe I ate somethin’.”

Your apology for something you can’t help earns you a sad smile from your husband, who places a loving kiss on the top of your head before reaching for your discarded hat and putting it back on for you.

“Y’don’t gotta apologise. I gotcha, darlin’.”

You know he does.

He always does.

―

The third time it happens, the luxury of denial is stolen from you. It’s early enough that your view while you sit with Abigail drinking coffee involves glorious hues of orange and pink scattered around the rising sun. It’s peaceful, tranquil. The warmth of the little metal mug in your hands and Arthur’s jacket around your shoulders is enough to ward off the fresh morning chill in the air.

There is absolutely no warning when it hits, when it happens again. You’re so goddamn sick (no pun intended) of hurling. Your eyes water and your throat hurts a little and you curse under your breath when it’s over. Abi is beside you, rubbing your back in an attempt to soothe you. She waits until it’s over before speaking hesitantly.

“Uh, can I ask you somethin’?”

You nod, eyes still red and glistening as you swirl coffee around your mouth to take away from the awful, acidic taste lingering.

“When did you last bleed?”

“What, like an injury? Uh, I cut my hand couple days back, but I don’t see what-“

… Oh fuck.

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The anxiety bounces around your body and you decide that you’ve become far too acquainted with the concept of nausea. You can actually tell the difference between nerves twisting your stomach and… well, let’s say it as it is: morning sickness. This is the former, you deduce, spinning both your engagement and wedding ring around your finger to give your hands something better to do than carve fingernail-shaped moons into your palm. He should be home any minute now. Any minute now and it will all change forever.

It’s quite late, but the poker game Arthur was scoping out for potential jobs is known to last a while. You’re the only one still awake, poking the embers of the campfire to keep yourself as comfortable as possible.

You hear hooves hitting dry dirt first, and it seems to trigger your fight or flight response. God, you’d love to run away from this, but that is pretty much impossible, so fight it is. It’ll be the greatest fight of your life, you’ll soon learn, one you’re privileged to be a part of. But right now, it feels like an all-consuming unknown.

Arthur can tell something is wrong the second he sees you. You’re terrible at hiding things, especially from him. He always reads you as though you have a poster advertising your feelings printed on your forehead. Arthur dismounts, kissing you tenderly on the temple and wrapping his arms around you.

“What’re you still doin’ up, darlin’? Is everything alright?” You can feel his worry vibrating in his chest as you nuzzle into his embrace.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just… Can we talk? I kept the fire goin’.” You say it into his shirt, reluctant to move from this hold.

“Of course…” there’s something in his voice, a tense apprehension that really doesn’t help the knot contorting itself in your gut.

While you’re more than capable of keeping a fire going, Arthur is an expert, and has it healthily burning within seconds of you sitting down on the overturned log the gang has fashioned into a bench. You’re back to spinning your beautiful gold bands around your finger, trying to remember to breathe in and out every so often.

“What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” His voice is so soft, so kind that it makes you want to cry. But you promised yourself you wouldn’t until you’d told him, because this might just be the most important conversation you’ve ever had, and you definitely won’t get through it if you’re a blubbering mess.

“I, uh… I… somethin’s happened.”

You hear his breath hitch in his throat and Arthur leans towards you, completely enveloping your hands in his. They’re sandwiched in now and you can’t fiddle with your rings anymore.

“What? What happened? Was it Micah? If he’s said somethin’ to you, I’ll kill him, the rat bastard-”

“No, no, it’s… as much as I’d love to see that, it’s not him.”

The tension releases. Just a little bit.

“I’m pregnant.”

Oh wait, there it is.

The silence is deafening, even though you’re almost certain it isn’t actually silent out here right now. There's a fire going and crickets are just metres away, you’re just shutting down with nerves.

The normally so often tense, fluttering jaw of Arthur Morgan is slack, his eyes wide and gaping at you, occasionally flicking down to your so far bump-less belly. (You should know- you’ve been obsessively looking in a mirror any chance you get for some sort of sign that this is really happening).

Say something. Please say something. Please don’t be angry. Oh, God please don’t hate me.

“I-I… You’re pregnant?” He repeats, reassuring you that you haven’t actually gone deaf, though his tone holds no indication of anything but shock. That’s probably fair…

You nod, hands instinctively reaching over your belly. It feels… weird. Holding your hands over your baby. Yours and Arthur’s baby.

“It happened a couple months back, when you got back from The Grizzlies, I think… I-I’m sorry, Arthur. I shoulda’ been more careful and-and…” You’re rambling, filling a silence that probably should just be allowed to be a silence.

“There… There’s gonna be a baby?”

There. Right there, adorning Arthur’s beautiful features, is the pull of a smile. It chokes you up instantly, so far deep in nightmares of arguments and unhappiness that you hadn’t even considered the good. You start to nod, a little bit of your fringe falling in your face.

“Yeah… There’s gonna be a baby. Our baby…”

“Our baby…” He repeats, his arm raising to brush the hair away from your eyes in such a natural manner it feels like it’s just his instinct to care for you. It is his instinct to care for you, Arthur has shown you that in every minute of every day of your marriage, and suddenly you’re not sure why you’ve been so scared.

“I’m gonna be a dad?” He still seems in disbelief, but that’s normal. It’s taken you a few days to come to terms with it, and even then the fingernail marks in your palms are still red raw.

“You’re gonna be a dad.”

It hits him. Really hits him and he all but throws himself into you, scooping you up and spinning you around as he laughs unreservedly.

“Well goddamn, I’m gonna be a Daddy!”

You laugh with him, worries and anxiety a distant memory as your feet swing around in the air. You’re probably waking the camp up, but you don’t care all that much. Right now, you’re the happiest girl in the world.

A baby. There’s gonna be a baby. Arthur’s baby.

Really, it’s the greatest gift a cowgirl could ask for.

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starlight-starwrites · 1 year

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a real bed

arthur morgan x female reader

summary: You’re tired. Arthur’s been gone. When he leaves you to spend another night alone, he works to make it up to you and show you exactly what you deserve. wc: 3.4k warnings: TB-doesn’t-exist au, some light/non-graphic smut note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY @margowritesthings! I loved the princess treatment prompt, I hope this is full of the fluff (and smut) you were looking for! thank you to @rdrevents for hosting the valentine gift exchange!

“Carrots are done,” you slide the last of the vegetables into the pot and wipe your hands on your apron.

Pearson grunts, and you accept it as the most you’ll get for a thank you. “Stew is going to be light on the meat again. Where is that man of yours?”

“He’s not…my man.” You don’t look at him when you say it, heat flaring in your face at the words. You know who he refers to, but you and Arthur still felt new. It was no secret, you admit, and after years of pining it was nice to have your affections returned. But as you fill a pail of water for the girls’ washing up, craning your neck to look over the short bridge to Shady Belle, you can see Arthur’s horse is still missing. “I don’t know where he is.”

He’d left yesterday evening after a short visit and even shorter dinner. Things were rough for the gang, but you felt it was always the roughest for Arthur. He surprised you leaving so soon after returning, and when you asked if he wouldn’t stay for the night he only smiled and said you could have the bed to yourself like you would enjoy it. You kept your mouth shut. Kissed him goodbye. Watched him ride away and disappear into the trees.

Pearson calls your attention back. “He hasn’t been hunting much.”

“Arthur’s been hunting as often as he can. He always brings back something,” you snap. You rub at your raw hands, the filled pail pushing the metal handle into your skin.

“Brings back more than most,” Pearson backtracks as soon as he hears your tone. You understand his frustration - hungry people don’t treat the camp cook too kindly - but you won’t let him blame Arthur.

You take a second pail and dip it in the water barrel to fill that one too. “If you need meat, send out Bill. He’s been sitting on his ass all day.” You stare at the man currently sitting at the table sharpening a knife.

“Bill can’t hunt for shit.”

“I can hear you,” Bill looks up with a scowl that might have made you afraid once.

“Then maybe he should practice.” The look you shoot him fixes him to his seat as you storm from both of the men, pail in each hand.

You’re tired of hearing excuses for people. Tired of feeling like only a few are doing the work for everyone. Tired of how the humid heat of Lemoyne dampens your dress with sweat. Tired of wearing boots that have long outworn their use. And tired of hearing Miss Grimshaw’s grating voice from all the way across camp.

The girls seem to catch on your sour mood and don’t say a word as you drop the buckets of water and silently take the wet clothes to the line. You pin up shirts and sheets along side Mary Beth thinking about another lonely night and how you would kill for a chance to sleep in a real bed, tucked in Arthur’s arms.

It’s a nice daydream that carries you through the chore so that by the time you return to the front of the house and see Arthur hitching his horse to the post, your first reaction is elated relief. He spots you first, pace picking up as he approaches. He doesn’t make it before he’s waylaid by Pearson.

“Mr. Morgan! Good to see you. Camp provisions have been looking a little light recently, think you can restock?”

You want to throw something at him.

Arthur barely grunts before he’s ruffling through his satchel. “It ain’t much right now, but…” he pulls out a few cuts of meat. You think maybe rabbit. “Here. See if you can’t do something with this.”

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan! I’ll try and get this in the stew for tonight.”

You stand at Arthur’s side, once again impressed that no matter what, he always has something. You lift a hand to touch his arm when he speaks again.

“See that you do. I’ve got somewhere to be, so you’ll have fewer mouths to feed.”

Pearson’s already off to prepare the rest of dinner, but Arthur’s words strike your heart.

“What? You’re leaving again?”

He watches your hand draw back, your face fall. He nods. “We’re going out into Saint Denis tonight.”

You swallow, look at the ground. Of course. Work never ends. “Who’s goin’ with you?” At least you hope it’s someone you trust. Someone like Hosea, or Charles, or—

“You,” he says, like it was obvious. “We’re going out to the city.”

It’s the second shock of the night. “What? Arthur, I don’t really think I’m up for a job right now. It’s been a long day, and you’ve only just got back—”

His laugh is low, and his hands hold you by your upper arms. “It’s not for a job.” His hands move up and down your arms, comforting and pulling you closer.

“Got an errand to run and then…dinner. I got us a room.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. The dream from earlier suddenly feels possible. You grasp his forearms as he holds you. “A room? With a real bed?” He nods, eyes still smiling down at you. He looks as tired as you feel, and you take hold of his lapels. “Yeah, princess. With a real bed.” His hands slide over your back in an embrace. It eases something in you, the stress of camp, of surviving, of watching him leave. You don’t think about how your feet hurt or how rough your hands are. You think of this, being in Arthur’s arms, that reassuring feeling that no matter how bad things are, he still takes care of you.

You don’t have to think about it, you were ready to go as soon as he said the word ‘room’. You’re glued to his side as he walks you back to his horse, and you let him lift you up to the saddle. A trip to town for a night off sounds like heaven, but there is one thing you’re curious about as Arthur mounts up behind you.

“What exactly is the errand?”

You don’t know what you were expecting. Perhaps shopping for supplies, an exchange where Arthur sold some goods. Things that you had seen before. The building looks like a green house, the front filled with gorgeous ferns and flowers. Your eyes are drawn to the ceiling fan above as Arthur ushers you in, the fading sunlight filtering in through the glass casting shadows on figures and hats and frames lining the walls. An ecstatic and slightly accented voice pulls you from your observations.

“Ah, Tacitus! I am so glad to see you. And you, my dear, you must be Mrs. Kilgore, it is an absolute delight to finally meet you!” he takes a breath to lift and kiss your hand. The man barely gives you a moment to open your mouth, already talking a mile a minute. Though Arthur had told you his name is Algernon Wasp and to expect your alias, the eccentric seems so excited he all but forgot to introduce himself.

There is a dress, and it’s a wonder you’re here, and the corset gave him such trouble to make, but he is absolutely thrilled with how it turned out, and how do you like it, but oh, you can’t really say that it’s beautiful if you haven’t tried it on, and he really needs a model to know for certain it’s finished, and yes, yes it has to be you…

In any case, being stuffed into a strange man’s corset by Arthur in the back of green house is not exactly the sort of errand you had expected.

Algernon admits that the dress was not made entirely by him, but he really is the true artist behind it. The corset itself is cream, embroidered with flowers and embellishments in a deep navy blue to match the heavy skirts. He talks from the other side of the curtain while you direct Arthur on how to properly lace the corset. Both of your voices are low, movements slow. His hands linger where they can, and too often you find yourself leaning back into him. You can feel the warmth of his palm despite the layers fabric, and when he finally ties the ends, you hold his hands where they rest on your hips.

You don’t know why you’re here, wearing this dress that is worth more money than you’ve ever owned at once, but if Arthur wanted you here for the silly friend of his who rambled about duchesses, baronesses, and contessas then you would be here, looking like you could fit right in with them.

“How goes it? Please tell me you haven’t torn anything, Tacitus.” Algernon’s voice breaks you from the moment, and Arthur’s hands slide away. You pull back the curtain, taking in the dress once again. “Oh a muse indeed! You are perfect, would you look at that. What do you think?”

“Well, I…it’s gorgeous.” You can hardly take your eyes off it. The bodice has the finest stitching you’ve ever seen, the skirt like silk beneath your fingers. “But what does this have to do with me?”

“Why, it’s yours!”

You shoot a quick glance behind you to catch Arthur’s eye, thinking that perhaps when he had said the man was cracked he wasn’t exaggerating. But Arthur never meets your eye, his own gaze fixed on the clinch of the corset around your waist.

“I’m…not sure I can afford this…”

“Nonsense! Your husband has already covered it. In fact this is my payment for the favors he’s done me. I have never worked without a model before, but when I saw you, I just couldn’t say no!”

“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” you say in confusion.

This time Arthur does meet your eye, and you can see he’s bashful.

“Of course not, my dear! I mean the pictures.”

“Pictures?”

“No, no. You’re right. Pictures hardly do them justice. The drawings, illustrations of pure emotion. I’ve never thought of sketch work to be so…moving. But these! Your husband is quite the artist!”

“Oh, I know,” and you think of what sketches he has of you in that journal of his that he would show this man. In hopes that he would make something for you. Something so fine you fear you may never have an opportunity to wear it again. Algernon is back to rambling about art, but you only hold Arthur’s stare in the mirror.

“Oh, but I know how busy you both must be! Please, don’t let me keep you again. I am no longer sorry to see the garment go when I see just how exquisite you look. Enjoy your evening! As always, it was a pleasure!”

And you find yourselves back outside, slightly stunned on the doorstep.

“Well. I believe I promised you dinner.” Arthur offers you his arm, and you easily lace your own through his.

“I believe you promised me more than dinner. Though I have to say I did not expect the new dress,” you quip. You tug on him a bit as you walk your way to the saloon where Arthur reserved your room and speak sincerely. “Thank you, darling. You didn’t…have to go to such trouble for me.”

“I know trouble. Trust me, this ain’t it.” He drops the teasing for a moment to look at you, and answer just as sincerely. “You look beautiful.” You feel warm, and not from the Saint Denis weather. “Besides, you’re not the only one who’s going to play dress-up.”

You let out a sound of delight. “You still have the suit Josiah picked out?”

“Oh, sure,” Arthur sounds none too pleased, “I still have it.”

“Arthur Morgan,” you sigh, “you really know how to treat a lady.”

On your way in to return to your room, you barely had a moment to look around and appreciate the finer details. Now, you lean into Arthur’s side as he speaks to the bartender and take in the establishment. The Bastille Saloon is still a saloon, but the patrons are dressed as finely as you are now, the furniture made of quality. You don’t see broken glass on the floor or scuffs made from idle knives and rowdy brawls. The tables have tablecloths. The piano is a grand one. The couple next to you are speaking French.

