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rdrevents · 2 years

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My @rdrevents Valentine's Day gift for @21stcenturygworl

werewolf!Arthur Morgan x gn!reader

word count: 5.1k

prompt: following your dog into the woods on a full moon and finding a wounded stranger; it's Arthur and he's a werewolf!

a/n: Well, hi Rabbit! Happy Valentines Day!! I was glad to be your gift giver, and I enjoyed your prompts! This one was a little difficult for me because I've never written about werewolves before, and I enjoyed the challenge. I hope you like it! Also I kept this fic gn! because I didn't really find a need to use pronouns in it <3

Here is the werewolf lore you might want to check out before reading this piece, as everyone writes werewolves differently, and it explains some crucial points in my writing.

taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @tillith @luvliewriting

Your stallion's hooves slosh in the mud as you canter, riding towards a little area near Valentine that you’re planning to camp at for the night. The moon is full tonight, resting high in the sky and casting the night in an eerie, pale glow with dark shifting shadows. For the last few weeks you've been on the run, sleeping under the stars or in abandoned houses and buildings as you drift further and further away from Saint Denis. It wasn't your fault, really. The man you killed? Well he deserved it. But every action has consequences… You’ve been drifting since it happened, never staying in one place too long. Parts of you miss your old life, the structure of society and sleeping in a bed. But the freedom that your current life offers is unmatched.

You've made it all the way up to the cliffs now. It would probably be safe to stick around, surely you're far enough away by now. But an itch under your skin urges you to keep running, to get far away so that they will never find you. Pushing the doubts out of your mind, you whistle, and hear a bark in answer from your Australian Shepherd, Marley. He's running beside your black thoroughbred, Ares, just as eager as you to set up camp for the night.

After some convincing that the law won't find you this far north, you slow Ares down to a trot, passing by a lightly wooded area along the train tracks. Beyond the trees is a small opening. It's big enough for you to comfortably set up a little camp, but wooded enough to protect you from the near constant drabble of rainfall, and more importantly any wandering eyes from the tracks. You deem the spot safe for the night, whistling for Marley to follow as you trot through the treeline.

It's been a tough few weeks. Your clothes have been growing a little looser around your frame, and your little stash of money from your father’s savings has depleted to nothing. You don't know how to hunt, you're from the city. With no means to get food, your options have depleted to two: steal or starve. There's already a bounty on your head and you don't plan on increasing it, but you know what they say about desperation. Twice now you've stolen saddlebags off of tethered horses in search of food or money. You've rationed your supplies enough to get you this far, but now? Well you're pretty well screwed.

Hopping down from Ares with a pat of gratitude, you reach into one of the stolen saddlebags in search of something useful. Something soft touches your hand, and you pull out some clothes. There's two shirts and two pairs of jeans. With a sigh, you shove the clothes back into the bag. They're of no use. They're way too big for you, but maybe you can repurpose the cloth later. You step around Ares’ backside to reach into the other side of the bag. Luckily, you find two pieces of salted beef.

“Well, we got dinner, boy.” You smile, tossing one up into the air and watching as Marley catches it in his mouth.

You don't have a tent, never got one after escaping Saint Denis, and you don't have a bedroll either. So as per usual, you opt to find shelter under a large oak tree, laying on your saddle blanket and resting your head on your saddle in the dirt. It makes a decent pillow, and it provides Ares with some relief for the night. After finishing your dinner, you eye your boys. Ares is lying in the grassy patch ahead of you, enjoying the subtle rainfall after a long day’s run, and Marley curls up in the grass at your side.

“Don't worry boys, we’ll find somewhere more permanent soon, alright?” You whisper to them, almost drifting to sleep. You try to stay awake to watch the night. The moon is so full, so bright, unlike any night you’ve seen before. It's equally beautiful and mysterious. The grass dances in the breeze, shining under the moon’s white light while being tapped by slow sprinkling rain. Your eyes slip shut… and Marley barks.

You know Marley. He’s your best friend, and Marley only barks at danger. Immediately you sit up on the saddle blanket, gripping the handle of your knife out of instinct.

“What is it boy?” You whisper, scanning the treeline to no avail. Ares has stood up, and is whinnnying, stomping his feet and tossing his head in trepidation.

Every hair on the dog’s back is standing straight up, and he bares his teeth towards the eastern side of the forest with a low growl. Your brows knit together, as you see no lights or signs of anything.

“Marley, what's the matter?” You coo, reaching out to calm the dog, but he's too quick. He barks, and takes off into the east side of the forest.

“Shit, Marley!” You yell after the dog.

With a sigh, you run over to Ares, not even bothering to put the saddle back on. You sit on him bareback, quickly urging the stallion into the forest after your dog. It's difficult to navigate the dark forest, but Ares needs no guidance as he weaves around trees and jumps over fallen logs after your dog. You have to hang on for dear life as he jumps a particularly large log, as it's much harder to sit without the aid of your saddle. Slowing Ares down to a slow trot, you stick two fingers on your lip and whistle as loud as you can. It's too dark to see anything, and the rain has picked up, soaking your hair and causing rivulets of water to drip into your eyes and drench your clothes.

