#RDR2 Fan Fic

[rivetingrosie4]

Sweet Love (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 3)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for the edit above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Arthur & reader visit the doctor’s office to see their baby for the first time. Some thoughtless rudeness threatens to derail their happy day. a/n: It’s just imaginary. It’s not real.

Tags: fluff without plot, fluff & angst, romantic fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Arthur, parenthood, mentions of sex, romantic teasing

Word count: 4,250

The paper underneath you rustles as you swing and bounce both feet at the edge of the exam bed by your ankles; but you can’t help it. Never in your wildest dreams did you actually think you’d ever get here.

Yet here you are, with Arthur by your side, filled past the brim with the most effervescent sparkles of nerves and anticipation. To actually see your baby. Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. No one else’s. The product of your deep and steadfast love. After so very many, many years of so deeply pining, watching almost everyone around you know the precious gifts of their own children and parenthood, it’s finally your turn. Finally. It’s almost too much to hope for and be grateful for, all at once. You never thought you’d ever get here.

Where you lie waiting in the sterile obstetrics room, you glance to look at Arthur. He’s clad in a blue and green plaid lumberjack’s soft flannel. And he’s filled with just as high a mound of bubbly nerves as you—some of the same, but some of a different kind. Anxiety and excitement, longing and terror, all stirred to the beautiful hue of Arthur Morgan’s heart, the only one you know so well. You can tell by the way he labors to silently breathe in, holds it a beat, and purses his lips to produce protruding cheeks as he silently releases, so you might not hear it. By the way he shoves his fingers back through his honey-chestnut locks. By the way he taps the sole of his black leather boot—the pair with the classic western flourish above the toe that you love so much—against the floor’s shining white tile.

You bite your lip against a growing grin and reach to slip your fingers into the natural pocket created by the web of his relaxed hand.

At the contact, he glances to you, and his face immediately relaxes into a knowing smile, eased by familiarity, love, and the renewed comfort you gift to him. His large hand clasps around yours, and his thumb brushes your skin. You join him in a growing smile as you hold onto him right back.

Suddenly there's a knock on the exam room door, and as it opens, all at once the resting butterflies in your belly are spurred to fluttery life again.

You look to the door and sit upright, taking a shallow breath and gently holding it as the doctor walks in. He’s a somewhat older gentleman with graying brown hair.

“Here we are. Good m—” He tilts his wrist and glances at his silver watch. “Well I guess it’s not morning anymore. Sorry to keep you folks waiting.” He sits on a round stool with a black cushion, and its wheels sound out across the tile as he rolls it closer. “I’m Doctor Kellerman. Good to meet you.” He takes your hand by only the fingers and shakes it, then shakes Arthur’s. In the next moment, he’s glancing down to the paperwork on his clipboard. “How we feeling today?”

It takes you a split moment to put into practice the knowledge that you’re the reason everyone in the room is here.

“Oh! I’m feeling fine,” you smile at his downcast face, since he hasn’t looked up from your chart. Your hand instinctively slides forward to rest on your belly, though it doesn’t look much bigger than usual, with the flab you store there. “Fit as I’ve ever been,” you airily chuckle. Looking to Arthur at your side, you smirk. “We’ve been staying as active as we ever were, or maybe even more so.”

“Yeah, it’s been more,” Arthur quietly mumbles with a chuckle in confirmation.

“Getting outside, and eating all the leafy greens, and…takin’ naps when I need to,” you chuckle as if you’ve made a fine joke. “I even got him to do stretches with me every morning!”

The doctor glances up with a genuine smile. “That’s great to hear.” Just as soon, his eyes return to your chart. “I see your last period was…”

“January thirty-first,” you finish for him.

“Ahhh… Valentine’s baby, eh?”

You fight not to warm as you steal a glance at Arthur with a pinched smile. “Guess so.”

“You’ve been trying many years?”

“Just about a year and a half.”

“Thirteen weeks…” he says as he flips a page back and forth, then looks up at you. “You’re in a little later than we usually like.”

As he glances back down, you clarify, “Yes, this was the very soonest they could get us in for our first appointment.”

“I see…” he mumbles.

“But we cleared our schedules for whatever they could give us, the very soonest,” you add, looking to Arthur for a nod, then back to the doctor. “We’re takin’ this baby very seriously. Doin’ everything we can to keep ‘em healthy and happy.”

“That’s great,” he responds with a smile as he finally claps the chart closed and returns it to the counter. “Seems like you’ve got the right mentality,” he says as he turns to wash his hands at the sink. “Keeping yourself as healthy as you can be is a great place to start.”

“Oh yes,” you smile. “I’ve been reading up on everything I can, researching, even watching YouTube videos.” You suddenly gasp a little in excitement. “I saw this one lady on there, she’s always been an avid hiker—and, well, we love to hike too,” you glance to Arthur, whose smirk gradually grows to a grin in conjunction with your eager babbling, though it’s unknown to you after you’ve returned your gaze to the doctor. “And she captures these beautiful videos of her hikes. And now she’s seven months pregnant and still hiking! I could hardly believe it. Of course, she doesn’t manage the big, tasking hikes. And she never ever goes alone!” you assure the doctor. “But because she’s been taking it slow and steady, she’s still hiking! At seven months!��

You grin as you finish your story, though the doctor’s back is still turned to you. “I just think it’s so wonderful. I’d love to be able to do that. Do you think I’ll be able to do that, doctor? Take gentle hikes at seven months?”

“Uh… Maybe ten years ago. But with a geriatric first-time pregnancy?” He tips his head as he switches on the ultrasound machine. “Probably not.”

Just like that, you feel as icy as the vast and empty planes of snow you had experienced with the gang in Colter, some years ago now. The high, craggy ridgelines you’d squinted at from above your wool-lined collar, their peaks untouched by anything but the flakes that fell and gathered in the tors and the winds that yowled and whistled.

Your smile from moments ago softly falters, and your brows slowly pinch up tight. But you fight hard to keep your staggered smile as the tears rush to your eyes.

What was there you could have ever done? How had it ever been a circumstance you’d had any power over, whatsoever? How had it ever been a gift you could manufacture from nothing? If it had been, you would have seized it years ago. How many years had you ached, your hope dwindling as your age grew? And did all those years now mean nothing? How often, how continuously, how deeply had you longed for love of your very own with a partner and children of your own; had longed for just one chance to jump at? Just one single chance? But hadn’t life kept it all far away from you, so far, for so very long?

It was life, nothing but life—this thing that has always simultaneously coursed through you and encased you in its cruel, clamp-like vise. Like a vital coffin.

As Arthur watches you, he recognizes the graciousness and understanding of your trying to maintain a smile through your depth of feeling and hurt, not wanting to be as fragile as you think yourself to be. He knows you to be strong.

It’s why he has to reel back his fury for a few moments, containing it to the single, elongated exhale from his nostrils as he leans toward you across the armrest of your exam bed and gently takes your hands.

Reaching for a box of gloves on the wall, the doctor asks, “You don’t have any allergies to latex or any cosmetic ingredients that you know of, do you?”

You quietly splutter and gulp as you shake your head and muster a calm, normally-toned, “No.”

Another knock on the door.

“Come on in,” the doctor says.

The nurse who brought you back to the room enters.

“They’re wanting to know if or when they need to set her up with an appointment for a future ultrasound,” she says directly to the doctor.

“Oh sure,” the doctor says, beginning to flip a big calendar on his desk as he waves the nurse closer. He murmurs to her in very quiet tones: “It’s advanced maternal age with high risk, elderly primigravida, so we’re gonna wanna do another in about three months.”

You have no recourse but to silently, slowly breathe through an open mouth and swallow repeatedly past the lump in your throat, as your smile finally disappears in full. But Arthur couldn’t be more spellbound or enchanted as he watches the tears remain clung to your eyes, not one trickling down your beautiful cheeks.

“Possibly one additional,” the doctor continues his discussion with the nurse, completely oblivious to the inner struggle to prevail that he’s spurred in you, that no one but Arthur knows you’re conquering. “But we’ll wait to see how the next ultrasound goes, and if both are healthy, she won’t need another.” He points to a square on the calendar. “Barring other appointments, why don’t we do this day?”