“And whatever the lady wants.”

You blink in attention, and turn to face the gentleman behind the bar. He’s wearing a tie. “Oh…I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” you say to Arthur.

You like the way his lips curve into a smile; it’s a crooked thing, and you may have once thought it teasing, but now you notice he’s fond by the crinkle of his eyes, he’s pleased by the way he leans toward you. Your arms hold tighter to the crook of his elbow, shocked at how just a hot bath and fancy clothing can change both your demeanors entirely.

Tonight you really were a distinguished lady, on the arm of the man you love. You never doubted Arthur to be a gentleman, but you still giggle when he pulls out the chair for you. He takes the seat next you, not across, and you scooch closer.

“Are you sure there isn’t some job?” you lean in to ask with a smile. You wouldn’t mind it if there was, so taken up with the dress, with the restaurant, with Arthur.

“No, darlin’, there’s no job.” He takes your subtle accusation in stride, leaning in and setting a gentle hand on your knee. “Why? You want there to be one?”

“No. Just don’t get why you’re doing this, is all.” You don’t want to sound ungrateful. Or suspicious. Your hand covers his under the table, aware of the impropriety, but too happy to care.

His eyes soften and fingers curl around yours. “Because you deserve it. Because you…deserve better.” The words are unspoken, but you know what he’s saying. He believes you deserve better than living with outlaws, than a campsite that moves every few weeks, than an old rickety cot and Pearson’s stew. He believes you deserve better than him.

You shake your head slowly, not looking away from his eyes. “You know what I want.” It’s a whisper, a spoken promise that you feel the same. No, you don’t want to live in a camp of outlaws for the rest of your life. But you’re sticking with him until the both of you can get out. Find what you want. A real bed. A home. A life.

Arthur looks like he’s about to respond when two plates are set down before you, and you gasp. He ordered prime rib with healthy helping of some of the best looking potatoes you’ve ever seen. You don’t think a meal has ever smelled so good in your life.

“Christ alive.”

Arthur laughs at your shocked reaction.

“What? I don’t think I’ve seen a steak this big.”

“You help prepare food with Pearson all the time,” his voice is a drawl, amused and pleased you’re impressed, and he doesn’t hesitate to start cutting into his meal.

“Not like this.” You know you’re staring, but you don’t even know where to start. “Arthur…if you just wanted to get me in bed, you know you don’t have to do all this.” Your words are crass, but you try to keep it to a hush. His treatment of you this afternoon has got you thinking of one thing, and quite frankly, you are very much looking forward to getting him back upstairs.

The way he chokes on his first bite is worth it. “Now I ain’t uhh…You know, well, um.” He gives up to plead with you. “Princess.”

You laugh at his stammering, put your hand on his knee. “Don’t you start. Because you did promise me dinner, and I intend on absolutely polishing off everything, and I expect you to do the same. And then, and only then, am I going to drag you upstairs and make very good use of that bed. No matter how many princesses, sweethearts, or darlings you use.”

And maybe the two of you are sitting too close that you keep bumping elbows, and no matter how finely you dress you still don’t quite fit in with the upper class, but you’ve never shared a finer meal someone.

And you’ve never seen Arthur eat so fast.

When Arthur took you to the room upon arrival in Saint Denis, the first thing you did was flop to the bed. It was large and well made with thick blankets and would fit two people comfortably.

Now that you finished dinner and are retiring for the night, you don’t even make it there. Your back is pressed to the closed door, Arthur’s mouth covering yours before pressing hot kisses down your neck, across your chest, and over the tops of your breasts pushed up by the corset. You tug mercilessly at the suit jacket he wears, only feeling slightly bad before he lets it drop to the floor.

You can feel the grip of his large hands through the material of the dress - one holding tight to the thigh you hiked to his side, the other roaming over your body before finding its place to cradle your head. Directing your mouth to his then away so he can place more kisses under your jaw. With every certain touch, with every meaningful place of his lips, your heart swells. He whispers every name he’s given you between each kiss, and you find yourself sighing out his, unable to say the words to ask for what you really want.

He has treated you so well all day, and you knew, you knew you would end up here at the end of it, in his arms and in his heart. You were ready to do whatever he wanted. Instead he takes hold of you and gives you everything you want without you having to say a word.

His hands find their way under your skirt, fingertips trailing sparks over your new stockings and to where the corset ends. Every single thing today has been a gift from him, and this here too is another. You can’t keep up, but you’ll let him take, you’ll let him give, you’ll let him have it all.

His bare chest is hot under you palms, your own breasts pulled from the confines of the corset just as you make it to the bed. It’s where you wanted to be all day, and it lives up to every hopeful wish. Arthur handles you, moves you were he wants, and even still it feels like he serves you.

His kisses are like the warm glow of a fire—you chase the feeling, chase his lips, and he gives into every whine from you. You reward him with your moans. He travels the map of your body and disappears under your skirts. His hands and mouth never part from you, and you scramble to take hold of yourself, take hold of him, take hold of the sheets beneath you.

Neither of you say it often, but you both know. Tonight, I love you is said with every touch of his skin to yours. I love you with every kiss. I love you as he wraps you around him. I love you as your hands come to cradle his head.

You pant heavily, still partially confined in your clothing, and as soon as Arthur’s lips return to yours, the frantic grabbing for one another’s affection subsides. He’s steady and reassuring, both of you content to sink into each other until you can’t be any closer. Your kisses turn slow and sultry. His shoulders shudder in your embrace, his hips solid between your legs.

It’s you and him and this bed and the way he calls you mine. It’s rare these moments you get with him, and you soak it up, relish in the way he lets himself love you. In return, you let yourself dream of the future in which you and Arthur share a life, a home, and a real bed.

#arthur morgan x reader #rdrvalentineexchange #arthur morgan fanfiction #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan

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birchlogz · 1 year

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HAPPY HOLIDAYS!! some charthur for @reynar-m ❄️❄️❄️🎉🎄

i hope everyone had a wonderful swap and enjoys their presents!! @rdrevents

#red dead redemption 2 #charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #my artz #rdrsecretwinterswap

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yeehawpurgatory · 1 year

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Knots & Peculiarity

Apologies for the late post! Posted earlier to AO3--But I finally got to my desktop so Tumblr it is! @rdrevents

Here is my 2023 RDR Valentine Fanfic Exchange for the awesome @southernlynxx once again I hope you enjoy, I loved all of your prompts; especially John using Arthur’s lap as a pillow :’)))

Title: Knots & Peculiarity

Pairing: John x Arthur

Summary:

“Arthur…you really there?” This time it’s louder than a whisper, ghosting over his lips. ”Right here Marston, lie back now.” Arthur mutters quietly, he hoped they hadn’t garnered any attention. His eyes widen when Marston raises a trembling hand; Arthur holds his breath. The younger man’s palm pressed against Arthur’s chest for too many seconds. Just a solid, seeking touch is all it is.

The silence in the cabin nearly made him forget about all the other occupants. Only the occasional sniffle and shuffling, the sound of a cigarette’s light hissing as it burns, reminds Arthur he’s in the main cabin with the women and the others.

The past few days he’d made himself sparse, not on purpose though, between hunting most days and planning that train robbery with Dutch, he hadn’t much time to check on folks the way he liked. People hadn’t seen much of him for a few days. That’s probably what made him a jarring sight now, standing with mist-clouded eyes in front of another good man they’d nearly lost.

Arthur takes his gloves off as he hovers closely to the cot.

There’s another sound, quiet, nearly missable. The laboured, ragged breaths of his longest friend, injured and shaking, barely conscious through it all. They’d found Marston just days ago, bleeding, starving, nearly dead up in the mountains. Laying on the cot, chewed up and spat out, the younger man looked pitiful with half his face bandaged; the showing skin was painfully raised and colourfully splotched. A gory sight before, but little Johnny Marston looked downright bad now.

Worse than Jenny’s corpse had looked when he’d helped Lenny and Karen bury her, the youngest hands shaking the entire time. He looked worse than Davy too, and he’d all but held his own guts inside his body, the poor bastard.

Arthur bit his chapped lips and brushed a few greasy, tangled locks of black hair away from Marston’s mouth. The younger man’s unwrapped eye flickered beneath his closed lid, otherwise he didn’t react to the touch. Swanson must’ve seen to him earlier.

Arthur’s compelled to this spot in this cramped cabin for reasons he can’t quite explain, like an unseen force dragged him here and kept him staring stupidly. Waiting for something or another.

His bare hand rests just above Marston’s head.

It’s Susan that snaps him out of his stupor. The older woman had just been sitting on the stool, picking at Marston’s stitches with Strauss; pained sounds leaving the injured man’s lips the entire time.

“Mr Morgan.” Her tone is firm, but her eyes were softer with him than with most others. He grunts his acknowledgement to her.

Arthur feels Grimshaw’s eyes burning a hole through him, as though his leisurely presence was unacceptable to her. He half expects her to tell him to git. To go make himself useful. To go find some food or firewood.

She doesn’t.

Instead Susan stoops low, rummaging through a meagre box of the camp's belongings. She pushes aside a sewing kit and spools of thread, some scraps of fabric, a bottle of medicine; she pulls out a simple black comb with a few teeth missing.

Susan glances at him again, a different look in her eyes this time, and Arthur is brave enough to look her in the face with his own clouded pair of eyes.

“Might as well do some work if you’re set on standing around.” Her tone conveys no nonsense, a harsh barking command. She presses the comb into his hand. “Been tempted to cut that mangled mop from his head—I would’ve if I didn’t think he’d wake up kicking and screaming like last time.”

Like last time. Arthur huffs, his lips twinge upward in amusement, thinking of the last time someone had tried to cut Johnny’s hair without expressed permission.

When he doesn’t move Susan’s face falls slightly. He can’t look at her suddenly, throat too constricted and stomach churning. “He don’t like many folk handling him.”

Unless it’s you. She didn’t say that—but she didn’t need to. It weren’t no kind of secret between the folks who’d been with them since the beginning. The boys are— were inseparable, would still be if not for Marston’s big mistake.

The big mean bastard he is, Arthur thinks there ought to be a nasty part of him which takes satisfaction in seeing the fool broken and pathetic and needing someone for the littlest task, but there isn’t. That’s the thing that confuses him the most. He’s not enjoying watching John fight for his life while he thinks on the past, not one bit, never mind how much he thought he would. All he feels is loneliness somehow, a need to stay by Marston’s side for reasons beyond him.

Arthur sits on the stool. He breathes long and deep, clearing his throat. He blinks away mist to see Marston clearly. The hand atop the greasy mop just sits there for a few seconds.

This is intimate. In spite of the crowd, of the audience , brushing Marston’s hair feels like something he should be doing behind closed doors. He can’t understand why. Even when his heart starts to flutter.

Still, Arthur’s fingers card through the cold greasy locks. True to Susan’s word it’s a tangled mess better suited for a pair of shears; but then they’d have to deal with Marston’s peculiar anger. Arthur didn’t get it, why grow your hair if you hate washing and brushing it?

Still, Arthur picked at a tangled chunk of hair with the comb, careful of the brittle teeth. He pauses when Marston moaned quietly, as Arthur moved to his scalp. The vulnerability in this moment makes his stomach uneasy. This is a man he’s felt nothing but animosity towards for a few years now, and here Arthur was, carefully brushing his hair, while he lingers in the precarious spot between life and death.

He couldn’t get all of it with the bumps and bandages covering Marston, but Arthur carefully worked the comb through as best he could till his fingers could card through Marston’s hair without getting snagged on too many knots.

---

Arthur lessens the gap between them, hunching over Marston when a particularly nasty gust of air enters the cabin and makes him shiver. Damn cold…Damn drafty cabin…Damn soft wet wood…

Another heavy gust finally wakes the other man. One dazed dark, blood filled eye looks up at Arthur without an ounce of recognition; he knows what a man looks like when he’s dazed from drugs or fever. This is it. The look of his eye makes Arthur shiver. John shifts around, muttering nonsensical ramblings.

“Careful now Marston.” If he doesn’t sit still he’ll hurt himself—already seems to be in pain by the sounds he makes. The younger man grimaced, teeth clenching together as he willed himself upright.

“What'do you need?” Arthur mutters and slips an arm around his back to hold him upright. Marston’s real close to him now, but that pesky fool won’t stop wriggling around.

“Morgan?…”

John’s voice stills him. His name is said in a cracked whisper, far too quiet for others to hear, but loud enough for Arthur to hear the peculiarity in his tone. Like Marston was surprised to see him here. That hurt.

“Morgan…” he trails off again, this time squinting up at the older man. Unseeing eye tracing over Arthur’s worn features, peering inside him, yet seeing nothing though he still searches. Cold as it were, Arthur feels himself heat up under the scrutiny. It makes him want to shove off and leave, to chastise himself for seeking company, from Marston of all folk. Then he speaks again.

“Arthur…you really there?” This time it’s louder than a whisper, ghosting over his lips.

“Right here Marston, lie back now.” Arthur mutters quietly, he hoped they hadn’t garnered any attention. His eyes widen when Marston raises a trembling hand; Arthur holds his breath. The younger man’s palm pressed against Arthur’s chest for too many seconds. Just a solid, seeking touch is all it is.

He huffs just then, making little frustrated noises as he eases his way back down, clearly deciding whatever he attempted rising for weren’t nothing important. His hand leaves Arthur’s chest, and the older man can finally breathe.

“Stop movin’ around…M-Marston!?”

A weight fell across his lap. Arthur blinked.

Half asleep, half drugged, half whatever—Marston had dragged himself across Arthur’s lap. If folk weren’t looking before, they sure as hell were looking now.

Arthur’s hand hovered just over John’s head. Marston laid awkwardly, with his lower body stretched out onto the cot, his upper body resting on Arthur. He suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands; he let one rest gently atop John’s. Arthur swore then. Marston’s hands were icey. He slips his discarded gloves over them without thinking.

Arthur fixes the blanket over Marston’s form when the younger man turns his head in his lap again. He sighs and Goddamn nuzzles his nose against Arthur’s leg.

The display heats up his cheeks—makes his heart race. John hasn’t accepted any semblance of closeness with anyone these last few years, much less Arthur. Gone were the days where they slept back to back, where they embraced each other with bear hugs and delightful shouts and pats on the backs.

He’s got half a mind to shove the other man off him and walk right out. Damn him. Instead, Arthur resumes his task with a pounding heart when Marston’s breathing evens out. Methodically, he brushes the rest of Marston’s hair until it falls straight and loose. Oily beyond belief, but cleaner looking than it had been in weeks.

Then he sits there and pockets the comb, his silly little task is done. He should get up. Do some actual work, not just sit here pondering.

Marston shivers again. Arthur stays seated. He’s stuck in place, unless he wants to dump Marston back onto the uncomfortable looking cot to shiver with his threadbare blanket. His head tells him as much, but his body won’t do it.

Goddamnit! He can’t do it, Arthur’s rooted to the spot as though Marston weighs a tonne, with his head pillowed in his lap. It’d be downright cruel to shove him away, as sorry as his state is.

Arthur tries his best to ignore the familiar warmth and conflicting fondness which filled him the longer he sat there, watching John sleep soundly in his care.

Behind him, folks start talking softly.

---

“It’s awful kind of you, letting him do that again.”

Arthur nearly jumps at the voice which caught him off guard. It’s Hosea. Of course it is. Who else could sneak up on him like that? His old friend has a glimmer in his eye, one Arthur stopped trying to guess the reason behind a long time ago. A special type of fondness he reserved for only a select few; Arthur, John, Bessie long ago, Tilly, Lenny, little Jack Marston…

“Sure, I’m real kind when I have to be.”