You hear his returning bark, and you spur Ares in the direction of the familiar sound. After cantering around a few more trees, you spot Marley. He’s cowering on the ground, shaking with his head on the ground in submission. At first you’re afraid he’s been hurt, and you jump down from your stallion to approach the dog.

“Marley…?” You whisper, slowly approaching him.

The breath leaves your lungs when you hear it; The loudest howl you have ever heard. It’s mangled and painful, and so, so close. Your heart beats rapidly, time slows, and you can feel the moment its eyes are on you. Slowly, you turn around.

In front of you is the largest wolf you have ever seen in your life. Well, you’ve never seen a wolf other than in the paper but this wolf- there's something different. It’s a male, surely the alpha of his pack, if he has one. He has a sandy blonde coat, broad head and shoulders, and even standing on all fours, the wolf is almost as tall as you. But the most stark detail is his eyes. They are bright, a green-blue mixture that can be compared to the blend of the tide and the sky. There’s something so human about his gaze that you’re almost knocked to the ground by its strength. The wolf’s eyes are locked onto your own, and it tries to step towards you, but stops suddenly and cries out in pain. Your eyebrows draw together, and you step around the right side of the massive wolf. His eyes stay on yours, and suddenly you feel no fear. It’s like you’re supposed to be here, you're supposed to find him. It causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and a dull pressure to buzz in your chest, but you ignore it, continuing your observation of the animal.

“Oh, you poor thing.” You whisper under your breath upon the sight of his mangled, bloody back leg. It's caught in a particularly nasty bear trap, who knows how long he’s been stuck here. You eye the wolf carefully for a moment, and when you sense no aggression, you step forward. The trap is a pressure lock, and you can dismantle it with your bare hands. Determined, you wipe your hands on your jeans.

“Alright, now I’m gonna set you free, but you can't eat me, okay?”

You swear the wolf chortles at your comment, and you lean down in the mud, pressing down on the bear trap with all your might. It clicks a few times, meaning that it’s close to opening. You stop pushing the trap and gasp in shock when you feel the wolf press his nose into your waist, inhaling deeply as if he is savoring your scent. You stutter, and quickly continue pressing down on the trap until it fully snaps open. The wolf takes one full deep breath of your scent, and then throws his head up towards the full moon and howls. It's so loud that your ears almost hurt, but it's not nearly as strong as the pressure in your chest, the unfamiliar buzz that is threatening to rip you in two. You clutch at your rib, gasping in shock when the wolf brings his head back down to look into your eyes. The wolf’s blue irises have been replaced with two deep crimson circles that stare back at you. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can hear it. But just as quickly as you found him, he is gone. He turned tail and ran, limping away on three legs. You’re left in shock, mouth agape, sitting against the wet forest floor.

— two weeks later —

You search through the bottom of the same leather bag that you’ve checked three times, foolishly hoping to find some food for you and Marley. You need to find something soon, or you’re going to have to venture into town, which may or may not end up with your neck in a noose. With a sigh, you toss the bag on the ground by your campfire. Tears threaten to fall as you pet your shepherd dog, apologizing for the lack of dinner. Ares is already laying in the grass, and you decide to hit the hay as well. Like every night, Marley curls up beside you while you try to fall asleep. His steady breathing, and eventually his snores almost lull you to sleep, but you’ve been having trouble sleeping. For the past two weeks all you’ve been able to think about is him. You know what he is now, you remember the stories that your Pa used to tell you. The legends of beasts in the west, far more dangerous than the outlaws inhabiting it. Well, they weren’t just stories. You think of him every night, wondering why he ran, why he’s this far east in the first place. Tonight is no different, in fact the ache in your ribcage is especially strong tonight. You’ve felt it ever since that night.

Eventually, you’re able to quiet your mind, blinking foggily as sleep overtakes your senses. Just as your eyes begin to flutter shut, two blue circles blink from behind the treeline, and then you fall asleep.

— the next day —

The evening sun wakes you up, surprisingly warm despite the cold day. The light filters through the trees, casting your face in a yellow glow. You'd slept almost the entire day, but you needed it. You haven't been sleeping well, too busy thinking of the wolf. You yawn, sitting up and stretching your arms before checking for your boys. Marley is chewing on a stick beside the charcoal left over from the campfire, and Ares has his head to the ground, grazing on some fresh grass. As you go to stand up, something fiery red catches your eyes and you snap your neck in its direction. About five feet away from your makeshift bedroll is a fox. It's been killed, perfectly hunted in such a manner that the pelt is in perfect condition. With your brows drawn together, you lean over and pick up the fox. Two neat, large canine teeth marks have punctured the animal's neck.