The nurse nods and retreats through the door, closing it behind her.

“We’ll have to do abdominal, rather than vaginal, since you’re further along than usual for the first ultrasound,” the doctor says. “All right,” he sighs as he turns to you with a grin. “Ready to get started?”

He’s greeted with your puffy, red eyes that look everywhere else and Arthur’s white-hot, enraged glare, trained dead-center on his forehead. And his smile slides off his face.

The legs of Arthur’s chair squeak against the tile as he abruptly stands. He can’t even be bothered to attempt a kindly mask to hide his fury.

“Doc,” he begins, managing an easy and lighthearted tone for the address that somehow seems more menacing when combined with his fatal expression as he turns him and walks him toward the door. “Why don’t you and I have a little chat.” The terse word is tart and clipped on his tongue. “Out in the hall.”

You watch Arthur’s tall, broad form disappear when he pulls the door closed behind him.

You sit alone in the exam room, waiting.

A few unintelligible words, low and quiet—Arthur’s voice, muffled.

Then the wall is hit hard with something and rattles. Before it can finish shaking, there’s a new acerbic sharpness in Arthur’s raised, growly tone.

You must’ve gasped and jumped a little, and your damp eyelashes still blink with the sudden shock. You might’ve even made out the sound of a panicked, huffed grunt in the midst of whatever happened on the other side of the wall.

After a moment, the image comes to you, very vividly: Arthur suddenly taking the doctor by the collar of his white coat and ramming him up against the wall with a few deadly words, a stern snarl to his lip, and a feral look in his eye.

A prickly, chilled mingling of emotions washes over you—amazement, disbelief, even a bit of near-horrified abashment, and worry that Arthur will receive unfavorable legal repercussions. But there are a few emotions that stand above the others, though you’d initially struggled to decipher their shape and quality. The wondrous stirrings of the deepest love. The warm and enveloping sensations of being protected and cared for. Even desire.

The tiniest twitch of a smile flicks onto one corner of your mouth.

There are several minutes more of quiet—during which your thoughts start to return to the horrendous notion that Arthur could be apprehended for assaulting the doctor—before the door finally reopens and Arthur reappears.

His caustic expression from minutes ago is wiped away. His smile is easy. Relaxed, even. Void of a hint of tenseness or concern.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Sorry we took a while.”

At the sight of him, and knowing at least part of what he’s done, your mouth quirks and tightens into the kind of little smile you know you shouldn’t be wearing.

As he walks towards you, a slight lean to the side gives you the vantage point to see none other than a completely different, female doctor towing behind him.

Her grin is bright, buoyant, and—somehow, given the circumstances—even completely authentic and natural. Uncoerced.

As Arthur settles in close beside you again, you mumble very quietly from the side of your mouth, “I sincerely hope there won’t be any arrests today…?”

“Nothin’ to worry about, just take it easy and look at the screen,” he mumbles between his teeth in a light, wry tone.

You stifle a chortle behind your nose, imagining what possible kinds of threats Arthur could’ve employed, how dreadfully terrified to his core the doctor must’ve been to not only allow a switch of caregivers, but to willingly and practically forget the whole incident.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Mahajan,” she says warmly, extending a hand. Her handshake is full and comforting in its grasp. “I’ll be conducting your ultrasound today. And before we get started, I want to let you know that, should you remain healthy and well into your third trimester, and should you feel up to it, there’s no reason you couldn’t enjoy healthy activities such as gentle outdoor hikes.”

Like a kid who’s just opened up a new toy, your grin widens as you look at Arthur. His knowing grin is better than a snuggly blanket as he gazes at you and nods once with a wink.

“Always accompanied, of course,” the doctor smiles with a gesture towards Arthur. When she looks back to you, your gaze is pulled to hers in an effort to give polite attention. “You’ve got a good one here, Mrs. Morgan.”

You immediately turn back to Arthur with a warm, enamored, affectionate smile.

Noting the enraptured, desirous way you both gaze at each other right there in the middle of the exam room, the doctor is reminded of something.

“Oh, and um,” she begins, bringing a finger to her lips as if in thought, “another healthy activity during pregnancy is lovemaking.”

You immediately turn to look at her with and inward breath, your smile momentarily wiped away. As an airy laugh comes to you, the others are given reign to chuckle. Chancing a glance at Arthur, you try to hide the smile appearing on your mouth by curling your lips inward and pinching down on them tightly with your teeth.

Arthur is leaned back casually in his chair, his forearm resting over his thigh. When you catch sight of the look on his face—a subtle mixture of gratification and mischievousness all veiled by an attempt at nonchalance—a thought crosses your mind. But it’s too silly to be real.

Then when he meets your eye and fails to prevent the rising smirk at the corner of his lips, you outright gasp.

“You didn’t tell her to say that.”

When he wheezes, you swat him, and he sits up with a snicker.

The doctor chuckles pleasantly. “He may’ve asked me to remind you, but it doesn’t change the truth of it.” While you’re busy continuing to playfully swat him and listening to his snickering that you adore, the doctor continues, “It increases blood flow, stimulates activity inside the womb, lowers blood pressure…” she rattles off, “and keeps you two close, which’ll be very important during such a big life change.”

“There now. Did you hear the good doctor?” Arthur says, trying to force the mirth on his face to smooth. “I’ve got a bonafide prescription to sex you up.”

Though you can’t help but giggle, you keep it murmured low and quiet, like simmering, scratch-made strawberry jam in the base of your throat. “Shh-shh,” you try to quietly scold him.

“I’ve reviewed your chart, so let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh yes, please!” you return your attention to the doctor.

After gloving up, Doctor Mahajan flips on the ultrasound computer to your right. She asks you to lift your blouse and unbutton your jeans, and she squirts a chilly gel to your belly. You watch as she gently presses the transducer into the gel on your belly, turning and rolling it over your skin.

Your and Arthur’s gazes are transfixed to the screen as fuzzy, meaningless blotches of black and white suddenly play across it. You both simultaneously scramble to reach for each other’s hands, clasping tightly to each other as Arthur takes a full breath and slowly releases it.

The moment you have been waiting for your whole life. Now somehow finally, suddenly here.

The smudgy noise on the screen clears, and there’s your baby. Curled and caressed inside you. Precious and brilliant and beautiful.

Your breath is whisked away. Speechless and taken completely by incredulousness, you turn to look at Arthur with drawn brows. He tries to chuckle to play off his awe, but his breath is caught too.

“There we are,” the doctor quietly says. “Baby Morgan.”

Your gaze is arrested by your baby on the screen. The swooping slope of the curve of their head, ending in a little button for a nose. Arms and legs and feet.

“This fluttery bit here,” the doctor gestures to a point flapping swiftly in the midst of their chest, visually different from everything else. “Baby’s heart.”

Your bottom lip drapes wistfully open, and your eyes are glued as you take in every moment.

“Oh, see, they’re turning on their side, turning back,” the doctor smiles as baby’s limbs disappear for a moment and reappear. “It’s a little too early to tell the baby’s sex, but we should be able to see at your next appointment.”

She takes multiple measurements from head to rump on the screen, to verify your baby’s age and due date.

When the baby appears to give a few little kicks, the three of you quietly chuckle.

“Baby’s brain and sensory input are developing, so this is just a way for them to become more aware of their own body and their environment,” she explains. “It’s a little early now, but you’ll be feeling that before you know it.”

Reaching for a button on the keypad, she says with a reassuring nod, “I’m going to give you about ten seconds of audible heart rate, just to limit the amount of waves baby’s exposed to this early.”

When you both nod, she presses the button. A loud, quick wub-wub fills the room.

You take a breath and whisper, “Oh my God,” looking to Arthur with a faint smile.

Arthur is mystified. A single breathy laugh escapes him, but his expression is totally awestruck.

“Baby’s heart is very robust and healthy,” the doctor smiles.

And yet, Arthur’s is weak. Trembling with trepidation like stalks of overgrown sweet grass swept by ferociously rolling fetches. They have their anchor of earth to cling to. What does he have?