Hosea ignored his retort. He looked off to the side wearing an expression Arthur can’t read, an expression he shares with Susan, who stood by the fireplace. He catches her face however; it’s soft. Understanding. Knowing. When her gaze shifts from Hosea to him, Arthur drops his head. He looks only at Marston. At his sleeping form pillowed on Arthur’s thighs.

As precarious as his injuries are, the man curls up in a way that can’t be comfortable, never mind the relaxed expression on his face; he looks a lot like Jack in Abigail’s lap, or like how Copper used to curl up in his. Arthur chuckles and thinks to himself. Marston ain’t a cute kid like Jack, his company isn’t as enjoyable as a dogs neither.

The thing is…Marston is annoying and lazy, and stupid and entitled. They’ve been competing with each other for too damn long. But…he’s dear to Arthur. Oh so dear. Oh so dumb and useless too …but he’ll always have an incredible, inexplicable love for John. For the boy he was and the man he is today. One he doesn’t quite understand the depth of. A love he knows he’ll carry with him until the day he dies. He’d do anything for the other man, no matter how much he wants to deny it. Anything he was asked.

Arthur runs a hand through Marston’s hair, humming in satisfaction when his fingers card through without resistance. The younger man made a soft noise at that, tilting his head up, searching for the gentle hand once again. Arthur hesitates for a few seconds, fingers frozen but not from the cold. Then, like he always seems to do when it comes to the other man; Arthur relents. He strokes Marston’s greasy locks, paying special mind to repeat the actions which draw soft content sighs from the younger man.

Be it traversing through a shit snow storm, brushing his damn hair, or allowing the younger man to use him as a pillow with basically the entire gang bearing witness; there wasn’t anything Arthur wouldn’t do for John.

Even now, with his legs long asleep, and back screaming at him, Arthur stays in place and lets John rest in his lap. He’ll stay there as long as he can, for as long as he’s needed.

#john marston x arthur morgan #Morston #RDR Valentine fanfic exchange 2023 #rdrvalentineexchange #arthur morgan x john marston

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21stcenturygworl · 1 year

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A Blank Dance Card

Arthur Morgan x (female) Reader, Regency AU 💕

For the Valentine Gift Exchange by @rdrevents! Written for @starlight-starwrites. Thank you for the great prompts, Star! I hope I did them justice.

This is so extremely campy, but I had great fun writing it. I hope y'all have great fun reading it too!

.✧.

One of the joys of being a debutante on the marriage market is finally, finally being able to indulge in the gossip firsthand. Previous seasons, you had to wring every last drop of information out of your friends, who one by one were swooped off their feet by gentlemen looking to win their hearts. Now, you can huddle together with the other girls, whispering and giggling amongst yourselves as you steal glances at the eligible bachelors at Lady Coulston's ball.

You’re quite some years older than most debutantes of this season. It was your mother’s decision, mostly (your father had just told her, “Yes, dear. As you wish, dear. Anything you want, dear.”). She didn’t want you to be married off too young, instead wanting you to become a well-rounded young lady first through travel and further education. You had protested initially, terrified of ending up a spinster, but your mother had promised that she wouldn’t make you wait that long.

You still feel like a spinster between all the younger girls, though.

The ball hosted by Lady Coulston is a grand affair, with the walls adorned with intricate tapestries and richly painted scenes. The floors are marble (Italian marble, she had pointed out to your mother), polished to a glossy sheen, and the ceiling is painted with beautiful frescoes. Walking across the marble floor already has your heels click with a satisfying sound, and you can only imagine what it would be like to walk through this ballroom by yourself.

Chandeliers hang from the ceiling, adding a touch of opulence to the room. Music fills the air, with the strains of a string quartet and a harpsichord playing romantic melodies. Many guests have taken to the dance floor. They twirl across the marble to the melody of the music, the dancers becoming a blur of colours, beautiful fabrics catching the light of the chandeliers above.

Unlike them, however, you have nobody to dance with.

Not a single eligible bachelor has approached you all night. Occasionally one would approach your little group of debutantes, but always to ask one of the other girls to dance, or to make a turn around the room together.

The paper of your dance card is a plain, stark white. Blank.

It’s mortifying, almost. But at least Lady Coulston’s pastry chefs make your attendance worth it. You take solace in the delectable cannolis that nobody else seems to have noticed. Lady Coulston must really like Italy.

.✧.

Arthur doesn’t want to be here.

He hadn’t even wanted to travel across the pond in the first place, and neither did John. But Dutch had insisted that for the adoption process to be finalised, they had to come with him to London. “We’ll head back immediately after,” his now-father promised them.

Apparently in England, “immediately after” means a month or two later.

So here he is, standing in Lady Coulston's ballroom, trying to blend in with the crowd. Arthur had heard stories about the balls, and he’s received countless instructions for how to behave, but he still feels terribly out of place. The grandeur of the room is intimidating and almost suffocating to a young man like Arthur, who spent years sleeping under the stars on windswept prairies.

It’s almost inconceivable to watch Dutch, the same man who had once told Arthur that he was done with the upper class, working his charm on the guests at the ball. It's almost unfathomable that this is the same man who had spent so much of his time in America swindling the wealthy, and yet here he is, a Baron of all things. Arthur is silently hoping that Dutch will turn and give him a sly wink and tell him “It was all just a scheme!”, but it never happens.

Dutch had deemed John too young to attend a ball, meaning Arthur is now stuck by Dutch’s side as he speaks to a Lord and Lady Gardner, who are both hanging onto every word he says as he tells them about his exploits in the American West.

“I will say, I was tempted to stay there,” Dutch says, gesturing vaguely as he speaks. “It’s a very different land from here. A land full of opportunities. The people here in England do not have the spine to take risks the way those in America do.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “And all the unspoiled nature… By God, Lord and Lady Gardner, it was unlike anything I have ever seen before. Beyond beautiful.”

“My, I can hardly imagine it!” Lady Gardner says, wearing a giddy smile. “It all seems so far away. Perhaps we should visit too someday, dear? It would be so nice to travel a little again, just like we used to when we were younger…”

“Perhaps,” Lord Gardner says, smiling a little uncomfortably. “But perhaps we should first make sure our daughter is married before we do.”

Lady Gardner puts a reassuring hand on her husband’s arm. “Of course, dear.” Turning to Dutch and Arthur, she asks, “Have you met our daughter yet? It’s her first season on the marriage market this year. Very exciting.”

Dutch smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling. “Very exciting indeed. I do not believe we’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance yet.”

“Let me see, where is she…” Lady Gardner peers across the ballroom, then lets out a little “Oh!” before she begins calling to her daughter.

.✧.

You whip around from where you stand next to one of the many refreshments tables, halfway stuffing a cannoli in your mouth.

“Dearest!” your mother calls out to you, waving you over with an excited smile. Oh, this is mortifying. You try to swallow the cannoli quickly before other people notice, but it’s already too late. At least you didn’t get any crumbs or cream on your dress this time.

Quickly you compose yourself before striding over to the little gathering, weaving through the crowd. When you reach them, you realise that the men your parents are speaking to are the Baron of Whitchurch, and one of his recently-adopted sons.

Now here is where the gossip comes into play. You had heard many a scandalous story of how Lord Van der Linde (whose family weren’t even English aristocrats to begin with!) had run off to America for nearly a decade. When he finally returned, he brought back two orphans with him who he had adopted and made the heirs to his titles and estates. The legality of it was dubious at best, and immediately a new scandal was born. The future Baron of Whitchurch would be a man with not a single drop of aristocratic blood.

Nobody had told you that the future Baron of Whitchurch was also incredibly handsome.

Your mother is your saving grace, because only when she speaks to introduce you, do you realise that you’ve been staring. You quickly avert your gaze and curtsy with your head inclined. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.” Straightening out, you remember your manners and ask, “Are you enjoying tonight’s festivities?”

“We certainly are, thank you kindly for asking,” Lord Van der Linde says. “This is my son, Arthur.”

Arthur. You like that name. It suits him perfectly, highlighting the impressive stature of his broad shoulders and tall frame. Yet, despite the impressive physicality, there is something gentle about him, something that you can't quite put your finger on. After a moment's thought, you realise it’s his eyes; the way they seem to reflect an inner kindness, a beautiful shade of blue.

“This is the first time Arthur is attending a ball,” your mother tells you with a low voice, as if it’s a secret. (It’s really not.) “Why don’t you take him for a turn around the room? I’m sure there’s lots you two can talk about.”

You and Arthur unintentionally share a look, and you seem to reach the same conclusion as him: We have nothing to talk about.

You muster up an almost-convincing smile as you take a step forward. "Shall we take a turn around the room, Mr Van der Linde?" you ask, feeling a bit strange at the formal words coming out of your mouth. Arthur nods, then seems to remember himself and offers you his arm.

.✧.

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments, strolling along the perimeter of the impossibly large ballroom, until Arthur finally speaks. "Erm… Apologies for my lack of conversation skills, Miss Gardner," he says, his voice a bit awkward. He’s suddenly terribly aware of how different his accent is from yours, and the realisation only serves to make him speak quieter. "I… I ain’t used to being at a ball like this, and I'm not sure what to say."

You tilt your head slightly, looking up at him through your lashes. Arthur feels his chest tighten. “It’s alright,” you say, your gloved hand giving his arm a reassuring squeeze. “I can only imagine how strange all of this must be for you, Mr Van der Linde.”

A nervous chuckle escapes him. “Strange is an understatement.” He pauses, considering his words, and then carefully says, “I… I prefer Mr Morgan, actually. Dutch— I mean, Lord Van der Linde only really became a father figure to me when I was already a young man.”

You nod, seeming to understand his reluctance. Or at least pretend to. "I'm sure that's true for many adopted children," you say, voice gentle and sympathetic. You smile at him in an attempt to offer some levity. "How are you enjoying your time in England so far? It must be very different from what you’re used to. Especially the weather, I would guess.”

Arthur returns the smile as his nerves slip away. You’re trying your best to be warm and welcoming to him. Though it is at the behest of your mother, it’s still more than he can say about the other people at the ball — who have mostly stared at him while whispering amongst themselves. "It is," he says, "The weather too, I s’pose. But mostly the people, and the, uh… way of life.” He looks around the room, taking in the elegant décor and the finely-dressed people. "It's all certainly an experience. I ain’t ever seen anythin’ like this before. I wasn’t… raised in high society."

“Well,” you begin as you mull over his words for a moment. You then flash him a wide smile. “You’re going to have lots to learn and catch up on before you become the Baron of Whitchurch.”

Arthur feels his heart skip a beat, and he swallows thickly. “I’m afraid so,” he says.

“I’m sure you’re up for the task, Mr Morgan. I believe in you.”

Despite the rather disappointing start of the evening, Arthur now suddenly doesn't want it to end anymore. He finds himself liking the way you hold onto his arm, speaking with him and making him feel like he's the most important person in the world right now. You're so, so beautiful, too. Half of your hair is pinned up, the loose sections cascading down your back like a waterfall of silk. The bodice of your dress fits snugly around your chest, the skirts flowing gracefully with every step you take. You feel like someone so far out of reach for him, yet you’re right here next to him.

He blinks when he realises he’s been staring at you. He’s grateful when he sees that you’ve been looking elsewhere — but your expression is wistful. You’re watching the people on the dance floor twirl about and laugh giddily amongst themselves.

“I hope I’m not takin’ up too much of your time, Miss Gardner,” Arthur says, and you look back at him. “I’m sure there’s another gentleman waitin’ for your attention.”

You shake your head, a sad smile gracing your features. “I’m afraid not, Mr Morgan. Nobody’s asked me to dance, tonight.” You show your dance card with your free hand, and Arthur sees that it’s empty. “I fear I may not be as tempting as the younger ladies,” you say with a hollow chuckle. “But it’s alright. I’m enjoying myself here with you.”

Arthur's heart twinges at your words and he finds himself wanting to say something comforting, but he's not sure what. All these fools wouldn’t want to ask a beauty like you to dance with them? Anger bubbles in his chest, but he quickly pushes it down. It’s a completely stupid and hopeless task, but he knows what he has to do. Mustering up every ounce of courage in his body, he clears his throat and then asks, “Miss Gardner, would you do me the honour of dancin’ with me?”

You look up at him, almost as if you can't believe your ears. Your eyes light up and you smile, a brilliant and genuine smile that makes Arthur's heart flutter. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Morgan," you say, before curtsying gracefully.

He takes your hand in his and leads you to the dance floor as the music changes, and the musicians begin to play a waltz. Arthur holds you — as he learned during his lessons — and though his steps are a little awkward and stiff, you’re most certainly dancing together. As you start twirling around the room, Arthur finds himself mesmerised by you. He had thought you beautiful before, but now, as he watches you spin around and laugh with him, he's certain that you are the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

How tempted he is to lean forward and kiss you.

It’s not the right way to do things, though. Not here, not now. Not with a woman of your standing. So he spends the rest of the night with you. Dancing, talking, and even laughing together. And when the evening draws to a close, and your parents have called you to tell you that it’s time to take the carriage home, Arthur takes your hand and presses a kiss to your gloved fingers.

“Miss Gardner, before you go,” he begins. He straightens out, still holding your hand. “May I… may I call on you tomorrow afternoon?” he asks, stumbling over his words a little.

You look at him adoringly, cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink as you smile and nod. “Yes. Yes, you may.” You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giddy smile. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, Mr Morgan. Good night.”

#RDRValentineExchange #writing #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 #regency au #this was sooooooooo fun and i kind of want to write more for this

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sweet-by-and-by · 1 year

Text

Full of Cheer - Arthur Morgan x John Marston

gif credit

summary: John finds Arthur’s festive spirit a little lacking as he struggles to move on from the past.

A gift for @yeehawpurgatory for the @rdrevents 2022 Secret Winter Exchange

pairing: Arthur Morgan x John Marston

a/n: For those whose Christmases are a little harder some years ❤️ Happy Holidays everyone

1907 was gone as quickly as it had come, and Christmas was in full swing at the Marston’s.

The moon hung high over Beecher's Hope, its residents blissfully unaware of the night chill. A fire roared in the stone hearth, filling the teeming ranch house with a warmth that matched their festive spirit.

Smiles were shared all around, faces warm with drink in celebration of the folk that gathered. It was a long journey for Charles and Sadie both, coming from opposite ends of the country to spend the holidays at the little homestead.

Laughter swelled again at a wry quip from Charles, sending Uncle into a fit of defensiveness that only made everyone laugh harder. Chairs had been dragged in from the living room, wooden legs scraping against the floorboards as they took their seats at the feast Abigail had prepared for them.

The sounds poured out of the house merrily, falling on deaf ears of the resident that sat alone on the big wooden porch.

A star-filled sky stared down at him; great luminous bulbs against the inky-black night. The wooden chair creaked as Arthur leaned back, taking a long drag off the cigarette that rested between his lips. The cherry glowed bright, just as bright as the stars, smoke filled his lungs. Pulled at the edges that never felt quite right after his illness.

His gaze fell to survey the ranch, searching for any signs of trouble hiding beneath the cover of dark. Not that he’d find any. But the spot on the porch, his preferred scout location, offered a sense of comfort that relieved the fears long embedded in the back of his mind.

Old habits die hard, he supposed.

The quiet of the night was interrupted by the sound of the front door squeaking hinges. Heavy boots thudded across the wooden porch, their occupant given away by a stride that Arthur would recognize until his last breath.