This was him.

You're overcome with relief at the fact that he's okay. After he'd run off you weren't sure where he went, or if he had a pack, and someone to fix his wound. You've been thinking about the man for weeks, wondering what he looks like, sounds and acts like, what his name is. Quickly you pull out your hunting knife, taking your time to skin the animal neatly. Every cut is articulate, something you learned from working for the trapper in Saint Denis. You know how to clean, cut and cook an animal, just not how to actually hunt one. You rest the red pelt fur down against the dirt to dry, and then get to work on your fire. Marley brings you back enough twigs and sticks to get a fire going, and before long you're placing nice cuts of meat over the fire, cooking a decent meal for the first time in a while. Marley seems grateful as well, coming over to the campfire to check on the food with his mouth watering.

It's a good breakfast, well dinner. You don't have much to season the meat with, but a few pieces of oregano manage just fine. You and Marley share the fox, saving the rest of it for the following days. With the day pretty much over before you've even started it, you pull out your journal.

Ever since that night in the woods, I feel this ache. It's like a rope. I don't understand it much, but… it's pulling me to him. I know it is. He left me a fox- first good meal we've had in a day. That's gotta mean something, right?

Your fountain pen stops on the paper, and some ink pools out of it, leaving an ink blot. Your eyes widen at the sound of a twig snapping, and the feeling in your ribs intensifies. You carefully close the leather journal, setting it down on the ground before pulling your knees up to your chin and smiling.

"Come out. I know you're here." You call out boldly, standing up from the ground and facing the forest in the direction of the snap. You can feel eyes on you, but you can't pinpoint his exact location. Behind you, Ares begins to spook, pawing at the ground and snorting in irritation. Marley growls, and you follow his gaze until you see the wolf.

He's even more beautiful in the daylight. Now you can really see the contrasts in his coat color, like brindle between tan and brown. His eyes are just as striking without the added glow from the moon, and now they shine bright blue. He steps out from the forest slowly, head down to placate you. He steps right up to you, almost eye to eye. The buzzing in your chest is so strong, like the rope is pulled so tight that it's on the verge of snapping.

"You ain't no regular wolf… I've heard the legends, but I didn't think there would be any of you this far east…"

The wolf's eyes close and he nudges his head into your side, one again inhaling your scent. You're not sure why he does it, but you don't mind. Hesitantly, you bring your hand up to the wide spot between his ears. You expected his fur to be coarse, but you're wrong. It's soft, like thick layers of silk. Your hand glides over his head, petting his ears while he leans further into you.

"Thank you for the fox." You whisper, smiling sheepishly at the familiar stranger.

Slowly, he turns around, going towards where your saddle blanket is laid out on the ground. He gently takes the serape blanket in his maw, backing up and dragging it with him until he's a bit away from you, hidden in the shadows of some trees. You watch on, confused, turning around a few times to coo to your animals. You can hear some growling, some uncomfortable joint cracking, and then to your surprise, the exasperated groan of a man. Your eyebrows dart up in surprise, and your jaw drops when he steps out of the shadows.

He's the most attractive man you've ever seen. His wolf form is a perfect match to his human form, he has tanned, sun-kissed skin, peppered with freckles. He's covering the lower half of his naked body with the blanket, but it doesn't hide his strong, chiseled chest. Clearly he takes care of himself. His build is muscular and broad. His hair is the same sandy blonde as his wolf's coat, and those eyes, they're just as beautiful now as they are as a wolf's. You don't realize that you're staring until he talks.

"You ain't afraid of me?" He questions, almost unbelieving that you haven't run away yet. His brows knit together just enough for a petite line to make itself evident on his forehead.

"No… you've been nothing but kind and you've helped me. Hell, you coulda ate me." You chuckle.

At the mention of that night, you remember the trap and his injury.

"How's your leg?" You ask. Your eyes move down his right calf and you see a freshly pink, rough scar marking the wound where only two weeks ago he was torn into. No human could ever heal that fast, it must be a werewolf thing.

"S'healed. Got fixed up in no time." He says, drawl low and deep. He moves over towards the fire and sits on the ground, you follow.

"What are you doin' out here anyway? Ain't safe, 'specially not by yourself." He inquires, making sure he's covered with the blanket as he looks to you for an answer.

You're not sure how you know, but you know that you can tell this man the truth. And yet you find yourself hesitating, so instead you rebuttal his question.

"I could ask you the same, mister." You quirk, smiling a bit as Marley trots over to sit by you.

"Well what's your name, then? Finally get to speak to ya, I should know your name" You're shocked that somehow your manners slipped and you forgot to introduce yourself, but the introduction feels… odd. It's like you've known him for years. You tell him your name, to which he smiles, nodding his head like he approves, or is proud of it.