He gazes at the screen, into his baby’s current world of warm womb and peaceful, pocketed embrace. He watches his baby wiggle and kick, each movement so vibrantly charged. He lets his gaze trace his baby’s perfectly precious outline, the slope of their forehead and nose, the flutter of their strong heart. And he is a goner.

It doesn’t matter that he’s petrified his baby could be torn from him again. It doesn’t matter that he’s nervous he’ll screw everything up. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure neither happens. He’ll do whatever needs to be done. He’s ready to dive headfirst into the risk of pain and heartache. Because in an instant, he’s been filled—overwhelmed and overtaken—with enrapturing love. Too big to grasp, too deep and beautiful and mysterious to have edges. A love that calls to attention and demands eager and ardent self-sacrifice. A love that somehow carries with it equal measures of unbridled, airy giddiness and heavy weight. A love that somehow nails to the beams of a parent’s life both an assured unworthiness and a boundless, indescribable gratefulness.

Because he is already so desperately, limitlessly in love with his child. Your child. Together.

You turn to the screen again and watch your baby move and bow and kick.

Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. You’re not watching a video of someone else’s baby. You’re not dreaming and imagining. This is your baby. Your. Baby.

In these few instants that seem like hours, the face of your whole world and life and being have eclipsed and shifted. You’re completely overwhelmed. With love and joy—not at all more than what you have for Arthur, but different. It fills and quickens and overtakes you. So much that it almost hurts. So deep and resounding that it propels a new purpose and a new drive within you. So sweet and so precious that if you’d been standing, it undoubtedly would’ve brought you all the way to your knees.

“Baby.” You breathe it as you reach out and touch the flat surface of the screen, swiping your fingertips over the outlines and substance of your child’s precious form.

The culmination of your life’s dearest, deepest hopes and dreams and desperate longings. The manifestation of your and Arthur’s love. There, on the screen. But not on the screen.

“Oh-” You chuckle at yourself and sniffle as you bring your hand to your belly, above where the transducer meets your skin. For the screen only shows you what you can’t see inside.

Inside you.

Of all people, you. Finally you. Finally, your very own baby.

Arthur can almost read your thoughts as he watches your eyes redden and your face crumple like newspaper, sift like sand. And now, there are your tears. Overflowing and pouring down your cheeks in flooded streams. Not one allowed for the asinine doctor; whole oceans given for your child.

God, how he loves you. Didn’t think he could possibly love you any more, and yet, here it is. You are his anchor. He doesn’t need any other. And he is yours.

Wordless, you gasp and sputter and hiccup as the tears flow down both sides of your face in rivulets, dripping one after the other from your jaw.

Arthur thumbs the back of your hand, not offering you a tissue or requiring you to stop or hide your tears. He understands.

It’s another few minutes of enjoying your baby’s tumbling movements on the screen, before your tears finally slow and dry.

When you approach the jeep in the parking lot, you’re still awed and glowing with it, and almost wracked to fatigue by its powerfully engulfing wave—this love.

As you slip your hand into the jeep’s door handle, your thoughts turn to the man you love just as much, if not more. You couldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow your heart has expanded to accommodate all this added and immeasurable love.

Arthur bought the hunter green jeep as soon as he’d found out you were pregnant. ‘More of a family car,’ he’d said. Of course, that was nine weeks ago, and the jeep has already seen plenty of proper use—the splashes of dark mud above its tires from rugged, off-road terrain a clear sign of that.

You both climb up into your seats and fall into a natural rhythm of quiet breath after the jingle of the keys when Arthur leaves them in the ignition.

He looks over at you and watches your stunning face as you gaze forward, contentedly and placidly lost in your thoughts. To him, you’re made even more pricelessly, sweetly beautiful by the person you are.

“‘M proud of you,” he quietly muses.

You look back at him and start to smile. Out of all the things he could say first, that’s what he’s chosen.

“That was our baby,” he says, the low gravel in his voice now silken. “Just…”

“Amazing,” you say together.

You nod with a misty smile and gaze down at your belly before gazing forward through the windshield again.

He reaches for your hand and brings it to his mouth. “I’m gonna take you home and make sweet,” he presses a kiss to the segments of your fingers, “sweet,” another kiss to your fingers, “sweet love to you.” With that, he kisses the back of your hand. “Mama.”

You simply turn to look at him with a growing, winsome smile. His eyes flit up to yours in the midst of a kiss. It’s the very first time in your life anyone has ever called you that.

“All day and all night. And you best just get used to it.” He gently returns your hand to the seat and starts the car.

Your smile brightens to radiant.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says with the glint of a wink. “Doctor’s orders.”

[zae-plays]

Chiaroscuro

Summary: You're very fond of silk scarfs and Arthur Morgan. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,555 Tags: fluff, developing relationship, Horseshoe Overlook, kissing, affection

a/n: It's been 10 years since I've written and published any type of fiction, so I'm a bit out of my comfort zone. Also learned that they mostly used "scarfs" instead of "scarves" in the 20th century so I wrote accordingly. Let me know if you enjoy; thanks for reading!

( ´˘ᴗ˘)♡(´ ❥ `✿)

chiaroscuro: an Italian term used in art to describe the contrast between light and dark, often associated with dramatic lighting.

You let yourself indulge in one of the few simple pleasures you could afford: silk scarfs. Your clothing trunk was full of them; they were light and didn’t take up a lot of space, something you had to think about in your line of work. The often patterned and bright pieces of fabric were soft and delicate, two things you frequently wished you could be if your life had gone differently. You didn’t want to admit it, but you cared about looking pretty. You didn’t like to go out of your way to style your hair or put on makeup daily, so you settled on scarfs. Still, you didn’t feel like you were easily noticed, like Mary Beth or Molly, but you’d caught the attention of the only one you’d care to, Arthur Morgan. 

Arthur had started to notice your growing collection. He invariably knew when you were wearing a new one, always taking the time to acknowledge it. “New scarf?” He’d ask with his brows raised, or “That’s a nice one.” Sometimes, he’d tease you, “We’re gonna have to get you a whole wagon for all those scarfs.” More seriously, he had started complimenting you, “looks mighty fine, miss,” he’d say, tilting his hat. You’d flush and thank him shyly, and the two of you would go about your separate ways.

Then, the cowboy started seeking you out in the mornings, leaning casually against the wagon where your clothing trunk and scarfs were stored. The two of you would share small talk while you picked out your scarf for the day. He would smile and nod in approval of your choice, no matter what it was, and then he was gone again, disappearing like a whisper in the wind. Once, he leaned over you, grabbed a specific scarf from the pile, and held it out, “That one’s my favorite,” he’d say, making you work to maintain your composure when you were beaming inside. 

After a week or two, your communication was much less vocal. It was intense eye contact and shy smiles and nods. He’d silently look through your scarfs, pick one, and wrap it around your neck for you. He seemed so confident in the moment but would scratch his chin and look away right after, finding some excuse to swiftly depart. His sudden lack of confidence embarrassed him, but you found it endearing.

Finally, the tension had built. Arthur was wrapping your scarf around you like he’d started to do, and you grabbed onto his hands as he finished tying the knot. Both of you paused, staring intently at one another. You lifted up on your toes just as he bent to reach you. It was hard to say who kissed who first, but you’d never been kissed so gently and tender. You wondered if you’d made him want to be that way-- gentle and tender, words no one would usually use to describe the outlaw. You could’ve kissed him forever, but you had to breathe, and he had a job to do. But you’d been giddy, and your heart would flutter whenever he was around; it also ached for the following day when you’d have your moment with him again. 

Some mornings, he’d be there waiting before you’d even gotten completely dressed, still in your shift and bloomers from the night before. He’d hand you a metal cup of coffee, and you’d stand close together, shoulders touching, and you two would go on about whatever came to mind. When you couldn’t waste any more time, he’d pick out your scarf and tie it around your neck. You’d share your anticipated kiss before he went off on whatever errands Dutch wanted him to run for the day. 