“John,” he greeted gruffly. The man nodded as he settled into the seat by Arthur’s side.

Arthur reached into his chest pocket to grab another cigarette, holding the tip to his own before passing it over wordlessly.

“Doctor says you ain’t supposed to smoke these things no more,” John chided pointlessly, his fingertips brushing against Arthur’s as he took the offered smoke.

The older man scoffed, returning his gaze up toward that big, dark sky. “Already gotten more time than I should have, no use getting greedy,” he huffed.

They fell into silence, nothing but the burning of paper and howl of coyotes in the distance, yelps that reminded the world they were there.

“Been out here a while,” John finally said. “Got Abigail all worried.”

Arthur only grunted in response, offering no explanation. His gaze was pointedly fixed as he continued to scan the horizon.

“Been out here the last couple of nights too,” John tried again. “Everyone’s sittin’ down to eat. Abigail’s got a plate set out for you.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t been much company as of late,” Arthur relented. He grabbed his hat from its place on his knee and placed it atop his head. Rising to his feet, he kicked at John’s boot where it rested on the wooden porch. “C’mon,” he motioned. “Let’s check fences.”

John held back his protest that they’d checked fences hours before and lifted himself out of his chair. Arthur grabbed the repeater leaned against the railing and the two men started towards the front gate.

The horses nickered as they passed the stables, tempting Arthur to abandon his chore and take solace in the privacy of the barn. Should have known better than to stay close to the house, where prying eyes could linger on him. He tossed a longing glance at his mount, the desire to tack up and ride away without a word of explanation making his fingers twitch.

Pushing those thoughts away with a frown, he returned his attention to the task at hand. They worked in darkness, both aware of the futility of the job. But neither brought it to the other’s attention, walking the perimeter under the guise of purpose.

When they’d put some distance between themselves and the house, Arthur broke the weighted silence.

“I ain’t trying to worry Abigail,” he said roughly. “I just…ain’t trying to ruin everyone’s Christmas spirit.”

John listened patiently, keeping his stare on the fence line as he waited for Arthur to continue.

“Christmas…it’s not like it used to be when we were kids. Nothin’ seems ‘merry and bright’ anymore. Not after everything that happened. I…,” he paused. “I miss them.”

John let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, nodding solemnly. “I understand,” he said. “I miss them too.”

“D’you remember that year Hosea sent Dutch and I out to get a tree? Said it was important that camp had a big ol’ tree to decorate for you and Tilly.”

“Sure,” John answered. “Bessie adored it. Looked just like the Christmas cards, she said.”

“Right,” Arthur smiled. “‘Cept Dutch didn’t quite tell the whole story that night. We’d been looking for hours for the perfect damn tree. Kept passing over some decent ones so that Dutch could find one that was just right. Couldn’t tell me what it’d look like when I asked, but he promised he’d know it when he saw it. So we kept looking and looking. Dragged those horses probably 15 miles trying to find the thing!

“Eventually he found it, but it was right in front of some poor bastard’s house. ‘Course Dutch said he had plenty of fine trees and shouldn’t mind sharing. So we waited until they left and started cutting it down. Had it just about finished when the old coot comes flying out the front door, waving his shotgun around and just hollerin’! I’m half-stuck beneath a damn spruce tree while Dutch’s trying to spin some yarn so the fella don’t shoot us right then and there!”

Arthur’s laughter bubbled over as the story unfolded, the sound like music to John’s ears after so long without it.

“What the hell did he do?” he asked.

“He convinced him that we were sent out by the town’s orphanage to find the perfect tree. Said we were lookin’ to lift the children’s spirits or something like that. Even helped us load the thing out and sent us back on our way, damn near ready to anoint us saints!”

“Sounds like Dutch,” John laughed, his smile wide as he shook his head. “Never could figure out how he came up with that nonsense. How come I never heard that story?”

“Dutch asked me not to tell anyone,” Arthur admitted, scratching his chin through the greying hairs there. “We were so young, you remember how everyone used to worry.”

“All that seems so long ago,” John said somberly, his voice heavy.

“Sure does,” Arthur agreed. “A lifetime ago.”

A thousand memories flashed through their minds, the faces of loved ones lost dancing amongst the stars.

“It ain’t just them I miss this time of year,” Arthur added, the lightness of the story not enough needed to lift the heaviness in his heart..

“I miss the rest of them too,” John agreed. “Susan, Javier. Hell, even Sean.”

“Eliza and Isaac,” Arthur added, his gaze far beyond the horizon.

John frowned, hesitant about his next words. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Should’ve remembered.”

“Don’t be,” Arthur dismissed, ducking his face beneath the brim of his hat. “Weren’t your wrong to right. But God, some days I look at Jack and can’t help but think about him. He’d be damn near a man now, same as your boy’s coming to be…Watching the two of you work this ranch together fills my head with all kinds of foolish dreams. Hell, I should’ve buried those next to them long ago.”

John knew there wasn’t much he could say that would bring Arthur peace. Arthur would never allow those wounds to heal; keeping them open as some kind of penance for the sins he believed he’d committed. Instead, John closed the distance between them and raised his hand to grip Arthur’s shoulder.

“Dreams ain’t foolish, even if an old fool’s the one dreaming ‘em. Just because you ain’t in the dirt with him, don’t mean you can’t dream for him. Do them things for him. You live, you work this land with us. You carry him with you so he works it too.”

Arthur took in a shaky breath, placing his hand on top of John’s and squeezing tightly. Their fingers interlaced, the feeling of scarred knuckles against rough calluses keeping him grounded.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“‘Course. Now come up to the house before Abigail drags you up there herself. Not sure who I’d be more scared of barging out here; her or Sadie.”

“Aww, they mean well enough. Least they’ve got Uncle to pick on for now.” Arthur chuckled, slinging the rifle over his shoulder and starting back towards home. “Abigail cook up that charred beefsteak again?”

“She did,” John winced.

“Christ, I thought she’d forgotten how to do that to beef.”

“Cattle across America hoped she had,” John teased.

As their boots thumped back up the steps of the porch, Arthur glanced over his shoulder to take one last look out at the homestead. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips, an honest one for the first time in days.

Their homestead.

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southernlynxx · 1 year

Text

Assumptions of Affection

Rating: Mature

Status: Complete

Fandom: RDR2

Pairings/Characters: Arthur Morgan/John Marston. Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Abigail Roberts, Tilly Jackson, Mary-Beth Gaskill.

Canon/AU: Canon-divergent

Summary: It’s Valentine’s day, and on top of not knowing what they’re meant to get each other, Arthur drags John out on a job.

Warnings: N/A

—— My Valentine gift for @yeehawpurgatory for the Valentine Exchange ran by @rdrevents! I really hope you like how this fic turned out; it ended up a bit longer than anticipated!

Assumptions of Affection: [AO3]

#RDRvalentineexchange #morston #rdr #rdr2 #Red Dead Redemption #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #john marston #yeehawpurgatory #my fanfiction: rdr #Assumptions of Affection

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pinsandbustedbuttons · 1 year

Text

Painted Stained Hands and Dried Rosemary

my recipient for the RDR Secret Winter Exchange (@rdrevents) is @potted-plantzz! Happy Holidays and hope you like the work! Couldn't just pick one prompt so I tried incorporating as many as I could, hope everything is to your liking!

word count ~ 10.5k

Summary: Charles and Arthur bring Eagle Flies back after breaking him out of Fort Wallace, and Arthur's impulsive honesty brings the two a new life together :] Can be found on ao3

"I'll go with you."

"What?"

"I'll go with you," Arthur's voice stood resolute, no longer sounding as if it was a leaf to be blown away with a strong gust of wind or crushed easily underfoot. His hands fisted in the back of Charles' shirt, using their embrace in their previously deemed final goodbye to steady himself. Arthur's voice rang clear against the bustle of chatter on the reservation and cool wind rustling the leaves in the trees surrounding them, even though he barely spoke above a hoarse whisper into Charles' shoulder. They had barely made it back to Wapiti to bring Eagle Flies back to the reservation along with Paytah, only nabbing a moment to themselves on the edge of where all the tents were gathered. The two couldn't bring themselves to part, a moment of silence went by that felt like it drew out for hours and seconds at the same time, Arthur waiting for rejection's sting.

"Are you sure?"

'Are you sure?' The question darted through Arthur's mind and resounded off the walls of his skull, knocking things out of their places and resurfacing old questions and feelings he could never bring himself to think about too deeply. Was he sure about leaving? What about the other unspoken questions Charles posed? How would they even make their escape without being caught? What about the others? John, Abigail, Jack… The girls, Hosea, the few people left that he'd call his brothers. What would happen to them if he left?

"John knows where my savings are. I talked with him when we blew up that train near the falls," Charles eventually pulled away, tears still staining his face in the dim firelight behind them, Arthur guessed he didn't look any more composed than Charles did. But there was something lighter in the other's earthy eyes, something warm that Arthur chased after just to catch a proper glimpse at it for so long, his curiosity overwhelming him more often than not. The two let their arms fall away before Arthur spoke again. "I… I think he's thinking the same as us. He sees Dutch for who he is now, I trust him to get out of there with the money. With Hosea and the girls. They've lived this long in this line of work, what's to stop them now? Not having Dutch as a factor anymore will only help them."

The idea of not having to live such a violent and cruel life anymore, not being a part of the ugliness of life anymore. Being able to get away, to live his own life with Charles, to give life a chance, and do a loving act ever since he met Sister Calderón. Since she's given him the strength to try . He longed for that sort of peace, that kindness. Desperately. And he knew he had it right in front of him, he undeniably had it in reach after Dutch had dangled it in the air for years, just a few inches too far for him to reach. Just a few more jobs, a few more thousand dollars, a few more towns to work. Arthur wasn't going to let this be yanked out of his hands before he could hold onto it. He took hold of it after years of waiting and would never let it go, he finally was getting what he was promised and worked nearly to death for. The realization made Arthur's eyes go glossy and feel as if the dam was about to break, tears streaming down his face openly and uncontrollably as Arthur began again with a wobbling voice.

"We could help these folks and go with them, start our own lives up north after we help them start theirs. You could turn me in for the money, break me out before I get sent to a penitentiary, we could use the money to help them and get ourselves a life outside of this whole mess Dutch left for everyone to clean up. The rest of them, they've got Hosea and Lenny to tell them what to do, Sadie, John, Karen, Abigail, they're the strongest of us. They'll be okay," Arthur wasn't completely sure if that was to reassure himself or to convince Charles to let him stay with him. His vision grew clouded and wobbling before he blinked away newly formed tears. The crackling fire that roared in the distance behind Charles burned his eyes as he stared at it, unwilling to meet the other's eyes… Even as he felt warm hands reach his shoulders, slowly gliding up to cup his face and dry the tears that Arthur silently damned himself for not being able to stifle. He still struggled to school his voice into something steady rather than a similar cracking to the logs in the fire a little ways away. Arthur finally turned his gaze to meet the other's eyes, and at that moment he began to realize what home might truly feel like. " We could be okay."

" Oh, Arthur... "

Arthur waited for the harsh pang of refusal or a dejected sigh and an explanation as to why that could never work, why they could never work, why he should've never been stupid enough to ever even think of that.

"I want that."

"What?"

"I want that to happen, for us, for the tribe, for the others, all of us. I want that." Charles' face broke out into a brilliant smile that made Arthur's heart jump in his throat, his eyes darting to curled lips and gleaming teeth to warm brown eyes.

"You do?" Arthur felt as if this was too good to be true, like it was bound to be taken away from him now that he had it. He wasn't allowed to have it unless he got permission from Dutch, a small and quiet voice from the back of his subconscious left whispers of that notion in his head. Yet the smile on Charles' face seemed so genuine, so close, the hands on Arthur's face. It had to be real.

"Of course," Charles let out a soft huff, one that amplified to a light-hearted chuckle that felt tight in Arthur's throat. "Going to need to speak with Rains Fall about that though, we can't just stay with them and possibly bring trouble along with us. Or just do it right under his nose while he's giving us his hospitality as generously as he has. Maybe we could refine the plan, figure out a way we could do that without bringing the tribe any problems."

"Sure," Arthur barely managed a single word, he looked like a fish out of water with how many times he opened his mouth to say something only for nothing to come out and leave dead silence between them. He mirrored Charles and his tendency to bring things back to logic and distance before things got too sentimental, "Of course, we wouldn't go through with any plan like that if it got them caught in the crossfire."

Charles' hands eventually drifted back down off Arthur's face and fell to his own sides, the other missing the warm and comforting contact he gave. "I'll go speak with him, let you know how it goes. How about you go start helping folk around here pack up and check on the elders and wounded if you can? They set up the people injured by Fort Wallace in the tents surrounding the fires." Clapping a hand on Arthur's shoulder, his hand lingered for a moment before Arthur's sudden nod signaled that he understood what Charles was speaking about. Charles turned and began walking off to find Rains Fall and Eagle Flies, it hadn't been long enough for either of them to be resting, even after all the excitement of the earlier events of today.