"My name's Arthur Morgan." He chortles. As if the situation isn't indecent enough, you just remember that you have an extra pair of larger clothes from the stolen bag that might fit Arthur perfectly.

"Oh, I have some clothes that might fit you. Don't even bother askin' how I came about these but- should be clean and hopefully your size." You say, standing up and grabbing the stolen saddlebag of clothes. Your boots squish in the wet grass as you bring the bag over to Arthur.

He takes the bag, and with no shame, drops the blanket to the ground.

Oh.

So apparently the part of his body that was earlier covered by the blanket was the best part. You can't help it, and he doesn't mind. You watch as he grabs clothes from the bag. There's a trail of soft brown hair that trickles from his chest hair and dips down to the base of his shaft. You gulp, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to look away from the absolute masterpiece that rests between his legs.

When Arthur is decent, you turn around, cheeks still flushed bright pink from shock and embarrassment. He hands the saddle bag out to you, which you take and toss back towards your saddle on the ground. Both of you glance to the west, realizing that the sun is setting and it will be dark soon.

"I better get goin'. It'll be dark soon…" Arthur whispers, as if there's something he wants to do or say but can't bring himself to. His eyes look to the ground, and he tips his head to you before turning around.

To his surprise, you grab his wrist. The tether between you two grows so strong that it hurts.

"Arthur, please don't go. Why don't you stay the night? Head back to wherever it is you go to in the morning." You practically whimper.

He doesn't even have to think, of course he'll stay, for you he will.

— four hours later —

The night is cold, very cold. The combined effect of your lack of coat and the slowly approaching winter doesn't help. You're curled into the tightest ball you can manage, hugging your knees and shivering. It's miserable, the type of cold that seeps into your bones. Arthur had shifted before laying down for the night, and you can hear his steady breathing behind you. He hasn't slept all night. You've drifted in and out of sleep, but he has stayed awake all night, watching you, protecting you, checking the perimeter a few times.

As soon as you begin to shiver, Arthur stands up. He circles you a few times, whining as if he is debating with himself over something. But as you whimper, miserable from the night's cruel nature, Arthur trots over. He lays at your back, and you practically moan at the relief. Arthur is so warm. You turn around, curling yourself into him. His fur is like the softest blanket you've ever felt, and his body radiates heat. It's cathartic.

"Why are you helpin' me? Bein' so kind?" You whisper, nuzzling your nose into his warm fur.

Arthur presses his wet nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent once again. Just like the first night you met him, the color in his eyes bleeds to red. It's beautiful, and you look into them, curious about the change of color. You can feel that tug in your chest again, it's strong tonight, but you ignore it, pressing yourself into his frame until blissful sleep finally overcomes you.

When you wake up he's gone.

— twelve days later —

Arthur… I saw him up on the ridge above my camp today. I don't know if he runs in a pack, or why in the hell he's so far east, but… he keeps an eye on me. I swear I see those green eyes just beyond the treeline when I fall asleep. I can feel his presence when he's nearby, like something is pulling me to him. I have this drive to be around him in a way that I can't explain, like I need him… but I haven't seen him since that cold night.

You steady your hand, focusing on the old oak tree ahead of you. As you exhale, you release the knife, smiling as it lands directly into the thick trunk of the oak tree.

You trod over to the tree, bending down to pick up the few knives that you've lodged into the tree, and the two that landed on the ground. Marley barks excitedly, and you turn around to find the source.

Arthur…

He steps out of the woods slowly, head held down as he approaches you in his wolf form. He's breathing heavily, as if he was running for a while to get here.

"Been wonderin' why you haven't come to see me. Had me worried some hunter had you mounted on their wall." You joke, reaching out to pet Arthur's head. His eyes slip shut, and he pushes his nose into you, almost roughly, as if he needs this like a starved man. He once again inhales your scent deeply.

It's then that you notice something in his maw. Your eyebrows knit together as you hold out your hand. He opens his mouth, dropping a rolled up piece of paper and a wooden wolf into your hand. You're confused as to why he didn't just tell you whatever it is the note says, but you don't have time to ask as he turns tail and runs away, eyes red.

"Arthur, don't go!" You cry out to no avail.

The buzz in your chest grows as he runs and you ignore the ache, looking down to the items in your hands. The little wooden wolf is beautiful. It's been hand carved from a piece of oak and a knife. Tears well in your eyes as the ache in your chest grows, and you open the note.

I'm sorry. I can't stay around you. It's hard to explain, but it's better if I leave you be. That ache in your chest, like something pulling you? I feel it too, and more than anything, I wanna be with you, but it's not fair for me to do that to you, darlin. ‐ Arthur.

Rivulets of tears run down your cheeks as you sit on the ground, hugging your knees. You've been doing research, stopping into libraries to read books on legends of western wolves and lycanthropes. You've learned how they used to run in large packs, how they were hunted almost to extinction. But most importantly, you learned about their mates.