You’d found him sitting alone another day, seeking solace from camp with his back against a large rock. His head was dipped into his journal, sketching so intensely that he didn’t notice your approach. You’d only caught a glimpse of pencil markings on the page when he looked up, saw you, and closed it. You’d wonder what he was always writing in that thing, but you respected him enough not to ask. He reached out for your hand and pulled you down to sit with him, not letting it go for the entirety of your conversation. You and he would spend hours behind the boulder, lost in conversation. The mystery of the leather-bound book’s contents would fade away, consumed by memories he’d share with you.

But you’d find out sooner than later by accident. Arthur hadn’t returned to camp in a few days, which was typical. However, it wasn’t normal for him to stalk straight to his tent on his return. His routine usually involved stopping by the donation box or sitting by the fire and, lately, seeking you out. You discovered him in his tent, digging through his satchel, his brows furrowed in frustration. His face softened as you approached, and he looked at you, scratching the back of his neck.

“Lost my damn pencil,” the brooding man murmured, looking around his tent.

You helped him look around his tent and through his satchel, taking the leap to dump all its contents onto the cot. Cigarette cards, documents, herbs, feathers, and his journal fell onto the bed. You’d started to give up when you noticed the gray tip of the pencil sticking out of the journal. You flipped the book open without thinking, too caught up in being the solution to his problem to realize you were about to invade his privacy. As you went to grab the pencil from the crease of the journal, your eyes fell on the bookmarked page. The markings on the paper were so detailed and intricate that you couldn’t help but draw your eyes to them. You’d gone quiet, and he turned to face you. His eyes landed on the open journal briefly before you closed it hastily. Handing it back with the pencil on top, you murmured a quick apology. You looked away from him, putting the contents of his satchel back and going to stand. He gently grabbed your wrist as you tried to leave, making you stop in place. Without resistance, you found yourself guided to the cot, where he sat down, pulling you beside him. His face was soft but riddled with thought as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I—“he paused, searching for the words but decided to show you instead. In your full view, he opened the book, smoothing the pages over his lap. Above an inscription, he’d drawn a flower. You recognized it instantly as a printed flower from a scarf you wore a few days before. Your fingers reached to absent-mindedly touch the fabric around your neck. Then the words caught your eyes and made them almost fill with tears, “That girl and her scarfs bring color to my dull, dull life.” You laughed and wrapped your arms around him. As surprised as he was, he wrapped his around you and held you close for a while

The gunslinger had been less shy after that, keeping the journal open when you’d come to sit beside him behind the rock. He’d sometimes tear a page out and hand it to you or leave it for you to find. You’d started finding them all over the camp. He’d leave one in your clothing trunk, caring to leave several if he knew he’d be away from camp for a while, or you’d find one tucked under your pillow when you went to lay down for the night. The sketches were always so identical to your scarfs that you knew exactly which scarf he was thinking about when he drew it. You’d study the drawings, noticing all the elaborate lines. You wondered how the images stuck in his mind so easily, but he’d confessed to you that every part of you stuck in his mind, always. 

You woke and walked to the wagon one day, but he wasn’t there. In his absence was a small box wrapped in twine with a bundle of English mace sticking out of the top. Your name was scrawled across a tag in his handwriting. You opened it to a pool of plain white silk. “Pure as you” was written on a piece of torn paper on the inside. You beamed but left it in the box and tucked it away with all your other scarfs. 

Arthur returned to camp in the evening just as Pearson had served the stew. As he approached, he smiled at you, but his smile fell when he noticed your unusual lack of a scarf. 

“Did you—“he started to ask, but you threw your arms around him and cut him off with a kiss. 

“‘Course I did,” you pulled him to the spot at the wagon and held the box to him, “Just been waiting for you to tie it on.”

His mouth formed into a slight grin, his chest rising and falling with a deep chuckle.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin'.”

He enveloped you in the scarf, sealing his gesture with another affectionate kiss. As you sat together at the fire, you were engulfed by another type of warmth–– your feelings for Arthur. Though neither of you had said it yet, you knew you loved him, and he loved you too.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

The Twin Boys; One in Black, One in White

[breeezytoast]

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

Arthur:...

Arthur: I’m gonna tell him

Charles: Don’t you dare

[olliethecat13]

real ones know this fic is gonna be FIRE 🔥

[rayeee10101]

"𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥"

High honor Arthur x f!reader

Warnings~ this is all fluff, one tinyyyy mention of Arthur's son but it's nothing too sad, I promise. (this was not proof read so please don’t come at me if there is spelling mistakes or something sounds dumb.)

Word count~ 2,196, estimated reading time is about 10 minutes.

(not my picture, credit to the owner)

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee filling your tent, you yawned and rubbed your eyes before opening them. Your gaze fell onto a cup of coffee sitting on a crate you used as a makeshift nightstand next to your cot, "hmm?" you hummed sitting up and picking up the warm cup of coffee. Arthur must have been back in camp, he would always leave you a fresh cup of coffee in the mornings but he'd been gone for a couple days now. You took a sip of the coffee and let the warm liquid fill your body as you let out a sigh.

"Morning sunshine," Arthur grinned peaking his head inside your tent.

"Arthur!" You smiled setting the cup down and running to hug him.

He embraced you in a hug, squeezing you tightly causing you to let out a giggle and try to pull away from him but he only squeezed you tighter.

"I thought you wouldn't be back for a few more days?" You questioned, looking up to meet his warm gaze. "I couldn't miss my favorite girls birthday now could I?" He replied with the same weclcoming smile on his face.

You smiled back at him, taking in his appearance, he looked tired you could see the dark circles under his eyes but he still kept a big smile on his face.

"Anyways, I got a special day planned for you," he said as he turned to leave the tent. "Get dressed and meet me out by the horses." He added before leaving you by yourself.

You quickly got dressed feeling a little nervous wondering what he had planned, Arthur wasn't much of a romantic so why was he being so sweet today? It was only your birthday, you didn't think it was that special. You left your tent and as you walked to the horses the rest of the gang members greeted you with, "happy birthday's" and other things, Jack even gave you a drawing he made for you. You made your way over to where Arthur stood next to his horse and smiled, he returned the smile and mounted his horse, holding out his hand for you to help you up. You took his hand and allowed him to pull you up onto the horse, you wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back.

"Where are we going?" You asked as the horse trotted down the trail.

"Just on a little trip, don't worry it won't take too long."

You nodded your head and gazed out at the green meadows that passed by you, feeling the cool breeze beat against your face. You enjoyed this time of the year, the warm spring breeze blowing, all the plants blooming, a bunch of baby animals running around, it made you happy. (if your birthday isn't in spring we're going to pretend is) You listened to Arthur has he hummed some tune you would regularly hear Javier singing when he played his guitar at night, Arthur must have picked up on it. After a couple more minutes of riding you entered Rhodes, Arthur rode the horse into the stables before getting off and helping you down.

"What are we doing here?" You asked as you and Arthur made your way outside the stable and towards the busy street.

"You'll see," he gave you a goofy grin and grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

You giggled and followed him down the street and towards some kind of shop near the end of the town, as you got closer you read the sigh saying it was a picture store. You glanced at Arthur, raising your eyebrow, why was he taking you here out of all places? Arthur didn't respond, he just walked up to the store, holding the door open for you. You walked in and were greeted by a man behind a counter, holding a newspaper in his hands, all along the walls were different photos of people, animals, scenery, and other things he must have traveled to take all these photos.

"Welcome! How may I help you two today?" The man smiled, looking at you and Arthur with a a curious look on his face, he wasn't used to seeing a rough looking cowboy in here.

"We're just here to get our picture taken," Arthur replied as he laid a few dollars down onto the counter in front of the man. You were surprised with the sudden gesture from Arthur, he's never talked about getting a photo taken with you, had he secretly been wanting to get this done?

The man nodded, taking the money and motioning for you both to follow him, you followed him into a separate room that was furnished with fancy looking furniture, a small table with a flower vase sitting on his and behind it was some sort of backdrop.

"So, any specific style you're looking for today?" the man asked as he got his camera ready.

"Just something simple," Arthur replied, the man nodded his head. "Go ahead and pose how you'd like then."