Arthur's mind seemed to finally catch up with the fact of what was going on. What was going to happen now with the choice he made. With what just happened between them. Arthur's face flushed as he decidedly did not keep thinking about Charles' smile, the ghost of his hands on his face, and the heat it brought in such stark contrast against the biting cold air of the mountains. He tried and failed, to not keep replaying the moment in his head and trying to decipher what it all meant if it meant anything at all. What he succeeded in was leaving to care for some folk without being too distracted to be useful.

~~~

"Rains Fall? Could I speak with you for a moment?" Charles waited for a response outside the tent, tall canvas barely moving against the wind with the wooden poles providing support. A muffled shuffling came from inside before a voice responded.

"Come in."

Charles peeled open the flap of fabric before crouching to get inside, spotting Eagle Flies sitting beside the fire while Rains Fall was wrapping a bandage around his son's arm.

"How are you two doing?" Finding a spot across the fire and them, he folded up his legs as he slouched, taking up as minimal space as possible out of habit but excusing it as letting Rains Fall have space to move around and gather whatever he needed that was placed around the large tent.

"Fine, for being used by an ignorant fool and tortured for it," Eagle Flies spoke through clenched teeth, whether out of frustration or the new jolt of pain from the way the bandages pressed tight against open skin, Charles didn't know. "I had a lot of time to think in that cell, whenever they decided to forget about me."

"At least you, and a lot of the people you brought with you to the forest survived." Rains Fall tied the bandages into an easy knot, tight enough to stay on but loose enough to be able to untie when the time came for changing it out. Even with Rains Fall's words being firm they still attempted to amend and soothe his son. He then got up to grab a dish of water and a rag to clean the tacky and dried blood off of Eagle Flies before treating the bruises. "Thank you again for bringing my son back from Fort Wallace."

"Of course. I'm sorry that we hadn't stopped it from getting to this point. I didn't realize how far Dutch was taking his idea until he started meddling with that affair with the horses. I know Arthur tried speaking to him about it," Charles silently wondered if asking Arthur further questions about it would be a good idea. "But you saw what good that helped. The man doesn't listen to anyone, not anymore. At least more people are seeing his true intentions now before it gets any worse."

"What worse is there? We barely have enough medicine, even with the supplies Arthur stole with Monroe, we don't have much food left, and we're going to have to move up north within the next few days if we want to survive. If the elders and children will even survive the trip up." Eagle Flies retaliated, regardless of his justifiable anger with the situation he was snapping at them with, the two knew he was right.

"That's what I wanted to speak with you about." Charles was still unsure if this would even be possible, but it was at least worth trying if it might do some good to help repair the damage that Dutch had done and what he and Arthur failed to prevent. Rains Fall gathered a few herbs from the bundles that were brought to him, finding the mortar and pestle and grinding up the herbs into a salve for the bruises that were splotching Eagle Flies' ribs and face. "Arthur and I discussed something, an idea that may help the both of us. He thought we should turn him in for his bounty, we could use the money for supplies for the trip and the sick. We could hire a mercenary to break Arthur out so it wasn't traced back to us. If your offer of letting me stay is still on the table..."

Eagle Flies opened his mouth to speak before eventually letting it fall shut, he seemed to be thinking of the proposition while the smell of assorted plants mixed with swirling fire smoke. Rains Fall, on the other hand, noticed Charles' silence as a chance to let the others speak, but he knew Charles still had something he wanted to say.

"Arthur wants to come with us up north if you're comfortable with that. We know the trouble our gang caused for you and what we've tried to do to help, but we understand if it'd be too dangerous for us to stay with you until we get to Canada. Arthur…" The lump in Charles' throat felt far too difficult to swallow. "He's a good man, we agree on this, and he's trying to do better. He wants out of the life he was dealt to try and be better than what is- what was expected of him. He wants to help. And he wants to come with us, but only if he's permitted."

He felt torn, a part of Charles wanted to stay here if Rains Fall denied letting Arthur come with them, but another part of him wanted to go with them, have somewhere he felt he finally belonged and did some good. It felt wrong to betray either party by deserting them, so he just hoped that there could be some sort of compromise, even though it wasn't promised to him. He couldn't blame Rains Fall for not wanting to cause more trouble, they'd already be practically running from the law while they still had Eagle Flies after he got broken out. Bringing more criminals along with them could cause more harm than good if they got caught.

"Our offer with you still stands. You've helped save my son and my people from as much damage as you can that Mister Van der Linde has caused. And Mister Morgan has been a great help, even before Mister Van der Linde decided to get involved with our matters." Rains Fall began putting away the spare herbs back into the bundles and the rest of the medical supplies went in the box that was given to patch up Eagle Flies. Eagle Flies himself acknowledged Charles' curious expression and answered the unasked question he picked up on.

"He stole some files from the oil company for us, ones that claimed massive oil reserves under our land."

"We would have been sent away earlier than now if he hadn't gotten those files for us." Rains Fall supplemented, the rest of their frugal supplies were put away before he joined the two again by the fire, sitting down between the two. "Mister Morgan has helped us a great amount without expecting anything in return. If we have a way of bringing him with us without bringing the law or the army down with him, then he can come. We need the money and we'd be happy to return the favors he's given us."

A wave of relief washed over Charles, the tightness in his chest relaxed as he silently let out the breath he was holding through his nose. "With the mercenary we could pay them for their silence, with how high Arthur's bounty is, we could get enough supplies for the tribe, pay off the mercenary, and still have enough left for us to build our lives up North without issues with the law. I can promise you we won't be causing trouble while we travel with you."

"Of course-" Rains Fall was swiftly cut off by his son.

"When would we be able to get the money and break him out? I'd say we only have a few days at best before we have to leave. They'll be wanting to get me and the men I took with me taken into custody."

"We could do it within a few days. We could even turn him in tomorrow in Valentine, and get the bounty sent to me under a false name in Emerald Ranch. The mercenary will break him out while they travel to Sisika, they'll be wanting to transfer him quickly." Remembering how quickly John was transferred to the penitentiary, he only assumed they'd be wanting to ship Arthur off a lot sooner with the sort of things he's gotten himself out of. Charles asked Eagle Flies, "Do you know any mercenaries that might be willing for the job? Maybe anyone you've used before?"

"I might. Arthur was the first mercenary we've hired in a long time, but that wasn't the first time we've had issues with an oil company or broken treaties that required a little outside help." With the expression on Rains Fall's face after Eagle Flies' admittance, Charles could only assume this was another action done under his nose.

"I'll search for a mercenary tomorrow, once we find one we'll turn Arthur in the same day. We could start moving once we're packed up, regardless of if Arthur has broken out yet." Charles added on as an afterthought, "Once we hear news of him moving, they'll break him out after I've collected the bounty money; Which I'll most likely be able to do before we move. The merc will be paid once they bring Arthur back to wherever we're currently set up in one piece, we'll continue traveling with Arthur hidden. We have the money and Arthur without getting you or your people in trouble, no one but that mercenary will know where Arthur's gone."

The silence after Charles spoke was deafening, the only sounds cracking the quiet were the occasional pop of the burning logs and the soft murmurs of voices outside the tent.

"We'll move once Mister Morgan is turned in. We'll let the mercenary know where our next stopping point is and tell them to meet us there with Mister Morgan." Rains Fall relayed, the confidence in his words, and Eagle Flies' silent agreement reassured Charles that he wouldn't have to be torn between the two worlds that were latched on him. The compromise was made and the future he could have with Arthur was approved and being worked towards, and he had the help to achieve it. Charles had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling too harshly.

"Thank you both, truly. I'll go and let Arthur know." Charles got up and closed the distance between him and Rains Fall, offering his hand to shake and giving Eagle Flies a grateful nod as the younger man began dozing off. Sleeping off the pain of his wounds seemed like a good idea. Rains Fall's hand clapped softly against Charles', the young man's other hand wrapping around it in an enthusiastic but firm shake before he left the two to rest peacefully.

He could hardly believe he and Arthur were actually going to have a life together.

~~~

Arthur had been gathering up some firewood he had chopped up and began placing it in the fires scattered around the reservation when Charles approached him. He had been burrowing a small log into the center of the fire, waiting for it to catch before moving on to the next, a hand grazed his shoulder before the rest of the other man came into view by Arthur's side.

"Hey," Arthur barely spoke above a murmur.

"Hey." Charles glanced towards the fire Arthur was still nudging a log onto with his foot, eyes drifting back up to his face once Arthur had stopped fiddling with the fire. "I spoke with Rains Fall, he agreed to let us stay with him while they move to Canada."

With the realization a smile crept up Arthur's face, he turned only to see Charles had a matching expression, the sliver of teeth glowing gold in orange firelight. The subtle auburn shine on the other's face, tracing the outline of the jagged scar on Charles' cheek. The urge to take on the firelight's job and trace Charles' scar with nimble fingers brought a pang of longing he forced back down before his hands moved of their own accord. Orange contrasted the pale blue moonlight reflecting off raven hair. That familiar glint in Charles' eyes was finally distinguished by Arthur. He looked happy. Truly happy, and all over the fact that Arthur could stay with them on their journey, that they wouldn't have to part. It confused him to no end but made his heart soar nonetheless.

"We'll talk more about the plan in the tent, go grab your bedroll, I'll meet you in the one over there." Pointing to a tall and beige-looking tent that was nearly obscured by the dark, Charles pats him on the shoulder one more time before leaving to (Arthur assumed) grab his own bedroll off Taima.

"Sure," It seems as though his tongue had knotted up and he struggled to formulate his words. Arthur was quick to make his way through the camp to his silver dapple horse, her coat reflecting off the dim moonlight of midnight. He should probably brush her down, give her a once over to make sure she hadn't gotten any nicks or grazes from their business at the fort earlier that evening, but he sincerely doubted she had any injuries since they relied on the canoes mainly. With a soft sigh, the dregs of the day making it harder for his exhaustion to be hidden away and pushed out of his mind, he took his bedroll off Rhiannon. Giving her a quick glance over, he confirmed his suspicions of her being unharmed, patting her shoulder before rummaging through his satchel. The bedroll was tucked under an arm while the other pulled out an oatcake for his horse, her nipping at his fingers affectionately before eating.

Now he was off to finish the day and start anew, walking the small distance between the hitching posts to the tent Charles pointed out, thoughts of the future and what he was leaving here winding around and through his mind until it had a stranglehold on him. Arthur tried to brush off the thoughts once more as he peeled open the fabric door. The only light bleeding through the stark darkness was the dull glow of a lantern Charles was setting down in the corner, the warm feeling Charles seemed to always give Arthur was soon brought back. The tent was, well, enough room for the two of them Arthur acknowledged, but he also noticed the lack of another bedroll on the ground. Only a spare coat was laid on the ground beside spare pelts that were left in there, Arthur entered and dropped his bedroll on the ground beside the coat.

"Hey," It seems as if this was the only greeting Arthur had left in his vocabulary, internally mocking himself with the sarcastic prospect.

"Hey again," Charles mirrored contently, adjusting the lantern one more time before finally letting it be, moving to take a seat on one of his spare coats and some of the pelts laid out to protect them from the icy ground.

"You haven't grabbed your bedroll yet?" Arthur drawled, taking a seat beside the other while kicking off his boots, and setting his hat down on the ground on his other side.

"I may have left it at camp," Charles spoke swiftly again after catching Arthur's amused simper, preventing him from throwing a tease his way before Charles could. "Didn't think a bedroll would be useful while busting someone out of an army fort."

"Hah, fair enough I guess," Arthur chuckled softly, neither of them speaking louder than a mumble. He attributed the random chill he got to the freezing air probably just beginning to creep through the tent from the outside. "So, how did the conversation with Rains Fall go? Is Eagle Flies gonna be alright?"

"Eagle Flies is going to be okay, thankfully. And Rains Fall and I tweaked your plan a bit to make it safer, Eagle Flies actually might be letting me know about any mercenaries he knows of that might be able to help us." The muscles in Charles' face began to relax, the harsh lines above his brow and his smile lines softened, the corners of his mouth curling up ever so slightly. Arthur's eyes felt like magnets, the current between them too strong for his eyes to pull away from the sight. Charles didn't exactly seem to mind his staring all too much though.

"Mercenaries? What're we gonna need mercenaries for? Most town jails aren't exactly overflowing with security," Arthur jabbed with a lopsided grin, the memory of Charles and John busting him out of the Valentine jail months and months ago bubbled up to the surface.

"Breaking you out of a small town jail, possibly worse, with a different set of stakes requires a different set of solutions." Unfolding the sleeves of his deep blue shirt, Charles spoke nonchalantly before buttoning the cuffs and putting his thick coat back on, laying back on the furs draping the ground. "I'm sorry to say I won't be able to be your knight in shining armor this time around."

"Ah, that's too bad, I was looking forward to being some sorta damsel in distress again for you to save." Sarcasm dripping in excess in his tone, Arthur scoffed before fiddling with his jacket. "Wasn't even drunk by the time you and John got me, woulda been out that day if I was left to my own devices."

"Yet you were in that cell for the better part of a week."

"Shut up," Knocking his knuckles gruffly against Charles' shaking ribs, he could hear the other's stifled laughter and couldn't help but return it. "Now come on, tell me what the plan is."

"We're going to turn you in for your bounty, pack up and once we get paid we start moving," Charles began to sound apologetic once he admitted they'd start moving on without him. "Mercenary gets you while you're moved from the jail to wherever they might want to send you with higher security. They bring you back to us and they get the other half of the payment. I'm going to be searching for someone to work with us tomorrow, and get some leads from Eagle Flies in the morning when he's awake."

"... Okay," Arthur nodded shakily. The severity, the permanence of the choice he made was still barely beginning to settle in his brain, his subconscious believing he was going to wake up tomorrow in his worn-out cot in his open and exposed lean-to. That he's going to see Hosea and John's faces again by the campfire, see Sadie by the coffee pot, and the girls or Abigail and Jack in their tents as he walks past doing chores or on his way out. The realization of his habits, the routine he's had for years, the good aspects and bad, were going to be tossed out the window for something new. Something new with its own sets of pros and cons, new faces and adversity to adapt to. But that was something Arthur was always good at, wasn't it? Adapting. Changing. Never getting used to settling in one spot for too long, only being lucky that he was able to see familiar faces on a regular basis. It felt ridiculous to Arthur that he was already starting to miss the people he was going to leave behind, but his excitement for the future overshadowed his grief, just barely.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Arthur turned his head to the side, tilting it down just a tad to meet Charles' level gaze as the other had propped himself up on his elbows. Arthur's crooked smile returned, close-lipped and far more genuine than when he was recalling amusing memories.

"I'm sure." Arthur's hand hesitantly curled around Charles' bent knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he looked ahead to the lantern when he felt a flush creeping up his neck. Charles' eyes were still burning through the back of his head.

Only a minute or so of silence fell between them before Arthur tried to broach the topic again while his hand fell back to the ground. "You could always just use my bedroll, my coat's warm enough and the furs seem thick enough to keep me from freezing on the ground without the bedroll."

"I'll be fine without it, believe me."

"Well, the disappointing fact is I don't."

Charles opened his mouth to speak only for Arthur's voice to come out.

"That looks like the same coat you wore around Horseshoe, not one you necessarily wear in the cold." Arthur snapped swiftly without animosity, more of a worrying jest rather than an apathetic jab. Chewing on the inside of his cheek while trying to think of some sort of happy medium, Charles already found a compromise that brought a lump in Arthur's throat.

"What about unbuttoning the bedroll and laying it out as a blanket? Use the furs as padding and share, easier for the both of us to stay warm." Arthur guessed he wasn't the only one who had a lump in his throat, a small part of his chest grew light and urged him to chuckle even though the situation wasn't funny enough to warrant that.

"Sure," Face still and perpetually flushed at this point, Arthur shuffled off his seat on the bedroll and worked on the buttons, Charles laying out the pelts flat and creating more space with thinner layers of furs. He took his side on the dark furs while he waited for Arthur to do the same, the other eventually sitting beside him and unfolding the bedroll over them. Arthur shuffled down their makeshift padding to lay down, Charles turned on his side facing away from Arthur, while the other lay on his stomach. He spent a moment staring at the canvas ceiling above them, flickering firelight in the lantern casting morphing shadows and light, before he piped up, "Should probably blow out the lantern."

…

Charles' shoulders began shaking, and his laughter soon followed after, "Probably."

"Oh hush," Groaning as he pushed himself back up with a mock frustration, he left most of the bedroll on Charles as he went to blow out the flickering light in the lantern. He fumbled back to his spot beside Charles, patting his leg before realizing he needed to move in the other direction or he'd be squashing the other underneath him. Clambering back underneath their substitute blanket, he finally laid back down again, occasionally feeling the other's back graze his side as his lungs expanded and deflated in a soothing rhythm. After the sensation had disappeared for longer than a few breaths, Arthur mutely wondered if the other had moved farther away, yet he was answered with Charles's shoulder instead resting right against his. Their sides pressed up against each other as Charles turned to lay on his back, his next words only coming out at a volume barely above a whisper.

"I'm glad you want to come with us…" He took a small breath through his nose before saying even quieter than before, Arthur nearly losing the words in the dark silence. "With me."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

"Goodnight Arthur."

"Goodnight Charles," Simple words sang like praise to both their ears, a good mark to end the first day of the rest of their lives. ~~~

Arthur awoke to darkness, surprisingly, as he usually woke up to stark sunlight blinding him first thing in the morning with how open his lean-to was. But he wasn't in his lean-to this morning, nor alone and cold in his cot.

He had barely been able to peel his eyes open, the silence outside appeared deafening and signified how early it must have been. Arthur tried to stretch some feeling back into his stiff limbs only to stop the second he realized he felt something other than himself or their makeshift blanket. He had an arm draped over Charles' torso, one hand creeping up his chest while the younger man was still dozing through the cold and Arthur's panic. Their legs tangled, Arthur ended up on his side with his other arm curled up by his own chest, of course he had been the one to do this in his sleep. Well, what was he to do? Randomly yanking away his body from the other was sure to wake him up and know what Arthur was doing, but slowly snaking his limbs out of the conundrum he was in seemed just as unappealing.