They can't choose their mates, instead they are pulled together by the moon. You think over the feeling in your chest, how many times you've written about the invisible tether that pulls the two of you to each other.

Is Arthur your mate…?

And if he is, why is he leaving you?

— two weeks later —

The moon is full tonight, and all you can think of is Arthur. You know he'll be out running tonight, and you hope that he comes by. You haven't seen him in weeks, and it's only made your ache to be around him stronger. Maybe the moon will alter his control, drive him to come see you. You’ve been stopping in at libraries in town, sneaking just enough to hide your face from the passerbys. Every book on lycanthropes that you've been able to find has been thoroughly analyzed. You know why he’s hiding. And dammit, if he would just come back you could convince him to stay. You rest a stray leaf in between the pages of your book to mark your page before setting it down on the ground. Marley trots over and you chuckle as he lays down on your bedroll.

It's late, past midnight as you stand up and start to dress down for the night. You’re not worried about wandering eyes, it's dark, and anyone who steps foot in your camp to look will be met with a bullet. You strip your jeans and shirt, standing bare in the grassy opening. You run your fingers through your hair, before reaching onto the ground for a clean shirt. Just as you go to grab the cloth, you hear it. A low, deep, growl resonates from the forest, it’s him. Through the opening in the trees you can see glowing red eyes, and relief washes over you. His crimson orbs are locked into the little wooden wolf that is tied around your neck.

“I know why you left, Arthur, why you think it would be best for me.” You whisper, extending your hand out as Arthur steps out from the woods slowly. His paws are massive, expertly stepping over the terrain as he inches forward.

“I've been reading and learning about wolves… I'm your mate, aren't I?” You say, barely above a whisper. Arthur leans in and licks your collarbone lightly. His eyes are so beautiful, deep red like roses.

“I feel it all the time. It’s like a tether, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You sigh as Arthur just stands there, listening to what you’re saying.

“Be great if I could hear what you’re thinkin’.” You bite a little, irritated that you are always talking but can never hear him.

You watch as he shifts. It's a fluid movement, much more graceful than you would have expected, and in just a few moments he is standing in front of you. His eyes have returned to their soft blue, and you lean in to press your hand against his cheek. Both of you are completely bare before the other, and yet neither of you are uncomfortable. He looks to you with a question.

“You would tie yourself, you would mate to a stranger?” He asks, eyes glowing red for just a moment on the latter half of the sentence. You chuckle at his misconception. Arthur gently takes your wrist in his hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the tender skin on the inside of your wrist. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches in your throat.

“Arthur, you’re not a stranger,” you chuckle, “In this time I’ve known you, you've shown me your character time and time again. I was hungry, cold, alone, and now I’m not.”

You both feel a buzz of electricity run through you, and Arthur groans deeply as he wraps his hands around your soft waist.

“Arthur, I- I need something, but I don’t know what it is. Please-” You moan against him, the tether clouding your mind. He presses his lips to your forehead, gently kissing down your temples.

“I know what you’re feelin’ and I can make it better, but darlin’ you know how this works, right?” He asks, squeezing your hips a little. Something comes over you and you can't feel anything but him, you need him.

“I want to be yours, Arthur.” You mewl, pressing your nose into his chest. Arthur growls so deep, it breaks you out of your trance for a moment. His blue eyes lock onto yours.

“You look at me. Don’t let the bond fog your head, you want this?” He asks, gripping you tightly.

“Yes.” You whisper with more clarity than you’ve ever felt. For the first time in your life, you feel at home. This is where you should be, what you are meant for.

Arthur’s eyes remain locked onto yours as he lifts your wrist up to his lips. Your breath quickens in anticipation as he gently bites down on the side of your wrist.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Suddenly you are whole. You are part of something bigger, you are with him. His other half. Your souls are permanently bonded and you can feel him all around you. You gasp at the raw emotion of it all. The tether between you and him pulls even tighter for a moment before it snaps and releases. There is no need for it anymore, as you are one. Tears fall down your cheeks as you lean up to kiss Arthur. Everything is right when your lips crash together. He moves against you as emotions sweep through you like a wave, crashing and swirling together. He’s yours.

#cowboydisaster #RDRvalentineexchange #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #reader #gn!reader

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rdrevents · 2 years

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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 #21stcenturygworl #arthur morgan #reader #f!reader #arthur morgan x reader

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rdrevents · 2 years

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A Day to Remember

This is a gift for @black-metal-veins, written for the RDR Valentine Exchange hosted by @rdrevents.

Prompt: Kieran’s birthday comes around maybe. He kinda mentions it offhand and Arthur (as well as Charles if u wanna do polycule) weirdly feels bad because apparently Kieran's never done anything fun for his birthday like ever so he brings Kieran on a date to give him the BEST BIRTHDAY EVER. Can include 18+ content if you want and result in the best birthday SEX ever but doesn't have to. Mostly just funny light fluff.