Arthur pulled out the nice velvet chair for you to sit in and you smiled at him, feeling a little shy about having your picture taken. He stood behind the chair, placing his hand onto your shoulder and looking at the camera, you looked at the camera also and gave a soft smile, hoping you didn't look like a mess.

"Come on cowboy! Give us a smile!" the man said to Arthur, Arthur let out a groan and forced a smile, you giggled at him and how silly he was being, he didn't need to do all this just for you.

The man took the photo and told you both to wait as he went to process the photo and get it ready. You and Arthur waited in the room, a comfortable silence feeling the space as you examined the different photos hanging on the wall. A picture of a small family caught your eye, it was a wife and a husband with their two kids, they looked happy, all with big smiles plastered across their face's. You felt a bit jealous that you couldn't have that life style since you were in the gang. Arthur noticed you staring at the photo and walked up behind you, placing his arm around your waist.

"Its cute, isn't it?" His voice barely above a whisper, he was thinking about Isaac, feeling a pang of sadness but he quickly cleared that thought away from his mind, not wanting to spoil your speicial day.

"Yeah.. but anyways," you picked up on his sadness, not wanting to dwell on it. The man suddenly returned holding a photograph in his hands and a smile on his face.

"My dear, you look ravishing in this photo!" The man said to you, he was definitely from the city, he kind of reminded you of Trewlany with the way he spoke. He handed the photo to Arthur and escorted you both to the front door of the shop.

"Thank you both for coming, please do tell your friends about me! And feel free to come again of course!" He said, handing Arthur the photograph before quickly ushering you and him out the door of the small shop.

You laughed as you looked at the photo, you'd never seen Arthur smiling for long so having a picture of his smile made you feel a little giddy inside. "Gimme that," Arthur pulled the photograph from your hands, putting it inside his satchel. You could see the embarrassment on his face, a light blush starting to coat his cheeks as he avoided your gaze.

Arthur grabbed your hand as he walked back towards his horse, he didn't say anything it looked like he was thinking about something and you didn't want to interrupt him. You watched as some birds flew through the sky, it was such a beautiful day, it almost seemed perfect. Arthur let go of your hand as he went inside the stable to retrieve his horse, quickly returning with the horse and looking at you, "we got a bit of a ride if that's okay with you?"

"Where are we going?" you questioned as he helped you onto the horse, before mounting it himself. "Just for a little ride, I found a nice spot about twenty minutes from here. If you wanna go?" You nodded your head and wrapped your arms around his waist as the horse started to gallop out of Rhodes.

You watched as the small building that filled Rhodes left your view, getting farther and farther away from you, the sun was starting to set over the horizon, had that much time already passed, you wondered to yourself. Arthur stayed quiet as you trotted down the dusty trails, he seemed to be lost in thought, you rested your head against his strong back feeling his body rise and fall with each breathe he took. You too got lost in thought, watching the trees pass by you before Arthur suddenly turned the horse off the trails and into the woods, guiding the horse around rocks and trees.

"Did you finally find the perfect spot to murder me and hide my body?" You ask, sarcasm lining your voice. Arthur chuckles and shakes his head. "Yup, I've been looking to get rid of you." He replied sarcastically as the horse approached a lake that was surrounded by wild flowers, he got off the horse and tied it's reins to a small tree before helping you off of the horse. Arthur leads you to a small area that was cleared out next to the lake, he had a blanket laid out on the ground a small brown basket laying on top off it filled with foods and a fancy bottle of wine, and laying next to it was some freshly picked flowers. Your heart melted at the sight of it all, this rough and tough outlaw did all this for you?

He sat on the blanket and pulled you down next to him, wrapping his arm around you waist and gazing out over the lake.

"I hope it's not too cheesy for you but.. I just wanted to do something special for you. You deserve a better life than running with a bunch of outlaws and I know you deserve a decent man that doesn't rob other folks for a living but here you are with me, and I'm grateful for that. I'm happy you're here with me and the gang, I didn't have much to look forward to when you weren't with us, I just drank the days away but ever since you came along I feel... I feel like things are getting better, I got a pretty girl by my side, a loyal gang.. Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, thank you for being with me (Y/N) and happy birthday."

Arthur finished his little speech, a blush coating his cheeks as he avoided your gaze. You felt butterflies in your stomach, no one had ever done something so nice for you and hearing Arthur talk like that made you feel giddy inside, you were happy to finally see the kind, loving man he really was.

"Arthur.. all of this is beautiful, thank you so much for all of this.. You really didn't have to go through all this trouble just for me but thank you for doing it anyways."

He smiled and looked at you, a silence fell between the both of you, the only sound were the crickets and the chirping birds as you looked into his green eyes. He leaned closer, his lips only a few inches from yours, you could feel his breath against your face and your heart rate start to quicken. You decided to make the move and press your lips against his, he kissed you back cupping your face as your lips moved against each others. In that moment neither of you had any worries, all the stress and struggles melting away as you embraced each other. He pulled away taking a deep breath before grinning at you, you felt your face heat up and your cheeks turn red after realizing what you just did.

"Well.. I can say today's been a good day," he laughed, "anyways, let's eat this food before the bugs get to it." He took some small sandwiches from the basket, handing you one.

You both ate the sandwiches and a few other small desserts he had brought along as you talked and watched the sunset over the lake.

You felt complete, it felt like a piece that had been missing from your heart all this time was finally put into place, you had found the man of your dreams and you had never been happier. Arthur felt the same way too, feeling content with his life now, his only purpose was to protect you from any harm now, he even started to wonder about buying a house and settling down with you but that would have to wait for another time, he wanted to take in this moment for now.

A/n~ omg this literally took me a WHOLE WEEK to write, I have zero motivation so the ending kinda sucks because I kept stopping and watching tiktok every five words I typed but whatever, it's also like 2am where I'm at so I FORCED myself to finally finish this and now I'm going to go crawl into bed and sleep until the afternoon. Anywaysss, I hope you guy's liked this one. :)

[ivesite]

Apple pie and kisses

A/N: LONG AWAITED CHARTHUR IS FINALLY HERE GOOD LORD

Summary: Charles takes Arthur on a picnic to get his mind away from everything that's been going on (au where Arthur survives)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Charles Smith

Warnings: Smut, spit as lube, not a warning but Top! Charles and Bottom! Arthur, anal s3x (A! Receiving), anal fingering(A! Receiving) slight chest play (A! Receiving) slight oral (A! Receiving) outdoor s3x but no one comes by and it isn't mentioned that its public. Tell me if I missed anything

The sun was high it was around lunch time, Charles had taken Arthur out for a picnic to get his mind of things after everything that had happened with the gang, they rode side by side in a comfortable silence the only sounds was the wind, the hooves of their horses against the ground Arthur lazily glanced over at his boyfriend silently admiring him without any expression “we’re here” Charles voice suddenly spoke up making Arthur get out of his thoughts, they went over to a tree to hitch their horses up

Charles went into his satchel to get the blanket out on the grass, Arthur had packed some fruits and Charles had made some homemade apple pie for them both, Charles went to put the blanket on the ground they both sat down putting their stuff down

Arthur walked around in the field finding wild flowers before coming back to Charles who was sitting on the blanket preparing a plate of apple pie for Arthur “Got ya some flowers” Arthur said with a tone trying to sound romantic “What a gentleman” Charles replied as Arthur sat down on the blanket putting the flowers in the other mans hair then pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, Charles gave Arthur the little plate with apple pie “Hope ya like it” he said his tone comforting, Arthur took a bite of the apple pie 

“Charles everything you make is always perfect” he spoke before placing another kiss on the other mans cheek “Now this wasn't supposed to be you saying comforting things to me Arthur” he said with a soft chuckle at the end of his sentence “Well aren't I allowed to complement my boyfriend” Charles just smiled at that “Well I wanted this to be something special for you to get ya mind away from everything thats been going on” they continued their silly “argument” for who knows how long until Charles got tired of it and pushed the other onto his back cutting his sentence off with a kiss, Arthur leaned into it “Ya talk too much sometimes just let me compliment you you’re a handsome man and you deserve the love and affection I give ya” Charles didn't even let the other man reply before he was back to kissing him, Arthur happily returned again one of his hands found its way to the brunettes hair his fingers tangled in his hair 