Charles had let out a low hum in his sleep as he roused to consciousness, barely stifling a yawn while Arthur screwed his eyes shut beside him.

As if Charles' thought process had run through the exact same one Arthur had, he felt the younger man freeze up, no longer trying to get up and start his search for their mercenary.

What surprised Arthur, was the feeling of a hand barely bigger than his clasping onto the one resting on Charles' chest. A light brush at first, as if the other was trying to see if the other was awake, but Arthur refused to relent, the light brush turned to a gentle hold that made Arthur's heart race even more than it had when he first woke up. Yet he could feel himself melting against the touch, overwhelmed by the sudden feelings of safety and comfort from such a simple gesture. Arthur was still stunned the other returned the unintentional gesture, as much as he had been wanting to do this for months, he never thought he would. He never thought Charles would. Arthur was half wondering if he was still asleep, but the calloused palm resting over his, the fingers subtly wrapping around the rest of his hand, it felt too real.

But as soon as Arthur's silent and unspoken wants, needs , came to fruition, it was already beginning to leave. When Arthur felt Charles starting to shuffle their legs apart he made no fuss and kept up his act of faux sleep. But when the calloused yet gentle hand started trying to inch his hand off Charles, Arthur had purposefully moved his hand back to rest on him, Arthur's heart pounding in his throat as he hoped he wouldn't be shoved away for his actions. He cracked his eyes open once again, eyes only just starting to adjust in the dark as he barely saw the other's surprise morph into a fond smile. Arthur was caught off guard by the openness of the other's expression, the honesty in it that he could see shining through, even in the darkness enveloping them. Arthur didn't know where all this newfound bravery was coming from but it only seemed to reward him so far. Even with the courage, it took a moment for him to work up the nerve to speak, his words coming out a soft whisper.

"Stay?"

The morning had not yet begun, the sun still dipped below the horizon and not peeking through the trees, the day had not been ready to start. And Arthur voicelessly pleaded that Charles wouldn't end this moment sooner than it needed to. Hoping that he truly did reciprocate what went unsaid but what was openly shown more honestly than ever tonight. The tension bleeding through the tepid atmosphere they've created for themselves felt as if it would shatter, one wrong word or action and they would be on opposite sides of the tent. Feeling as if they were miles and miles away from each other rather than their limbs only inches from each other and their faces the same.

"Okay."

And with that, unceremoniously, Charles let himself lay back down beside Arthur, Arthur's hand fumbling through the dark to intertwine with Charles', only stopping himself short a moment before. Arthur tried to bring some moisture back to his dry mouth, swallowing nonexistent spit before he croaked.

"This ok?"

The feeling of Charles pressing himself closer and taking up Arthur's hand made a soft sigh escape from Arthur's nose. The heart hammering in his throat making it difficult to speak began to relax again. Between the silence that fell and the reassuring weight of Charles' hand in his, Arthur could have gone right back to sleep again. But with the intensity of what he felt, how safe and comforting the other's presence made him feel, it felt wrong to not say something. Say what he's been wanting to say over the better part of their time together. Arthur took to rubbing the back of Charles' palm in a swirling pattern to try and soothe his nerves enough for him to speak without sounding a complete fool.

"I…" Arthur attempted to start, his voice tapering off.

He felt Charles shift, his shoulder brushing against Arthur's a final time as he turned to lay on his side, the two now facing each other. Feeling his eyes on him, even through the dark it felt consuming, although Arthur knew Charles couldn't see too well. He was just trying to show he was listening, their tangled hands resting on the pelt-covered floor between them.

"You sure you're alright with this?" That wasn't what Arthur had wanted to say, of course it wasn't, but he had no damn clue on how to start. This, unfortunately, was the best his not-even fully-conscious mind could think of. It was what his drowsy and sluggish mind deemed more important. Reassurance.

But it seemed to earn Arthur a warm chuckle from Charles, the sound making his mouth curl into a smile of its own accord.

"Yes, Arthur." Charles, bemused, gave Arthur's hand a light squeeze and whispered, "Yeah, I'm fine with this. More than fine, actually."

"Been wanting this for- Shit, I don't know how long exactly." Arthur sighed with a slight shudder, abetted by Charles' affirmation, it gave him a little more courage to continue. "Never thought that you'd- you'd be fine with anything like this before. With me . Was a little worried I might have screwed things up when we've barely started our new lives." Arthur was quick to correct himself, nerves swiftly returning and making him splutter out a clunky adaptation. "Not 'our' as in, you know, that kind of our, but our as in our lives. Your life and mine, separately."

"... Does it have to be separate?" Arthur's heart skipped a beat at Charles' musing, the warm giddy radiating in his chest rapidly spreading to his face into a brilliant and flushed grin that he hoped desperately that the cover of darkness hid. But then again, maybe it wouldn't be completely terrible for Charles to see, with how happy it made Arthur to see Charles' honesty in his expression, the openness in it. Maybe it would make Charles happy too. Arthur tried to subtly shuffle a bit closer to the other, hesitantly slipping his hand out of the other's hold. That hand had moved to hover above Charles' face for less than a moment, any doubts that sprung up in his mind being tossed out twice as quickly before he finally cupped Charles' face.

"No… I don't think it has to be."

Arthur wasn't sure who closed the distance between them first, didn't matter much anyhow. The distance between them, the ever-changing physical one, and the seemingly mile-wide abstract distance they felt between them had finally been closed. Charles' hands were felt instantaneously in Arthur's hair as their lips met, a tentative graze before an elated huff escaped Charles. The warmth that had been slowly consuming Arthur had smothered him wholly as their lips met again in a more firm kiss. The fears of all the yesterdays and tomorrows had melted away and drowned him in the exhilarating electricity they shared. ~~~

Arthur sat at the old wooden table in the center of their cabin, cold Canada air thankfully being kept out of the cozy and well-lived-in home. He was thumbing through his old journal from years ago, the memories of that night still being clear in his mind yet something compelled him to reread that entry. He had been tearing out the sketches of Charles he'd drawn over the past few years up to the present. Arthur was never one for showing the other man his art often, even after they began sharing everything with each other. Occasionally Arthur would feel guilty that he hadn't wanted the other to read through his journal, but Charles being the wonderful man he was, never made him feel guilty about it. He understood some things just needed to stay personal, to have something for yourself. He never cared for reading through it without Arthur's say so anyways. Arthur himself was nearly finished with tearing out pages in his journal, searching through entries for any mentions of Charles after collecting all the sketches he made.

Arthur was still surprised at times that they made it out. That John and all of them he left behind were living the lives they deserved and didn't resent Arthur for doing something for himself. He felt selfish whenever he thought too much about it, but nothing about loving Charles seemed wrong. The words scribbled in the pages of his journal, the misplaced and scrambled words scratched out as he correctly formed his thoughts were able to express his feelings a lot better than if he tried to voice his thoughts. The realization that he found his other half, the person he'd want to spend the rest of his life with. That his person, the one that actively chose him time and time again, truly loved him and Arthur fully and wholeheartedly believed it. No matter what sort of nerves or decades-old hurt that cracked his being, Charles soothed his rapid mind and helped Arthur mend his cracks and learn to love them just as much as Charles did. Knowing how much the other cared, feeling the seemingly infinite amount of appreciation and love for Charles in return. It was overwhelming and constant and like nothing else he's experienced in his life. It felt light and freeing and like he didn't have to hide away in some protective shell that ended up hurting the people around him. It felt as if Arthur was safe and allowed to be himself, like the smothering feeling was intoxicating rather than something venomous that slowly ate away at him from the inside. Choosing to love him over staying behind and helping the rest of the gang may have been selfish in his eyes, but for once in his life, Arthur felt glad to do the selfish thing.

That's what he wanted to share with Charles. To share the thoughts he'd never really talked about, the persistent prospects that lingered in his mind that reminded him of how much he cared for the other. The way Charles' smile made the corner of his eyes crinkle, the way that his laugh could make empty skies seem full and brighter, the way rose-tinted glasses never cracked or dulled no matter how many years went by. No matter what arguments or mistakes were made, the love there only seemed to grow. Something that was finally nurtured and given the space to grow, was now overflowing and outgrowing its pot. Love seeping through soil and roots, up to the tips of vines and leaves growing tall and wide with no signs of stopping. Those sorts of sentiments that Arthur could never articulate, he ardently wanted to share them with Charles, to be able to tell him just how much everything has meant to him over the years. Charles knew Arthur loved him, the simple but meaningful things they did for each other on a daily basis, heartfelt 'I love you's, staying with him for years even though he had the opportunity to leave after the Pinkertons believed him to be dead. There were times when Arthur would share what he felt, how strongly he cared about Charles. Damn near made them both cry by the end of those spiels. But what Arthur was planning to do wasn't anything like those instances.

He began folding the worn papers delicately, the tattered edges barely fitting in the wide but short envelope he got from the train station the last time he went into town. Arthur had to go into town on three different occasions just to get the supplies he needed without the shop owners suspecting anything. He even made up the excuse that he and his brother were having a double wedding and it was his job to get the rings, which Arthur guessed was a good enough excuse since the blacksmith had congratulated him. He's kept the rings hidden away in his chest for nearly a month now, his nerves keeping him from saying a word about them to Charles. Arthur was only finally able to will himself into getting them out again after Charles left to go hunting today. He'd cleared out the table of his art supplies so the younger man would have space to butcher, although Arthur guessed he'd most likely be the one to do it, the two usually following an unspoken routine. They usually evened out the workflow between them, not really out of a care to keep things fair but more out of the want to make things easier on the other. With that, Charles actually turned Arthur into a decent hunter after a few months of frustrated grunts and curses from a certain someone, and some light-hearted teasing in turn.

But, even after becoming a better hunter, he still preferred butchering and doing work with his art. Arthur actually found Mary-Beth after they settled down in the cabin they built, finding a book in the general store with a writing alias the young woman told him about, back when things with the gang were hopeful. He's been doing art for the covers of her books, and eventually took her advice of drawing for children's books. He's been sending them in through the mail under an alias as well, another thing he thought was smart of Mary-Beth and deciding to follow in her footsteps.

If he told her about what he was going to do today she'd be squealing and talking about one of the premises of her books again, Arthur chuckled at the thought as he took the twin rings out from his pocket. The glint of the rings' silver was the only time he'd be happy to see the reflection of silver metal nowadays, he guessed. Arthur slipped the rings into the envelope and folded it closed, the sound of the front door opening startling him into hiding the envelope in his flannel's breast pocket. It still sort of stuck out, Arthur internally cursed himself for not thinking of a better spot to put it but he doubted it mattered much now.

"Evenin' Darlin'." Arthur glanced over his shoulder before he pushed himself out of his seat to greet the other, Charles setting down a doe on the table Arthur was previously at.

"Evening love," Chuckling lightly before a kiss was planted on his cheek, Charles felt warm hands rest on his shoulders before they left to rummage through a drawer in their open kitchen. Charles let a simper curl his mouth and morph his features. Once Arthur returned beside him with a hunting knife in front of the table and deer, Charles began carding his fingers through Arthur's hair. It had been getting long, curling just around his ears and brushing his shoulders now, Arthur hadn't thought of cutting it after Charles made a comment on how he looked pretty with it longer. Charles nudged Arthur's head in his direction, the other turning to glance at him before he was gifted an embrace. "At least kiss me proper,"

The faint flush on Arthur's face seemed to always amuse Charles, the same bashful grin the other would take on made Charles just as delighted as Arthur looked. Arthur felt Charles' hand combing through his hair drift back down to his shoulder before disappearing. Arthur, glancing to see where Charles was going, only saw him go sit down on their sprawling bed placed beside the window and fireplace. 'He must have been freezing after being out there most of the day ', Arthur assumed as he got to work on the doe.

The jittery nerves that had plagued Arthur for the better part of a month had returned, he tried not to second guess himself or think of the worst-case scenarios as he finished skinning the deer. He made quick work of cutting up the meat, wrapping some of it in a cloth so they could cook some of it for dinner while salting the rest. It'd be fine to let sit, just for a little while. Enough time for Arthur to be able to talk for a short while. He would rather get rid of his nerves now than continue suffering through his fear of rejection. He went to the wash basin in their kitchen, scrubbing off the blood from his hands and knife, drying off his hands swiftly so the freezing water didn't sting as much while leaving the knife by the basin. He could hear Charles tending to the fireplace and bringing the flames back to life while Arthur was busying himself by looking for the kettle. He found the tea mixes Charles made much sooner than he found the kettle, Charles having to tell Arthur where he last put it. Soon enough the swirls of hot steam and herby aroma filled the quaint cabin, Arthur bringing two tin mugs over to the bed to sit on the edge. Charles pulled the blanket to drape over himself, extending Arthur a seat beside him while the other jumped at the offer as if they hadn't been doing this for years already. Charles bundled the two up together before taking his mug, Arthur's head resting on his shoulder as the two sat with their backs against the wall.

"What did you put in this mix again?" Blowing on the drink for a bit, he let it warm his hands before trying a sip of it. It tasted faintly florid, a sweeter-tasting lemon overtaking the flavor of the tea. Asking simple questions seemed a lot easier, and a lot more tempting than figuring out how he could bring up what he wanted to give Charles in casual conversation.

"You remember when we found that lavender on our last day trip? You said it was one of your favorite smells, so I brought some home and dried it, and put that in the tea mix." Yet another small and simple thing that made Arthur's heart jumpstart, such a minute detail that could be easily forgotten yet Charles remembered it, cherished it. The nerves he had slowly began to taper, very slowly, but Arthur could feel the warmth radiating off the other and the soothing herbs beginning to relax him. "Also got some lemongrass and verbena from one of the shops in town. Thought the citrus would pair well with the lavender undertones."

"Still don't know a thing about teas but I know this is one of your best-tasting mixes," Charles lowered his mug to let out a soft huff in response to Arthur, an abrupt recollection interrupting his chuckle.

"You only like this one because it doesn't have rosemary in it,"

"Maybe…" Arthur barely inched closer to be sat completely side to side, sitting up a little straighter to drink the tea without possibly spilling it. "I just think rosemary is a little too strong tasting! I'm sorry Charles, but ya kinda overdo it when you get your hands on some rosemary."

"And I 'just think' you don't have a very broad palette." Charles returned the critique with a faux irritation, the charming quirk of the corners of his mouth completely defeating his intent of seeming annoyed with Arthur.

"Oh, trust me, I've got a very broadened palette now after you've been cooking for us both these past few years. Some of the dishes you make are very different in comparison to my usual meals of canned beans or dried meat." Chuckling into his mug, he took another tentative sip, the tea still being searing hot and burning his tongue a bit with the small amount of drink he took. Arthur tried to play off the sudden scalding dry burn left on his tongue, acting as if nothing happened.

"You know I'm always willing to teach you how to properly cook, and have offered it many times in fact." Charles' hand rested atop the blankets over Arthur's lap, the other hand holding his mug and waiting for it to cool down a bit. Arthur opted to do the same and intertwined his newly emptied hand with Charles', resting the hand holding his mug on the other side of his lap.

"Nah, you know what kinda cook I am. Would probably burn down the kitchen while you were looking for a pan or something," That earned him a fond huff from Charles, making Arthur take on a homely grin. He mumbled, "And besides, I kinda like when you cook for us. Seems, I dunno, domestic?"