Rating: General Audiences

Word count: 1.5k words

Ship: Kieran Duffy/Arthur Morgan/Charles Smith

Summary: When Charles and Arthur learn that Kieran has never celebrated his birthday before, they become determined to give their partner the best birthday ever.

Fic under the cut. Or read on ao3.

Kieran sits by the campfire, deep in thought, and startles when Charles sits down beside him. He turns his head, fixing his lover with a nervous smile. “O-Oh, hello, Charles.”

“Is something on your mind?” Charles asks. “You’ve been sat here for a while.”

“Oh, um, sorry about that…”

“It wasn’t a complaint,” Charles says. “Just an observation. Honest.”

Relaxing a little (Charles and Arthur are wonderful partners, but Kieran can’t help but jump or worry sometimes, reminded of his time with the O’Driscolls, or how he first joined this gang), Kieran sighs shakily. “I, um… I just realized it’s my… birthday next week.”

Kieran knows that birthdays are meant to be about celebration, giving gifts to the person, and having fun, but… they have never been like that for him. When he was a boy, nobody had the time nor money to celebrate that day, and as he got older, Kieran stopped bothering to tell people about it, because they never seemed to care. So, when he speaks to Charles, part of Kieran expects to be brushed off, because that is how it always goes, but…

“Really? I didn’t know that.” Charles puts a hand on Kieran’s knee, giving him a handsome smile as he says, “Is there anything specific you want us to get you?”

For a moment, Kieran just stares at him. And then heat rushes to his face and he splutters, “You… you wanna do that? For me?”

“Of course, I do.” Charles studies him, his smile fading. “Kieran… when was the last time you celebrated your birthday?”

“Um… n-never, really, I guess…”

Something flashes across Charles’ face, and Kieran soon realizes that his lover feels… bad for him.

“Really?” Charles says. “Oh, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. It ain’t important.”

“Yeah, it is.” Not caring that Sean and Lenny sit on the other side of the campfire (although given how they currently sit with their sides pressed together, Sean’s head on Lenny’s shoulder as Lenny reads aloud, Charles knows that those two won’t have an issue with what he does), Charles kisses Kieran’s cheek. “We’re gonna celebrate your birthday, Mister Duffy.”

“Well… if you’re sure,” Kieran mumbles, but his chest flutters.

“I’m sure. And I know Arthur will agree.” Kissing Kieran again, Charles whispers, “We’ll give you a day to remember. I promise.”

---

When Arthur learns about Kieran never having a good birthday, he reacts just like Charles—only with more swearing. And, just as Charles expected, Arthur agrees immediately to give their lover a perfect birthday for the first time in his life. So, over the following week, they work out their plan to give Kieran a special day.

First off, they work out what gifts to give him. Kieran’s two favorite things in the world (other than Arthur and Charles, of course) are fishing and Branwen, so it seems obvious what to theme his birthday presents on. Arthur and Charles are familiar with the Trapper who seems to be found everywhere all at once, and they both frequently sell him pelts and skins (or, in Arthur’s case, trade the rare pelts for some truly bizarre items of clothing), and when they remember that the Trapper sells custom saddles, they get the idea at the same time (although Arthur jokingly insists it was him who had the idea first, which makes Charles roll his eyes and chuckle).

Arthur suggests that Kieran would love the design of an alligator skin saddle, so, they head into the Bayou west of Saint Denis, and hunt alligators until they find a perfect skin. It’s a lengthy, dangerous trip, and at one point Arthur ends up filthy when his horse panics and bucks him, sending Arthur tumbling into the mud, but it’s worth it to get a gift for their lover. They deliver the gator skin to the Trapper in Saint Denis, prepared to return a few days later to pick it up, and then ride back to Clemens Point.

On their way back to camp, they ride through a settlement called Lagras, where Arthur once bought a fishing lure to help him catch a so-called legendary fish south of Clemens Point. Grinning at Charles, Arthur dismounts and hurries to the small shop, where he buys a set of special lures for fishing in rivers, swamps, and lakes. He grins smugly at Charles, who just sighs, but he must agree it makes another great gift.

When they return to camp, they lie to Kieran about where they were, needing to keep the specific nature of his gifts a surprise. And Arthur, for one, can’t wait for the big day, desperate to see Kieran so happy.

---

Today is his birthday, and one of the happiest days of Kieran’s life. For the first time in months, he slept late into the morning (he later learned that Arthur and Charles insisted on covering Kieran’s chores so he could have a lie-in), waking up refreshed. Then his lovers rushed over to greet him the moment he stepped out of their shared tent, wishing him a happy birthday and kissing him. An overwhelmed Kieran then found himself visited by several gang members, because it turned out that not only had his lovers told the gang about Kieran’s birthday, but… some of them were even kind enough to give him gifts.