Charles slowly trailed soft kisses down Arthurs soft skin on his neck making Arthur gasp slightly “Charles wait” Arthur was cut of by Charles lips on his “Shh let me take of you Arthur” Charles cooed, Arthur groaned slightly as one of his hands went up to hold onto Charles hair, Charles made Arthur lay down on the blanket, his kisses went up Arthur's jaw then to his lips in a heated and passionate kiss, Charles tongue easily got its way into the others mouth their hands was all over the others body whispering sweet things in between kisses to each other, Charles hand slowly rubbed gentle circles into Arthurs hip making the other man gasp into the kiss, Charles smiled against his lips “so beautiful” Arthur tried to speak back “Charles…” 

Charles slowly started to unbutton his cotton blue shirt revealing his chest his hands trailed over his chest making the other man shiver slightly Charles mumbled sweet things to the other man while placing soft kisses on his chest he gently slid the shirt down getting it out of the way as he trailed kisses down to his jeans looking up at the other man making sure he was okay with it

Arthur gave a quick nod, as he unbuckled his belt getting it of as well as unbuttoning Arthurs jeans, Arthur lifted his hips so Charles could pull them down he came back up kissing him while Arthur helped pull Charles blouse over his head his hands was all over the others back happy to finally touch the other like this again,

“I missed this” Charles mumbled against his lips earning a soft noise from Arthur in agreement, Charles started to rub circles into Arthurs nipples kissing down his neck taking one of them into his mouth making Arthur groan in pleasure, while Charles mouth was busy with one of the mans nipples the other one was being played and pinched by his free hand Arthur’s breath became heavier “Charles f-fuck” his eyes squeezed shut tightly gripping onto the other mans back “You look so perfect” Charles replied as he suddenly sucks a mark into his chest making Arthur moan covering his mouth

“Don’t do that need to hear ya” Arthur moved his hand away “Good boy” Charles whispered he kissed down his chest and stomach as he reached his undergarments slowly undoing them looking at Arthurs impatient look “Please Charles” Charles pulled them down watching Arthurs cock spring free leaking slightly Arthurs cheeks turned a soft red “So pretty” Charles cooed as he wrapped his mouth around the head of his cock slowly swirling his tongue around it gathering the leaking precum Arthur gasped a soft moan escaping his lips “C-Charles fuck” his hands found their way to Charles head wrapping his fingers in his hair just holding his head letting Charles take his time pleasing his boyfriend he slowly took more in inch by inch coating his cock in his own spit his tongue started exploring around the tip slowly licking over the slit making Arthur whine, Charles looked up admiring his boyfriend as he started touching what he couldn't fit in his mouth “Charles please…f-fuck” he didn’t even know what he was pleading for just something

 Charles started sucking his cock not just licking what he could he loved seeing the man like this watching him squirm moan and groan and getting so much pleasure knowing he was the reason he felt so good made his own cock hard he started to bop his head up and down not too fast and not too slow while looking at Arthur squeezing his hip signaling him to look at him "oh god.." he threw his head back he pulled his mouth away from his cock earning a whimper from the older man "look at me" he ordered he slowly start doing slow and soft strokes "Charles...oh fuck..." oh he looked so beautiful like this the way he begged the way his eyes squeezed shot in pleasure the way his back arched oh so slightly

his hand squeezed around the base his strokes became slightly faster his thumb rubbed small circles on the the tip earning a louder moan from sensitivity his free hand went up caressing his cheek pressing his thumb onto his bottom lip then pushing his middle and ring finger inside his mouth "get them nice and wet we don't have anything else" Charles teased, Arthur nodded his tongue swirling around Charles fingers getting them nice and wet he couldn't help but groan around his fingers while his cock was still getting played with the strokes became faster his thumb rubbed harder against his tip every part of his body felt like it was on fire he felt so good Charles was making him feel so good, Charles strokes began to slow down again while whispering soft praises his thumb left the tip just gentle soft strokes before pulling his hand away "lets see if that'll be enough" he whispered pulling his fingers out of Arthurs mouth with a pop he spread his legs open teasing the rim before pressing a finger inside him making the other man gasp "Shh relax" Charles held his hand hoping it would calm him a bit he slowly started moving his middle finger letting him adjust to the stretch before adding his ring finger

Arthur squeezed his eyes shot biting his bottom lip oh he looked so gorgeous "Move them" he whispered almost like he was afraid someone would hear, Charles did just as he was told and gently moved them in and out then stretching him making sure he was careful not to be rough "think ya can handle a third?" Charles asked rubbing circles into his thigh Arthur nodded eagerly he was a panting sweaty mess already "Please Charles" and he gave just what the man wanted needed and added a third finger making Arthur choke out a moan "You're doing great dear" Charles praised as he hit that spot that made his head spin he slowly began pumping his fingers in and out just like he loved it he knew just where to press, kiss, touch to make him crumble underneath him, watching him try and bite back his moans was...he couldn't find the right word Charles pushed that thought away and focused on Arthur

"Charles ah...f-fuck...need ya" Arthur spoke almost like he was out of breath, Charles leaned down capturing his lips in a soft kiss before pulling his fingers out unbuckling his belt getting his pants and undergarments out of the way before grabbing the others hip slowly pressing his cock against his hole "Fuck" Charles breathed out pushing the head inside letting Arthur adjust to the feeling and stretch Arthur groaned quietly biting his lip "you don't need to be so careful"

"I wanna make sure I don't hurt you" Arthur grabbed Charles hips making him push deeper "Arthur-" he was cut of by the others lips crashing onto his own making him push the rest inside they both groaned against each others lips Charles pulled away panting heavily needing to adjust, Arthur looking up at the other man with a grin which was quickly wiped away when Charles pulled out and slammed back in "Charles fuck" Charles ignored that and grabbed the others jaw kissing him, he felt Arthurs hands clawing on his back while he was slamming into him "Cha...Charles wai-" his sentence was cut of as a loud moan escaped his lips when Charles hit that one spot, his head rested in the crook of Arthurs neck pressing soft kisses while pounding into him

He could feel how harsh he was clawing at his back "definitely gonna leave marks" he whispered, he went in between them grabbing Arthurs cock he raised himself from his neck taking a good look at the mess he had created he gently stroked his cock while slowing his thrusts down "Charles...ngh please"

"What is it you need dear" he whispered his thrusts becoming slightly harder "need ya.." Arthurs voice was hoarse from moaning and need "I'm right here" Charles sped up he could tell the other was desperate for release his thumb rubbed his tip that was leaking the way his cock twitched in his hand signalized him that he was getting closer "close...harder" Charles himself was close as well his brows furrowed together his chest heaving as well as Arthurs it didn't take a while before Arthur came in Charles hand "Arthur where..."

"on me" he replied quickly Charles pulled out Arthur grabbed Charles cock in his hand stroking him, fast and hard strokes "Arthur" he looked down at the other man desperately when he came some of it landing on his chest they both collapsed, Charles pulled Arthur close to him kissing his face "Was I too rough?" he asked

Arthur shook his head "Perfect" he mumbled before resting his head on his boyfriends chest.

Divider creds: @bunnysrph

OH MY GOD FINALLY FINISHED THIS

Hope its good enough I'm sorry if its not perfect

[dutchieliciousplans]

HAPPY HOSEA FUCKS FRIDAY VALENTINE EDITION .

(I know I'm late with Valentine thing but I wanted to save it for hosea fucks friday. Hope anyone does actually enjoy my shitty attempt at writing up a fun little situation. Sorry if I'm awful at it because writing was something I was never good at.)

Hosea and Dutch's Date night at Mayor Lemieux Garden Party in Saint Denis

Dutch had an invite from Bronte to the Mayor's Garden Party. Dutch asked Hosea to be his Date while having Bill and Arthur tagging along to find job opportunities for the gang.

During the party-

Dutch: you wanna dance old girl?