"Wait until Mary-Beth hears this- Arthur Morgan. Ex-outlaw, thief, killer… and a sappy romantic," Charles squeezes his hand lightly as he chuckles, rubbing circles on the back of Arthur's hand with his thumb.

"Oh hush, Mary-Beth ain't hearin' nothing 'bout that."

"Alright, then would you rather me send a letter to John and Abigail? I'm sure they'd appreciate hearing that their brother and brother-in-law has a heart."

"Now you're just pullin' my leg, do I have to hide all the paper and pens from you?" Arthur snapped without any real malice, pink dusting his cheeks which he hoped he could just blame on the cold without the other saying anything about it.

"Alright, I guess I'll just keep the fact that you're a sentimentalist to myself."

"Oh why thank you sweetheart, I'm so grateful you're decidin' to not embarrass me by tellin' my brother of all people about our personal affairs. Hell, I think Abigail might be worse in this regard, she's just as bad as Marston when it comes to pokin' fun." Arthur blew on his drink a bit once more, the steam starting to dissipate before he took another sip. Not hot enough to burn him this time, but still warm enough to make the new sensitive spot on his tongue uncomfortable.

"You're welcome, and I can only imagine what kind of kid Jack is going to turn out to be,"

"Hah, you're tellin' me. Bet he already has Marston's smug sarcasm, gonna be even worse though since he's a smart kid." Charles hummed in agreement to Arthur's playful jabs, soon after an amicable silence fell between them, the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional sound of the wind outside shaking the windows being the only sound. Arthur's hand was fidgeting in Charles' hold, still wanting the contact but the apprehension that began creeping back in with the silence made it difficult for Arthur to not fidget. Since the tea had mostly cooled off to a reasonable temperature, he drained his mug partially of its contents in a few large gulps before leaning forward to set it down on the nightstand beside the bed. Taking up Charles' free hand with both of his own, he began playing with his fingers as a welcome distraction to try and soothe his nervousness. Arthur decided to just keep staring at their hands instead of meeting Charles' questioning gaze.

"What's wrong, Arthur?" Charles spoke softly, the lack of space between the two not calling for any volume louder than how he asked but he knew it was more for Arthur's comfort.

"Nothin's wrong," The fidgeting hadn't let up and neither did Charles' disbelieving look. "I promise nothin's wrong. Just uh, I got somethin' for ya." Two fidgeting hands turned to one, the remaining squeezing Charles' hand while the other pulled out the envelope from Arthur's flannel pocket. Charles lowered his mug before Arthur silently offered to put it on the nightstand, the other passing the cup to him with a grateful nod.

"What's this?" Charles took the envelope with one hand, it felt thick with the paper contents but a bit heavier than what he expected it to be. Arthur just nudged him lightly with his shoulder.

"Open it and find out,"

And with that Charles unfolded the top and pulled out the folded-up papers, setting the envelope down in his blanketed lap to look through these papers first. His hands stilled after unfolding the small stack, the first page he was seeing being a sketch of himself, only small words in the footnotes of the page. Arthur's eyes locked onto Charles instead of looking at the pages, the mixing waves of emotion flooding the other's face enamored and silently terrified Arthur at the same time. But he never saw any disgust or mocking humor on Charles' face. If anything, the intimate and loving passages on those pages, the intricate drawings and written adoration through images and words made Charles' eyes just as glossy as his watery smile. Arthur emulated the simper easily, letting go of the breath he was holding onto with an iron grip as he saw Charles' heartfelt reaction.

"You… you wrote, you drew all this?" Charles took a moment to string together, "You mean every word of this?"

Arthur silently nodded as he similarly struggled to pull his words into a coherent thought he could speak. "Every word. Been uh, been meaning 'em for a while."

Rapping his knuckles lightly against the provisionally overlooked envelope, Arthur brought Charles' eyes from the papers back to the packet. The other smeared the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes on his inner wrist before setting down the stack of loose leaf, flicking the letter back open with a glance to Arthur's mirroring tear-streaked face. The faint clink of silver and the feeling of cold metal rings falling in Charles' hand brought the tears to fall freely and swiftly, resurging Arthur's anxieties.

"I- I know it's a ridiculous thought, it don't even matter much either way cause nothin' would really change 'tween us but," Arthur's fidgeting hands returned again, this time fiddling with the weathered corner of one of the pages in their laps. "I just thought- you know, the law never mattered much to us anyway, folk like us. Even just… havin' this, to ourselves. It was a charming idea, I-I mean if you'd like it anyway, I can completely understand if-"

"Oh hush, I'm not going to say no to you, I could never say no to this, hell not even to you." The rings grew warmer once they were slipped onto the correct fingers, metal fitting snugly and making Arthur register what he just heard. Charles' hands wrapped around his, Arthur slipping his other hand from between them and pulling Charles closer. For all the mock sternness in Charles' tone, Arthur could hear the joy underlying his words and actions. How tightly the other squeezed him and how hurriedly Charles was pressing kisses against wet cheeks and lips. The spoken and voiceless words of love filled the one-room cabin and overflowed it, warmth and devotion overwhelming the two. Charles wordlessly collected the papers and put them back in the envelope for safe keeping, laying it beside them before settling onto Arthur's lap with the blankets wrapped around the both of them. "I'd want nothing more than that,"

The other rest his head on Arthur's shoulder, his hold on him still tight with a reassuring pressure but more relaxed. Charles could feel Arthur's fingers drift up his back and tangle in his hair, tears staining his clothed shoulder as Arthur was pressing firm kisses on the side of his head. Charles thought Arthur's gift of his written word deserved a returned spoken word.

"Arthur…" Charles pulled his head away from the crook of his neck, the smell of old wood smoke and soap still lingering along with the aroma of lavender-lemon tea. Dark and rich earthy-colored eyes met striking azure blue, Charles' eyes drifting to Arthur's gold-looking hair and imperfect nose, his crooked grin, and wondering how on Earth he'd found someone that pieced together with him perfectly. Someone that made everything click into place and seem alright again; even if things weren't perfect, it felt close enough. "For years now, ever since our hunting trip in Colter I've cared about you. I cared about your favorite place to sketch when we traveled, what little stories you had after you would wander for days at a time, what your favorite store was to get pencils, or what your favorite breed of horse was. All these little details that people would think mundane, you made thrilling. You made me want to break out of my protective shell. You made me feel… Well, you've made me feel a lot of things over the years. I've never felt more loved, more seen than when I'm with you. You make me feel like I don't need to earn any sort of love or affection from you. Because you see me and love me for me, not what I can do for you. It feels more secure and safe than any other good I've had in this life."

Arthur's stifled and silent cries were ugly, tears staining his blotchy face and tight grimace but Charles couldn't do a thing but stare at him with nothing but fervent praise.

"You are one of the kindest souls I've met in this life, even with all that you've been dealt and had to go through. You still turned out as you, not the violent and apathetic husk most people who live lives like ours turn out to be. And I'd love nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. The person that has changed into one of the best men I know, the man with a lopsided smile and perpetual paint stains on his hands." Charles chuckled wetly and sniffled before ribbing, "The man that talks to our horses how you would talk to a toddler."

That earned him a watery laugh from Arthur, the other's stubborn attempt at maintaining a neutral expression failed impressively. That charming skewed grin appeared and Charles couldn't help but return it tenfold. His hands let go of Arthur's only to cup the other's face, his thumbs wiping away errant tears before reassuringly stroking his cheek.

"You always were better with words," Arthur finally drawled, voice still wobbling with tears he was trying to keep unshed.

"Funny how you say that after giving me a miniature novel of loving and flowery prose I'd never be able to write." The lighthearted teasing made Arthur gently shove one of Charles' hands away, instead taking it up in his own hand and grasping it tightly.

"Oh shut up, it wasn't that much," Stern words lost all their sting as Arthur leaned forward to press his lips against Charles in an indulgent embrace.

He tasted of lemon and lavender, and Arthur felt a warmth in his heart he knew he'd never be able to feel with anyone else. That's when he knew things really did turn out okay for them in the end.

#charthur #charles smith #arthur morgan #rains fall #eagle flies #rdr2 fic #rdr secret winter event

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12timetraveler · 1 year

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Do you?

Summary:

Valentines day has struck the Van der Linde gang. Reader hasn't worked up the courage to tell the man they love how the feel, so Valentine's day is a little lonely.

For @rdrevents Valentine's giveaway, I got to write for @cainbutnotabel

Also have this horribly cheesey little photo edit

I hope you enjoy! Happy Valentines day!

~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the crisp February weather, the gang were all in high spirits.

It was Valentine's day, and the young romantics of the gang were celebrating, even if they didn't have a special someone to celebrate with. They were all gathered around the fire, listening to Javier play. Karen sat in Sean's lap. Mary Beth,

Tilly and Jenny danced with anyone who would dance with them.

Jack was a particular favorite to dance with, the girls making sure the toddler was included in the fun. Until he went to bed, that is. For once, his parents weren't fighting. John had picked Abigail a small bouquet of wildflowers (and weeds, but it was the thought that counted) and the two were sassing each other in that flirtatious way they did in moments of peace.

Dutch and Molly sat in their tent, whispering and giggling to each other. They were probably the most sickly sweet couple of camp. Watching them flirt felt like spying through the keyhole in a hotel door.

Across camp the older and more cynical members sat, drinking beers and reminiscing about Valentine's days passed. Susan, Uncle, Pearson, Swanson, Strauss and Hosea. They told stories of lovers from bygone years, laughed at the romantics of the gang and the ones trying to be romantics for the sake of a quick romp (like Micah or the Callander boys). They placed bets on which pairs would eventually wander out to the treelines or ride into town.

Arthur had started the night with them, but to no-ones surprise he eventually wandered over to the other fire, letting the others pull him into the celebration. He tried to hide it, tried to keep that dark stoic exterior up. But you could tell he was enjoying himself. Though he danced with the girls, you could see him eyeing up Charles at every opportunity.

Where did you fall? Well, though you could be a bit of a romantic, you didn't have it in you to join the others around the main fire. You'd hovered for a bit before Hosea and Susan beckoned you over to join them around the table. You'd been given a seat, given a beer, and easily included in their conversation.

You were not old nor particularly cynical. It was just hard to celebrate a day about love when you yourself were feeling a particular sting of loneliness. You had quite the crush on a certain gang member. But you wouldn't dare tell him. You were certain there was no way he'd feel the same.

All week as the day approached you'd considered spilling your secret to Hosea. You knew he'd never be cruel, even if he rejected you. But you just couldn't bring yourself to do it. Not knowing if he felt the same about you seemed easier. At least you had a little hope mixed in, not knowing how he felt.

So you spent the evening with the elders.

"You been awfully quiet," Uncle's voice grabbed your attention, pulling you out of your thoughts. "Tell me, have you ever been in love?"

"In love... No. Not really. I've been sweet on people before but never in love. I've never gotten that far," You said, twirling the base of your bottle around on the table.

"Yeah yeah we all know you're sweet on Hosea," Uncle chuckled. You and Hosea both balked a little at that; you out of fear, Hosea out of disbelief.

"I highly doubt that," Hosea scoffed before you could say anything. "Why'd they waste their time pining after an old fool like me?" he chuckled, flashing you a crooked smile.

"You know, for a wise old man, you really are blind," Uncle laughed.

"He's right, Hosea," Susan piped up. "I've seen the way they look at you,"

"I have to agree," Strauss added plainly. "I've seen that look too,"

"Yeah. They look at you like Swanson looks at a bottle," Pearson teased.

"I rrrrrresent that," Swanson slurred. "But they do ssssseem t'look at you quite a lot,"

Oh God you wanted to die. You could feel your face heating up, could hear the amused giggling from the rest of the table, except for Hosea who seemed locked on you.

"Don't worry," Susan laughed, slapping your back. "He's been looking at you just as much,"

"That's true," Pearson chuckled. "I doubt he's read a single word of his morning newspaper since you joined the gang. He always gets distracted by you,"

Hosea's gaped, looking very much like that trout he brought into camp the other night. For a moment he looked like he was going to protest, to claim it wasn't true. But then he met your gaze, and his expression relaxed some as his hazel eyes met yours.

"...Do you?" You asked hesitantly, afraid this was all some cruel joke. Hosea gave you a gentle smile, leaving you warm and tingly feeling.

"Yes," he said, and all the air escaped from your lungs in one huff. "Yes, though these fools make me sound like some perverted old man stalking you. Which I am not. At least I hope I'm not," he gave you a crooked smile. "But I've... I've been sweet on you for a while now,"

You grinned widely at him. He looked so silly just now, a distinguished older man confessing his feelings like a young man would. It was something he shouldn't have to do at his age, but here he was all the same.

"And you?" He asked quietly. "Are they right about your feelings too?"

You sucked in a breath before nodding. "Yes. I'm..." You laughed. "Most days I feel like an absolute fool for you," your face was still hot with embarrassment, mostly that this was the way he found out, and the fact that you had an audience.

"I feel the same," Hosea chuckled. "I wanted to say something. Nearly did at least a hundred times. But I never thought... I never even dreamed that... That you could," you'd never seen the silver-tongued man so tongue tied before. It was adorable. And knowing it was all because of you made it that much sweeter.

"Neither could I," you admitted. You exchanged lopsided grins.

"Would you, em..." Hosea cleared his throat. Oh my god, was the older gentleman blushing? "Would you care to take a walk with me?" He asked. "I think we are long overdue for a talk,"

The others wolf whistled as you stood and walked beside Hosea pit of camp, away from prying ears. You knew what they thought this "talk" would be. But it was just that. The two of you weren't going to just jump in. You both wanted to know where exactly the other stood.

You did not spend Valentine's day in Hosea's bed. Nor up against a tree or on the forest floor or any of the other ways some of the others spent their nights. But in the weeks and months to come, oh you spent plenty of time making up for it.

#hosea mathews #hosea matthews/reader #RDRValentineExchange

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rdrevents · 2 months

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Hello and welcome to our new followers! After an unexpectedly quiet 2023, we are geared up for 2024 with a new look and a hankering for fun activities and events! We have two exchanges lined up for this year, but we want to know what YOU want to see and take part in! Are you a fan of prompt bingo-boards, theme weeks, character features, exchanges, or other types of events? Drop them into our ASKBOX and we'll see what we can do! Or, if you run your own RDR event and want to be an affilliate, get in touch via dm!

#rdrevents #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr #rdr2

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scarfacemarston · 1 year

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Tumblr at it again

So a very good friend of mine thought that I hadn’t posted much lately and was surprised to see that it looked like there was a glitch. From what I understand, it sounds like it didn’t either show notifications or that they “unfollowed” me. The person didn’t. I decided to investigate because my blog has been dead and I haven’t heard from mutuals. It turns out , I had “unfollowed” most of my friends! I’ve been friends with some people for years and they mentioned the same thing happened to them. The usernames have been blocked out except rdrevents because it’s a public fandom blog. However, as you can see, it looks like I unfollowed them. I only saw these posts because a random person just happened to reblog stuff that was theirs originally. Below are the three examples that I’ve been seeing. This won’t help the people who can’t find my stuff, but I’m curious if you all have noticed anything because I’m not hearing from some people, my posts haven’t gained much traction, and some aren’t able to see my stuff.