Mary-Beth presented him with a beautiful red neckerchief that she worked hard to make for him in the week since Kieran told Arthur and Charles about his birthday. It even had his initials embroidered into the corner, and Kieran flushed redder than the neckerchief when Charles insisted he wears it. Hours later, it’s still around his neck. Then Lenny and Sean handed him a new grooming brush for Branwen, and even Bill gave Kieran a bottle of whiskey—a posh bottle that probably cost several dollars.

But the best present came from Charles and Arthur. As Kieran hurried across camp to brush Branwen and place the grooming brush in his saddlebag, he stopped dead, staring at Branwen in confusion. Because his horse wore a new saddle, made of alligator skin and clearly brand new. It looked incredibly well made, and Kieran couldn’t understand where it came from, even though it was obvious.

Thankfully, Charles explained it to him. Walking up to Kieran and feeding Branwen a peppermint, he said, “It’s a birthday present. From Arthur and I.”

“It’s… amazin’,” Kieran said, stunned. “That ain’t from a stable, right?”

“Sure ain’t,” Arthur added, putting a hand on Kieran’s back. “We bought it from the Trapper. Went huntin’ for a gator skin good enough for him to work with.”

“Y-You went huntin’ for dangerous animals… just to get me a saddle?” Slowly, a smile spread across his face. Not caring that gang members could see, Kieran lunged to hug Charles, and then Arthur. “That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

“No problem,” Arthur said, kissing him.

“We wanted somethin’ special for you,” Charles explained.

Arthur grinned. “But we ain’t done yet. If you’re ready to go, mount up. We’re takin’ you fishin’ today.”

“Really?” Kieran said. It had been ages since the last time Arthur went fishing with him, and Charles had never joined them (Charles prefers hunting instead of fishing, but Kieran can’t hunt), and the idea that his partners wanted to join him for his favorite pastime… it made Kieran’s grin widen. “O-Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

Charles smiled, patting Kieran’s shoulder. “Right then. Let’s get going.”

So, Kieran mounted his horse and followed his partners out of camp.

And that brings him back to now, hitching Branwen to a tree along the northern shore of Flat Iron Lake, and fetching his fishing rod. Arthur and Charles do the same, but as Kieran reaches for his lake lure, Arthur stops him by shoving a small, wrapped package into his hand.

“What’s this?” Kieran asks.

Glancing at Charles, Arthur says, “Another gift, obviously.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, we are,” Charles says.

Kieran blinks, stunned by all the kindness. But he nods and carefully peels the wrapping paper off the package, revealing a small, flat box. When he opens it, Kieran finds himself staring at three intricate, beautifully made fishing lures.

“These are for me?” he says, raising his head. Both his partners smile back at him.

“Who else’d they be for?” Arthur says. “Course they’re for you. Happy birthday, darlin’.”

The pet name making him blush (but he loves it), Kieran stammers as he says, “U-Uh, thank you, A-Arthur. Both of you. This is… so nice. I…” He trails off, sighing, not sure what to say. In the end, he says again, “Thank you.”

“No problem, sweetheart,” Charles says, also using a nickname that makes Kieran go weak at the knees. “I told you it would be a day to remember, didn’t I?”

“Y-Yeah, you did,” Kieran says, beaming at them both. They haven’t even gone fishing yet, and today is already incredible.

In fact, Kieran knows that he’ll remember today for the rest of his life.

#RDRvalentineexchange #anautisticwriter #kieran duffy #arthur morgan #Charles Smith #arthur morgan x kieran duffy #arthur morgan x charles smith #charles smith x kieran duffy #arthur morgan x charles smith x kieran duffy

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rdrevents · 2 years

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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.

#RDRvalentineexchange #12timetraveler #hosea matthews #reader #gn!reader #hosea x reader

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rdrevents · 2 years

Text

Sick Again

This is my @rdrevents Valentine's Day exchange fic for @trippin-over-my-fandoms

Also on AO3. Hope you like it.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Sadie Adler

Rating: T

Summary: Canon divergence. Sadie and Charles go back for Arthur and nurse him back to health.

Breathing one last time, Arthur looked toward the horizon, content with all he had done. He closed his eyes, ready to embrace death.

He expected to see light, that’s what people always said, but this light didn’t seem heavenly (or hellish-truth be told, Arthur didn’t really believe in either concepts, but if he did, he reckoned he’d be hell bound with the life he led) to him. It seemed, well, like normal, sunlight. But that couldn’t be possible. He was dead. He had tuberculosis. He got shot at and had TB and was supposed to die on top of that mountain having gotten John and his family out of the gang.

“I think he’s waking up, Sadie,” a familiar masculine voice said. Charles? And what was that about Sadie?

“Oh shit,” a feminine voice-presumably Sadie-said in response. He heard movement.

He slowly opened his eyes to see his friends and former fellow gang members hovering over him.

“What the hell is going on here?” he croaked, voice weak from disuse and also TB.