Hosea: um dutch I think you had enough to drink there

Dutch: I love you babe even tho I do admit I'm abit of a challenge

Hosea: I know you are which is why I love u too Dutch, but sure let go for that dance

[After they had a dance together, Dutch and Hosea drank some more]

Dutch- Omfgg Hosea is that THE Evelyn Miller

Hosea- Oh shit it is him! Do u wanna meet him?

Dutch - omg yes I wanna meet him, can u take a photo of us together pretty please

Hosea - ofc I will.

[The photo Hosea has taken]

[Dutch was very drunk at this point while Hosea was bit tipsy]

Hosea: Babe where do you think ur going? We aren't here to rob these rich bastards...well not today atleast.

Dutch: ofc not...I'm just looking at potential opportunities

Hosea: no you come back here now before I pick u up and carry you out of here

Dutch: oh you wouldn't dare now

Hosea: don't you dare go open that door

Dutch: *giggles*

[Hosea walked towards Dutch as he opened the door, Dutch then grabbed Hosea by his wrist and drag him inside the empty room.]

Hosea: Dutch...what are you planning now

Dutch: seeking potential opportunities ofc [winks at Hosea]

Hosea: and what is this seeking potential opportunities?

Dutch: Let me show you my sweet Old Girl.

[Dutch shut the door then he pulled hosea towards him and started to kiss him.

it turned into a fucking session...u can use your imagination with your own HC for that]

[If u made it this far here's a bonus pic of Drunk Dutch leaving the party]

[dulcemapis]

more sketches for the fic I'm working on. shout out to my dog for modelling Arthur's new dog (his name is Poncho!!)

[rivetingrosie4]

What a Life (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 2)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for 2 of the edits above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

RDR2 | Arthur Morgan x Female Reader | Rating: General | tumblr masterlist | Ao3 | Part 1

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Just a scene in which Arthur and reader enjoy secluded family life with their very young son. Arthur is a cute and loving dad and is adored by reader.

Tags: fluff without plot, family fluff, romantic fluff, domestic setting, parenthood

Word count: 2,660

In the cool shadow of the cabin, thrown long by the late morning sun, you sit with your little son, watching him play in the sandbox. The mourning dove’s rounded, plaintive hoots are parried by the sharp, tinkling warbles of goldfinches in the nearby pine branches, and the fragrances of crisp mist and thick sod linger in the mountain air.

You watch the faint glimmer of day paint the crests of Gabriel’s cupid’s bow with light, his plump lips resting between his two rotund cheeks as he concentrates on the toys before him. The wispy feathers of his splayed lashes bow and rise with each blink. His beautiful, shimmering eyes inspect each toy, each color, each shape. Out of all the blocks, large puzzle pieces, rings, balls, and animal toys half-buried in the sand, he has landed on one. You watch the bulbous pads and segments of each tiny, clumsy finger curl to a strong, stable grasp around the edge of the object of his aim—a large block with an Appaloosa sketched and painted lovingly on the side.

“Just like your daddy,” you whisper to yourself.

Dipping your fingers into the sand and feeling its chill envelop your skin, you look up with a smile to gaze in the direction of the stables. In the distance, you catch sight of Arthur hauling a huge saddle and its accompanying tack, a moment before he disappears through the door and into the shaded interior.

You recall the quiet rustling of his rising this morning when he’d been up before the sun, as he often is. And the way he’d kept from waking the baby in his room, intentionally leaving you to reap the reward of your son’s customary gleeful smile, his bounce in his crib, and his lifting of his arms for you.

You turn back to your eleven-month-old with a burgeoning smirk. “Wanna come help Mama make some sourdough?”

“Yeah,” he immediately chirps, recognizing nothing but the lilt of a question in your voice. But he doesn’t look up at you, still captured by the blocks and puzzle pieces.

You stand and take a few steps away to prompt him. “Well let’s go!” you call.

He braces himself on the sand with his palms, a moment later lifting his tush into the air. When he straightens, his brows knot, and his lips dangle from between his cheeks as he gazes down confoundedly at the discomfort of sand stuck to his flesh.

You snort a laugh as you cover the sandbox behind him. “Just go like this, Gabe Baby.”

You show him your flattened hands and slowly brush them together.

His brows don’t budge as he looks back and forth from your hands to his own, unable to fully brush them.

“Like this,” you whisper, gently taking his wrists and swiftly brushing his palms back and forth over each other.

When the sand is removed, he toddles to follow you up towards the cabin, and you carry him when you reach the oak staircase to the back door.

As you turn onto the wraparound porch, you notice Arthur now hefting a huge bale of hay by its cords into the stable, his black leather hat shading most of his face in the distance. But you like to imagine he wears a subconscious smile, now enjoying a life of simplicity, filled with nature and horses and art and family and love, tucked away from the gnarled heartache that gang life had left in its wake.

“Sandy baby,” you mumble when you arrive inside and close the back door behind you.

You promptly remove both your shoes and strip Gabriel to his diaper, tossing his sandy clothes into the hamper.

“Are you dry?” you ask vainly as he starts to toddle away. “Wait, are you dry?” You deftly hook a finger down his back and into his diaper before he can fully get away.

Peering into his diaper, you find no present. You carefully squeeze his bottom to discover no liquid deposit.

When you release him, he immediately darts down the hall. You follow and walk into the kitchen, beckoning him to join you. When he does and you bend to pick him up, he whines to be allowed to remain standing on his own.

“Well how’re you gonna see from down there?” you lightly ask.

When he shakes his head, you half-frown. It was just a couple weeks ago that eleven-month-old Gabriel began walking. Since then, he’s always wriggling out of your arms and dashing across rooms, seemingly already excited to be as independent as he can be.

At first, it stung. With the love and special intimacy of mother and son—and with even the chemistry and well-being of your bodies both dependent on the other—the two of you had been closer than peas in a pod, glued at the hip for so long. It’s always been and still is a precious bond to you, though its daily aspects continue to gradually change. And it was hard to so suddenly feel a little unneeded. But Arthur has helped you find a comfort in the balance of realizing that your feelings are only natural, and that you’ve been raising a wonderful and healthy little boy, with this change as just another bit of proof.

As well as the fact that Gabriel still likes to cherry-pick when he’s carried and when he walks on his own. You suspect that like any human, his adamant desire for independence doesn’t do one thing to hinder his deep enjoyment and fierce need of being held.

So you turn and begin pulling ingredients and dishes from the cupboard, at last going to the fridge to retrieve your sourdough starter. You begin mixing ingredients in your big bowl atop the counter, when you hear a whimper and feel a few hard tugs at your palazzos. And you smirk.

You glance down to find him with arms outstretched and upheld for you, bouncing on his tiptoes with longing. You stoop and lift him to you, hugging him to your hip and pressing a few kisses soundly to his smooth cheek.

Describing each action aloud to him, you finish mixing, dust the countertop with copious amounts of flour, and turn the bowl with your free hand to dump the dough.

“Now we knead,” you almost sing, in hushed tones.

Perched on your hip, his plump little arm drapes with familiarity and utmost contentedness over the back of your shoulder. He watches your every gesture with a mixture of restful curiosity and heightened interest.

You push the dough away and pull it towards you again and again, tucking the edges underneath as you do, to form a smooth, rounded surface on top.

“You wanna feel it? You wanna knead?” you ask.

Leaning forward, you let him reach and press his tiny hand into the supple surface of the cool dough.

“Gentle,” you say, showing him the way you keep your fingers outstretched and softly brush and pat the surface of the dough with the pads of your fingertips. “No squeezing.”

The two of you watch his little fingers delve into the pliant mass of dough, leaving a mark of small craters. When they begin to slowly bounce back, you watch his face instead of the dough.

He releases a single cooed sigh of delight as he looks at you with a bright smile, which you heartily return.

How you love, you love, you love him.

You sprinkle the dough with flour and rest it in a basket for its turn to prove. After fetching a dough you’d left proving hours before, you carefully score it with one long slice for expansion, and several small strokes for a quaint wheat kernel design on the other side.

“Mama.” Gabriel pats your sternum and rests a couple fingers past his lips.

“You hungry?” you ask.

When he nods, you brush a hand down the slope of the back of his head and kiss his temple. You add as you set him to his feet, “Let me get this in the oven, then I’ll feed you.”