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margowritesthings · 1 year

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The Greatest Gift A Cowboy Could Ask For

a @rdrevents winter gift exchange for @cowboydisaster

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Arthur Morgan x pregnant!f!reader word count: 3215 words warnings: teeth-rotting fluff, pregnant reader, labour, birth a/n: Bea! i cannot BELIEVE i got you for my winter exchange but i was SO HAPPY when the email came through! I tried to combine all three of your prompts and then proceeded to lie to you for a month about what i was writing for gift exchange whoops

anyway, merry christmas my love! this year i met you and im so glad i did! you're such a lovely soul and such a talented writer and i hope you enjoy this!! <3

tagging: @cowboydisaster @cassidylynnj @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @reaveries @elifsukirdaghehe @musicallisto

It’s the smell that wakes you up, that sweet aroma you instantly recognise as drinking chocolate. For a moment, it disorients you, because Pearson never has drinking chocolate in, but your eyelashes soon flutter open and your mind registers that you’re right where you should be: yours and Arthur’s shared tent. You’re alone, the bed beside you cold enough to know that Arthur has been up for a while, so you reach over to the gold pocket watch you stole from that poker player with the shifty eyes in Blackwater all those months back, finding the time to be 37 minutes past 9.

“Shit…” You’ve slept in. Normally, you’d lurch up, throwing on your boots and clothes and rushing out to catch up on chores, but you physically can’t anymore. Your swollen belly restricts any and all quick movements, that usual ache waking up and settling right in your spine. It’ll stay there all day, it always does nowadays.

It’ll be worth it, you reassure yourself, imagining Arthur holding his child, the one you made with him, in those big strong arms, loving it unconditionally, and the ache somehow doesn’t seem so bad, after all. There’s a weird feeling that remains that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you can ignore it enough to get on with your day, you think.

Slowly, you sit up, wrapping a woollen blanket around your shoulders to protect you from the chill of the December air. When Ms. Grimshaw found out you were pregnant, she hounded Dutch until he set you and Arthur a proper tent up, which your eyes scan over now. The cup of chocolate is still steaming and when you wrap your hands around it, the heat radiates through your hands and settles in your core when you sip. It tastes so good, the rarity of such a treat only making it better. You smile to yourself, picturing Arthur leaving it there for you to wake up with and sneaking around as to not wake you, the big old brute.

It takes you far too long to get ready nowadays, but in time you do, pulling three pairs of socks over your swollen ankles to protect your feet from the cold. Your boots are tricky to get on thanks to your 8 month bump, but you eventually manage to do it and stand up all by yourself. What a morning of achievement. And all before 10AM… just about.

═══════☆═══════

The snow crunches under your feet as you pull your coat tighter around you and step outside onto Horseshoe Overlook. Your breath dances in the air whenever you exhale while surveying the camp and your brows knit together when you don’t spot Arthur. You can see his horse by the hitching posts, munching from the trough, but Diesel, your own steed, is nowhere to be seen. You’re not concerned, Arthur has started alternating between Diesel and his mare since you became too pregnant to ride him yourself, but that doesn’t stop you from missing the both of them.

“Auntie y/n!” As usual, you hear Jack before you see him and you just about jump out of your skin when you feel his little arms hug around your leg. You have no idea how he manages to sneak up on you every damn time, and by god does it make you nervous for when your own child can crawl out of sight, but you laugh nonetheless, ruffling his hair like you so often do when you see him.

“Y’alright there, Jack?” You look down to the boy, actually having to peer over your belly to see him beaming up at you.

“Yep! Santa’s coming tomorrow and mama said if I’m good and I put one of my socks outside tonight I’ll get presents.” He’s so excited he can hardly stay still, releasing his hold on you to shuffle from foot to foot restlessly. Looking at Jack, you can see your future. You see Arthur reading Christmas stories to your own son or daughter before bed and bribing them with presents every time they misbehave in the entire month of December. The magic of Christmas is alight in Jack’s innocent little eyes, unburdened by any of the shit the adult members of the Van der Linde gang have to worry about. And you just can’t wait to share that magic with your own little family.

“Is that so?” You raise an eyebrow questioningly at Jack, crossing your arms and resting them on your belly gently,

“Uh huh! She said we have to leave room at the hitchin’ post for his reindeer, too. I told Uncle Arthur so he leaves space when he gets back with Diesel.” Now he’s stepped back, you can see just how red the tip of Jack’s nose is, despite the four scarves Abigail seems to have wrapped him in.

“You saw Uncle Arthur this mornin’?” Your curiosity piques at the mention of your husband and his curious ongoings. Jack nods, but looks off to the side, much less eager to talk about this subject.

“Uh huh. But he made me promise not to tell you where he went.” He can’t seem to fight off the smile pulling at his near-blue lips and it's goddamn adorable, but it doesn’t stop you from at least attempting to corrupt this child’s promise, planting your hands on your hips.

“Oh, yeah? What about if I had a word with Santa for you, huh? Ask if he can bring ya’ an extra chocolate bar?”

So this is what it’s come to, huh?

Bribing a 10 year old…

Forshame, Mrs. Morgan.

═══════☆═══════

It’s another hour before you find out where Arthur is. Jack doesn’t break under interrogation and you make a mental note to let his Uncle Dutch know what an asset he is to the gang. Pearson makes you bacon and eggs even though you missed breakfast on orders from both Arthur and Grimshaw to never let you go hungry in your condition. The strange feeling from when you woke up doesn’t seem to budge even with a full stomach, but that thought is pushed out of your head when you see a dog, covered in snow, burst past Charles keeping watch and come barreling towards you. You don’t have time to react or figure out what the hell is going on before there are wet paws on your lap and a fluffy, panting smile only inches away from your face.

“MOOSE! Get back here, Moose!” Arthur’s voice bellows through the camp and you can hear Diesel's gallop, but you can’t seem to see anything but dog as the hound in front of you grabs the last piece of bacon from your plate and begins licking your face.

Somehow, Arthur runs over to you and grabs who you assume to be Moose, picking him up with an ease that only his strong arms could take. You seem to be frozen in shock, your mind working triple speed to catch up with your surroundings.

Okay, what can you feel?

My face is wet.

What can you see?

My husband, holding a 50lb dog like it’s a baby.

What about smell?

Not sure, but it definitely isn’t my last piece of bacon.

“God, darlin’, are you alright? Did he hurt’cha?” Arthur’s concern is evident, wrinkling his forehead with worry as he puts the dog back on the floor, who has considerably calmed now that there is no more bacon. Arthur takes a few strides before he’s in front of you, kneeling beside you to take your face in his huge gloved hands and wildly scan his eyes over your features.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. The only casualty was my breakfast.” At 8 months pregnant, it’s hard not to find that completely and utterly tragic, but at least your baby is safe.

“That damn dog… I should’a listened when the guy told me he’s got a mind of his own.” Satisfied of a lack of wounds to your person, Arthur stands, holding out both hands to help you up too. You fall into his embrace perfectly, finally feeling the relief of the first contact with your beloved for the day. It makes everything feel that much better, that much safer in his arms that you hum contentedly.

“Mornin’, sweetheart.” Arthur whispers into your hair, placing a kiss right atop your head, “Good morning…” you sigh out, basking in the bubble that’s forming around the two of you, as if you’re the only ones in the world. “Thanks for the chocolate this morning.”

“My pleasure.”

You both stay there for a while, swaying in your embrace, until you eye what’s going on around you and have to break the moment.

“...Arthur?” “Yeah?” “Why is there a dog eatin’ one of Dutch’s books?” “Ah shit… Moose! NO.” Arthur all but barks, his arms slipping from your waist to retrieve Moose. He slips a rope around Moose’s collar, which seems to calm him quite a bit, enough to be able to lead him back over to you. Now the excitement has died down, Moose sits beside Arthur, doting up at you with the epitome of ‘puppy dog eyes’.

Alright… it’s pretty damn cute.

And when Arthur sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, you know he’s yours. You can read your husband like a book.

“I, uh… The other month y’said you’ve always wanted a dog, and I figured it'd be easier to get a dog then a baby rather than the other way around and… and well you’re giving me so much this year, more than I can ever repay and… well, merry christmas, Mrs. Morgan.” His nervous ramblings that only you seem to have the ability to enable are a pleasure to watch. They grow your grin by the second, as does the goofiest dog you’ve ever seen smiling up at you. You’re so happy you could burst, though you certainly wouldn’t want to in your state. You’re completely speechless for a second.

“You’re… you’re not mad, are ya?” “I mean, I ain’t never heard’a somethin’ so bold as gettin’ a new dog a month before givin’ birth, but no. I… I love him. Thank you, Arthur.” You reach onto your tiptoes to throw your arms around his neck as best you can with a baby between you, kissing Arthur with enough force for him to drop the makeshift leash in complete distraction. Moose feels his release happen and runs off again, this time finding and chasing Jack around in circles while he laughs madly. Arthur snakes an arm around your waist and you feel your head fit perfectly into the crook of his neck while you watch the chaos.

“How’re y’feelin’ today? Still achin’?” “Uh huh… But I’m okay. Feel a little weird, but I think that’s normal at this stage.” You reply honestly, feeling the smallest bit of relief from the thumb circling your lower back.

“Well, take it easy, alright? I’ve done chores enough for the both of us.”

“Alright… Thank you.” You sigh, actually rather missing the hustle. You’re a ranch girl at heart who isn’t used to just sitting around, your decreasing list of things you can actually do nowadays getting more frustrating by the day.

“Not long to go now till we meet her now, angel.” “We don’t know for sure it’s a girl, cowpoke.”

“I know… I just gotta feelin’.”

═══════☆═══════

Later that evening, everyone in camp is sitting around the fire breathing like dragons as they sing christmas carols to Javier’s guitar and you’re tucked under Arthur’s arm, cuddling into him to keep warm. You’re pretty sure Moose hasn’t left Jack’s side all day. Not since he slipped him an entire bowl of stew at dinner, at least.

The strange feeling of pressure that has been building in your abdomen all day hasn’t yet relented, but you haven’t yet found good enough cause to worry anyone about it. You’re 8 months along, surely you’re supposed to feel weird?

You’re the only one close enough to Arthur to know that he has absolutely no idea what the words to this song are. He’s mumbling along to the general tune, sounding a lot like Uncle’s slurs after a few too many whiskies. It takes everything in you to not snicker at his poor attempt to guess how many of which kind of bird or performer or… maid(?) this songwriter got for Christmas, especially when you’re pretty sure you hear the words ‘seven fish-a-shittin’ leave his lips.

Everything is one fat man in a red suit away from being the perfect picturesque Christmas Eve, which you’re about to point out to Arthur when the sharpest stabbing pain rips a strangled cry from deep within your throat. Your hands shoot to your belly helplessly, wanting to grip at it to ease the pain but knowing you can’t. The carols are too loud for anyone but Arthur to notice, who instantly crouches in front of you.

“Sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He’s panicked, grasping at your arms and attempting to capture your attention away from the considerable pain you’re clearly in. Your face is scrunched up, teeth clenched down in some poor attempt to brace the pain.

“I… I don’t know. It hurts. Feels like pressure.. Right- argh!”

This time, your cry is loud enough to gain the attention of those around the fire. Javier stops playing and most everybody looks over at you. Ms. Grimshaw and Dutch both stand, concern evidently written in their expression.

“Is she alright?” Dutch asks,

“What’s happenin’, honey?” Grimshaw kneels beside Arthur in front of you. You try to breathe through the smallest hole your lips can make, focusing on the sensation as much as you can rather than whatever is happening to you. You’re trying your hardest not to worry about the baby, but it’s hard, especially with so many people now worrying about you out loud.

“I… dunno. Hurts.” You manage to get out, finding Arthur’s hand and gripping on it with a downright bruising force.

“C’mon, let’s get you inside and out of the cold, alright?” You nod, feeling Arthur holding onto one arm and who you assume is Dutch on the other helping you to your feet. You lean on them as much as possible and somehow you make it into your tent. You’re laid down on your cot just as the pain begins to subside and your lungs feel like they can open back up again. When your eyelids soften again, you see Arthur’s worried face right beside you, Grimshaw pottering around with towels and Dutch waiting by the entrance to the tent with Dr. Strauss.

“Darlin’? Y’alright?” The sheer intensity of the panic in his voice is almost more than you can bear and you know he’s being plagued by the same nightmare you are right now, just hoping to god or whoever the hell might be listening that your baby is okay.

“Mhm. S’easing now… It just came on real quick, that’s all…” Your breaths are struggled but ever so slightly more stable than before. Arthur’s thumb runs over your knuckles soothingly.

Over by the entrance to the tent, you see Dutch and Strauss in a hushed conversation that frays your nerves something awful. “What’s happening, Arthur?”

“I… I don’t know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

Enter Dr. Strauss, carrying his medical bag. Arthur stays right by your side as the Doctor sits in front of your cot, mumbling his apologies as he lifts up your skirts and pulls a blanket over your legs.

You’re panicking, not knowing how you know exactly, but knowing that the pressure is going to come back soon. An awful anticipation clamps your hand onto Arthur’s tighter, but Strauss’ head pops up from under the blanket before it happens. Arthur’s head whips around.

“What’s happening, doc? Is she okay? Is… is the baby gonna be okay?”

The second between Arthur’s question and Strauss’ answer lasts a lifetime. It’s an agony worse than anything this pregnancy has thrown at you in all its 8 months in existence.

“I believe you’re in labour, Mrs. Morgan.”

═══════☆═══════

It’s a long, hard labour but Arthur never leaves your side once. Not when your waters break, or when he can barely keep his eyes open. Not even when you almost break his hand the first time you try to push. He stays with you.

He’s right beside you when you start to panic between contractions, tears falling down your reddened cheeks. “It can’t be here yet- we just got a dog and it’s only been eight months and I-I don’t know if I’m ready…”

But he knows just what to say. Of course he does. He even brings Moose in to say hello and prove he has relaxed a lot since his first arrival.

He’s with you when you break, sobbing that you can’t push anymore, your forehead falling against his in pure exhaustion. “Shut up, stupid.” He scolds gently, earning a confused look from you. “You know damn well you’re the strongest woman alive and you can do goddamn anything. It’s one of the many reasons I fell for ya’. Now push, before I name this baby Hoagy after it’s Godfather.”

He’s there when she’s born, such a tiny little thing, a month early but just as healthy as if she were overdue. He’s got that smug look on his face when Strauss announces her arrival, the loudest silent ‘I told you so’ you’ve ever seen.

Arthur holds his daughter in his arms for the first time on Christmas Day, his eyes glistening in the candlelight.

“She’s… She’s perfect. She’s so perfect…”

Your energy is depleted, truly, after so many hours of labour, but you manage to sit up against the makeshift crate headboard to watch your husband and daughter meet each other.

Her tiny hands reach out for Arthur, holding onto his cheek and if you could freeze time forever and live in this moment, you would.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Arthur whispers, shifting to kiss her palm, “Isn’t she?”

“I mean… she is, but I was talkin’ to you.” He looks up at you and you decide not to mention the tear tracks you spot on his skin.

“Oh, hush…” There’s an attempt to wave him off, but your shaky limbs don’t quite manage.

“No, I mean it. You… You’ve given me everything. I never knew I wanted to be a dad, but now she’s here and I’m holdin’ her I…” He’s choking up in a way you’ve never seen before. The great outlaw Arthur Morgan, who has killed and robbed and beaten, breaking in front of you in the most beautiful, vulnerable way imaginable. “It’s everything. I can never thank you enough. This is the best gift I could ever get, my beautiful, amazing wife.”

His words radiate through you, relaxing your spine and calming each ache bringing life to the world has given you. You can feel your eyelids get heavier by the second and it gets harder and harder to fight the sleep you so desperately need.

“Arthur?” You’re barely audible, but Arthur is sat close enough to hear you,

“Uh huh?”

“We don’t have to name her Hoagy, do we?”

“We’ll talk about it later, angel.”

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