He tried to sit up, but the pair of them promptly gently but firmly shoved him back down.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Sadie scolded. “You need to rest. You’ve been out for two weeks!”

“Two weeks? What…?” Arthur failed to grasp what she was saying to him.

“And you’re still recovering from your tuberculosis,” Charles added.

“Will you at least tell me what the hell is going on here?” Arthur snapped. He didn’t mean to be rude to two of his closest friends who clearly risked their lives to bring him here-wherever ‘here’ was-and nurse him to health, but he needed to know how and why. “I’m supposed to be dead for Christ’s sake!”

Sadie sighed. “Of course we will, Arthur. We know you have a shit ton of questions. But you need to get at least a semblance of strength back up.”

Charles brought a glass of water to Arthur’s lips. “Drink, Arthur, and then we’ll tell you everything.”

Arthur sipped the water obediently.

Sadie sighed. “Alright, so I decided to go back for you. Or your body, if it came down to it. Some Pinkertons were still swarming, but I took care of them, don’t worry.”

Two weeks earlier…

Sadie knew that coming back to camp wasn’t the most brilliant idea she ever had, and it could very well get her killed by Pinkertons still roaming the area looking for signs of Micah and Dutch, but she didn’t care. She had to see Arthur…or at least retrieve his body.

She quickly and deftly took down any stray Pinkertons in her way luckily for her, there were no more than two or three at a time. The rest was busy trying to track down Micah and Dutch.

She made her way up the mountain. A lone Pinkerton popped out from behind a large rock, but Sadie easily had her knife buried in his throat before he could draw his gun on her.

She kept on and only stopped when she saw Arthur’s body lying on the ground, motionless. She rushed to him, crouching. Checking for a pulse, Sadie sighed in relief as she realized Arthur was still alive, barely. He wouldn’t be for long if she didn’t do anything.

She frowned. Arthur was not a light man. Getting him off this mountain and onto her horse would not be an easy task.

“What are you doing here, Sadie?” a familiar male voice asked. Sadie looked up at Charles, surprised.

“I could ask you the same question, Charles,” she countered.

“I came to retrieve Arthur’s body,” he said. “He wanted to be buried facing west.”

“He’s not dead, Charles,” she said. “I checked.”

“He will be. He’s not long for it, that’s what he said.”

“We could still save him,” Sadie insisted. “Take him out west, to New Austin. He could live a while out there.”

“I…,” Charles started to say, then stopped. “Okay.”

Present Day

“We’re in New Austin?” Arthur croaked. They nodded in response. “Where do we go from here? I mean, I’m supposed to be dead so the Pinkertons will probably not be looking for me. So what now?”

“Now you rest. You ain’t fit to do even housework. But when you get better, we’ll discuss where we go from here.”

Arthur groaned. He wasn’t much used to being bedridden for long periods of time; even after getting captured and tortured by the O’Driscolls, he was up and moving after a few days.

“Oh, don’t give me that. Not like you’re going to be continuin’ on how you was before.”

Arthur shrugged. It was true enough. His outlaws days were well and truly dead, even if he himself wasn’t.

“We won’t leave you, Arthur, don’t worry,” Charles reassured him.

Arthur felt a tad better knowing that two of his closest friends were looking out for him.

“Well, thanks, I guess. I just don’t understand why you’d waste time on me.”

“Oh, hush,” Sadie scowled. “We’re friends. I know you’d do the same for us. Anyway, it ain’t like we got much else to do.”

So that’s how it went for the next few weeks, with Sadie and Charles taking care of them. They took turns watching over him, making sure he gets all the food and water he needed.

One night, after weeks of this, Arthur, sitting up, looked at Sadie, who was perched o a chair next to his bed.

He did this for several minutes before Sadie noticed. She arched an eyebrow.

“There somethin’ on my face?” she asked.

Arthur shook his head. “No, I’m just amazed you all went to all this trouble just to save me. You should’ve just moved on.”

She scowled. “This again? I told you, we wanted to do this.”

“I know, I know. It just…doesn’t feel like it was worth it to me.”

Sadie’s face softened. “’Course you are. We’re friends, it ain’t no trouble. I…like being here with you.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “I…really?”

She nodded. “I been thinkin’, we been friends a while. I don’t know where this would lead us, maybe it’d work out, maybe it wouldn’t-I’m willin’ to give it a shot either way.”

“Give what a chance?” Arthur asked.

“This,” Sadie answered, before giving Arthur a kiss.

Arthur’s eyes widened, but eventually closed as he leaned into the kiss.

When they broke apart for air, Arthur looked at her in awe.

“Why did you do that? Not that I’m complaining, but…”

“I’ve wanted to do that a while. I didn’t realize it, though, until I found you still alive.” “Oh, good,” he responded, before kissing her again.

#RDRvalentineexchange #arthur morgan x sadie adler #arthur morgan #sadie adler #antifavanderlinde

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