After setting the parchment-papered sourdough in its cast iron dutch oven and pouring a bain marie past the paper, you place the whole thing in the oven and set a timer. You glance at the oven window with a small smile, eager to see the crispy crust on your extra-sour boule. Since you first noticed its resemblance to Gabriel’s tummy, you’ve made a tradition of kissing the top of the boule, then indelicately turning Gabriel sideways in your arms and blowing a raspberry on his bare belly, making him cackle hysterically. These days, he’s even begun giggling when you turn him in your arms and before you ever kiss his belly, already tickled by the anticipation alone.

With Gabriel in tow, you walk to the couch in the living room. Gabriel rests both arms over the seat cushion and tries to lift one leg up over the edge, but you reach your hands under his arms and pull him into your lap.

Just before you unhook your bra from its strap to nurse, the two of you hear the back door open.

Gabriel’s eyes widen, and a grin begins to pull on the corners of his mouth. “Da,” he says.

He wiggles down off the couch, and as he toddles down the hall, you listen to his bare little feet patting quietly along the hardwood floor. You smile to yourself at the precious sound, so deeply dear to you.

As you hear Arthur’s rustling, jingling presence in the doorway and the naturally firm, heavy footfalls of his work boots, you imagine him resting his black hat on the wall as his small son comes around the corner in only his diaper, bared rounded belly and all.

When you hear the playful growl and the resultant squeal and cackle, your grin splits wider.

“You’re in your nethers, baby boah!”

You can detect the pinch of a smile in Arthur’s voice and the breath of laughter with the last couple words.

More little pads of bare feet as Gabriel comes running back around the corner and down the hall. He hesitates as he toddles, turning back to ensure Arthur’s tailing, eager to play this game with his father.

Still, when Arthur leans around the corner and pulls an exaggeratedly silly face with an outright grunt, Gabriel’s little body gives a tiny jump. His squeal and adorable laughter ring out into the air. He clumsily darts into the kitchen.

When his father follows with a few long strides and the sturdy clops of his boots, he brings with him the musty scents of alfalfa hay and tanned rawhide, of trail dust and undiluted sunshine. And the two subsequently begin an elaborate game of peek-a-boo, back and forth around the island. You can’t help but laugh along at the purest sound of undiluted joy—the beauty and innocence of your own child so easily tickled and contented by life and love—as you turn on the couch and watch the pair. No matter how many times Arthur jumps out to stop him with a silly face and a low hoot or growl, Gabriel instantly screams and squeals, his body utterly racked with tightly coiled cackles.

Arthur wheezes and snickers every time.

“Oh my God, listen to him!” you laugh.

It’s always another several seconds before Gabriel totally recovers and manages to catch his breath, his laughter smoothing with each heave of air.

With the next turn of their game, Arthur lingers behind the island when Gabriel rounds it, not jumping out even when his son takes reticent steps forward, looking for him. Arthur continues to linger, even quietly backing up to hide himself, watching his son for the right moment to strike.

Finally Arthur leaps out, and Gabriel jumps with the highest squeal and loudest cackles you’ve heard yet.

You and Arthur both burst with your own laughter at his reaction.

When your son’s breathing finally evens, you call, “Gabriel, I thought you were hungry?”

“Oh, were you about to eat, son?” Arthur asks in his deep timbre. “You hungry?”

Gabriel nods and pats a hand to his belly above the rim of his diaper.

“Well, better go see Mama,” Arthur quietly grunts as he picks his son up by the underarms and sets him on his hip out of habit. Arthur lifts him over the couch back and sets him down into your lap, then remains behind the couch himself, watching over your shoulder.

After cushioning your back and adjusting him in your arms, you reach beneath your tee, unhook the front of your bra, and gently bring Gabriel to your breast to nurse. He latches on immediately, very well accustomed to your routine. A certain profound peace washes over you as you watch him. His lips flange around you as he suckles; his quiet breaths through his nose briefly pause each time he swallows; and his plump little arm rests wistfully over your chest.

Many people may look away, abashed and discomfited, unable to fit something at once both so innocent and intimate into their world. But it’s always made perfect sense to you. And maybe motherhood was a dream too quaint, one not rebellious or modern enough, seemingly not daring or adventurous enough. But it was your dream.

When Gabriel spots Arthur’s face over your shoulder, he pulls away from your breast with a growingly wry grin, clearly expecting to continue the game from moments ago. Droplets of your milk spill between you and his mouth as he voices a syllable and lifts his arm, attempting to goad Arthur into another silly face.

Arthur silently complies with cross-eyes and a sideways tongue.

Gabriel promptly giggles, and the two of you smile and chuckle at the sound.

“Don’t while he’s nursing, he’ll choke,” you lightly say.

After softly cooing and corralling Gabriel back to his feeding, you continue watching him with a contented smile. You brush your hand down over the back of his head, into the growing downy hair that curls funnily at the base of his neck. As he closes his eyes, you brush the backs of your curled fingers down over his temple, and gently trail your fingertips across the velvet flower-petal skin of his plump baby cheek.

You hear the long, relaxed sound of Arthur’s husky breath over your shoulder, a sound you know very well, especially these days.

“What a life, huh?” he quietly says.

He means to facetiously point out Gabriel’s current lot—nursing at his mother’s breast with his father at the ready to make him smile and laugh. That is, a life full of love and joy, well taken care of, and absent of a care in the world. Just as he should be for now.

It doesn’t take you a few moments, and you’re turning to look into Arthur’s cerulean-sage eyes. A knowingness resides in your gaze. Because you yourself, as well as your husband, have been given all you’d so deeply and totally longed for—and longed, a word too weak—more than you could’ve ever imagined you’d actually live to get.

“Yeah,” you quietly, pensively respond. “What a life.”

The love of your life holds your gaze, and understands.

Your love and gratefulness are immeasurable and uncontainable, filling you and stretching past the bounds of your body and being, like fragmented granules of glittering dust floating from a burst star.

Strangely enough, even with all the joy and contentment and peace, the words and the shared gaze are not without a mingling of loss and ache.

They are not gone entirely. But you both have someone now, to join you in weathering them.

You are not alone.

Arthur leans to you, and you share a few kisses, soft as breath. You turn and close your eyes a moment as he rests his forehead to your temple. And you both gaze down at your son with contented smiles.

[smushystrawbabies]

sketch-y thing I made in January about one of my favourite stories “Heros and Villans” by postalcoast. I loved it so much and unfortunately it was removed from ao3 a while ago. It made me realise I need to start cherishing and downloading my fav fics just in case something happens to them 😭😭😭 

update; it has been reuploaded READ AWAY!!!!

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

[trappers-cloak]

Introducing: Diana Wegner (RDR2 OC)

My new OC Diana has burst onto the scene so here ya go

Diana (29 yo) was the wife of 60 yo Eugene Wegner, the owner of Emerald Ranch

she was married off to him by her wealthy parents after not finding a husband in her conservative hometown due to her disruptive nature

her stepdaughter is Miriam Wegner, the girl in the window at Emerald Ranch

Miriam's lover (Joshua Burgess) and JB Cripps taught both Miriam and Diana how to shoot in secret

Miriam did NOT like Diana at first due to typical you're-not-my-mother angst and grief over her birth mother

Diana is a bold woman, and an educated one.

she is an okay shot, but wants to learn how to use many different weapons since it was never allowed.

her favorite gun is the lancaster repeater, and I HC that she uses the Collector Variant from RDO

to make up for her subpar aim, she learns to make explosive bullets and poisoned arrows.

she is an avid reader, similar to Mary Beth, and holds romantic and fantastical ideals at her heart despite being a bit jaded

her animal representation is a red fox (like Arthur's is a whitetail buck, John's is a wolf, yk)

She has a border collie named Pluto

her main job at Emerald Ranch is to take the sheep out - shes the shepard

more to come :)

totally not writing these posts instead of writing the actual fic

[reiverreturns]

reasons why i think paolo nutini got baked and played red dead redemption / red dead redemption 2 whilst writing his most recent album exhibit a: