#mid dom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

applepiesupreme · 3 months ago

Text

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 46

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/157264255

Sunday she woke up grouchy and tired. She declined to join his ride to the church, saying she didn’t feel up to it. He didn't press, reminded her ten times to call on Marston if she needs something, then left. She crawled back into bed and promptly fell asleep again, dreaming dark, wet, weird dreams. Sometime later the door banged open, there was a ruckus of things being carried in and she woke up, more groggy than she had been before sleep.

“Didn’t they have doors where you come from?” she growled from under the pile of covers.

“Actually no,” was his sheepish answer as he gently closed it. “Sorry.” A softer addition of “Come look.”

She begrudgingly heaved herself up, turned around and found him standing by the bed. Next to him, an elevated crib. He took off his hat and sank on the bed and she shifted to sit next to him, feet dangling. They stared at the crib for a long while, both with a mixture of anxiety and fascination. Savigne had been going to regular doctor appointments. She had felt the baby kicking and moving. And yet, seeing this simple piece of furniture gave it a realness, a gravity nothing else had until then. Tentatively he reached out a hand and poked it and it swung ever so gently.

“Looks kinda small,” was his hushed statement.

She felt exactly the opposite. How was she going to push something out of her that would fit into this thing? Her breath hitched at the notion. “Everything is small next to you,” she said quietly.

His eyes dropped to his large hands, then he gave the crib another narrow eyed look. “Fair.”

Fear burrowed into her again. Most of the time she felt removed from the fact that she was about to be a mother. But every now and then the idea would crystallize, rise and slap her in the face and then she felt a sense of blind panic; a compulsion to say 'Wait! Hang on! Can I slow it down a little? Can I put it on hold for a while?'

From the corner of her eye she saw him watching her profile. “Gonna be fine.”

“I know,” she lied.

These days, more and more she felt like a kite that was at the mercy of bouts of emotions that randomly rolled through her with alarming speed. She found herself flapping helplessly in storms before suddenly gliding through a warm summer breeze, then diving with the advent of a cold gust before soaring up with the lift of a spring gale.

Right about then, the kite dipped.

Talk to me when you have to push a melon out of yourself, she thought sourly. It was silly to feel like she got the short end of the stick, but here she was, feeling it anyway. She was blowing up like a balloon and according to Polleux, she wasn't even close to the size she would be and he looked fucking perfect. In fact, the day before the baby and the day after, he would look exactly the same. Maybe even better. But she was going to go through monumental changes, none of them pretty. Then there was the birth itself. She struggled with the bloody pictures she was painting in her head. Then there was the aftermath...

His hand enveloped hers. “This Polio guy know what he doin’.”

“But I don’t,” she wiped the hair off her face. She felt the ghost of sweat on her brow.

“You just do as he says,” he shrugged. The simplicity of Arthur's worldview! If only she could borrow it from time to time.

She ran her palms over her face, rattled.

“Baygal guy's wife has seven kids,” he offered. “Luther said he had eight siblings...”

“When did he say that?” she asked, surprised.

“When we was chattin’,” was his evasive answer. “Point bein’, you can do this."

She nodded, but with lack of conviction.

“Know what ‘m thinkin’?” A palm drew circles on her lower back. She hummed, her gaze still locked to the crib. “We should go to Valentine. Bath and laundry.”

She turned to him, eyebrows raised. “We can afford that?”

“Sure,” he waved the question away.

Being clean always made her happy, but her work days had been slashed and she didn't know how much Arthur had saved up, so she played down her enthusiasm. “I don’t know…it’s not exactly necessary...”

“Course it is," he huffed. "Ain't no way yer doin' laundry, so we gotta go for that anyway, might as well take a nice warm bath."

"There are cheaper places for laundry in Saint Denis..."

"We got the money, Savigne," he rose to his feet. "'Sides, could get lucky with game on the way and make the money back. Go on, get dressed."

She dimly thought that letting Arthur take care of the money had been a mistake because she doubted that he was ever going to deny her anything. Nevertheless, the kite smoothly tilted upwards.

"Okay," she smiled.

After she got dressed they sifted through the big basket of clothes the church had donated and picked out the ones that seemed to fit to take over with their own dirty laundry. A lot of it wasn't exactly items she would pick off a rack, most were cheap and old, the ones meant for her too big and most donated for Arthur too small, but they found pieces they can use and Abigail could adjust and added them to the basket. The rest they left for the Marstons to go through. Her mood changed when they left the cabin and she found the donation of kitchen utensils. Several baking trays and pots and pans - a little scratched and dented and in need of some seasoning, but sturdy and usable.

"I can make dinner tonight," she grinned. "We have everything we need."

"You feelin' up for that?" was his dubious question. She nodded, enthusiastic. He chuckled and helped her up the cart. "Fine. Up you go."

The day was chilly and breezy and she huddled into her coat and blew into her hands as the horses clopped on.

"Maybe it's me but it feels colder this year."

"It's you," he smiled. "You think on what to do after?" was the more somber question a while later.

Given Arthur and John's infamy in these parts, staying was out of the question. "I know we're going to leave," she mused. "But I haven't seen enough of the country to know where. For example, I've never seen the desert."

"Desert? Ya mean like Texas?"

"I guess. Not sure what Texas looks like."

"Y'aint never seen night sky till you been in the desert," he offered. "It's quiet. Open."

"How do you pick a place to go?"

"Reckon you just pick a direction and then you stop when ya like what yer seein'."

They rode through the Heartlands as she watched the jagged mountain line on the horizon. There had always been less travelers about on Sundays, especially outside of cities where most folks still took church attendance seriously, but winter had made the crowds even sparser. She thought about the months she rode through here alone and later with Arthur and grappled with the fact that everything had happened so quickly. Beginning of this year she had been a daring and naive fledgling who thought of nothing but her career. Single and free and ambitious. Now, after a number of tumultuous events, she was finishing the year as a wife and a mother, her career suddenly not the first and foremost thing on her mind when she rose out of bed. And next year she was going to be somewhere new to start all over. As happy as she was - and she was deliriously happy at times - it also made her sad. And scared. The speed and enormity of the events brought a certain feeling of whiplash with them. In the deep folds of her gut she feared that she had made too many impulsive choices and too quickly and she had closed off certain paths of possibilities forever.

The kite dipped.

"Where yer head at?"

"I don't know..." she sighed as they drew closer to Valentine. "There's so many things I wanted to do. And now..." She left it at that.

"Ya speak as if you can't do them no more."

The kite spiraled downwards.

She shrugged. There was a shadow in her heart and she couldn't release it into the world. It felt wrong to express these feelings of disappointment to Arthur because she really wanted to be with him. But at the same time, she felt like she had been the only one who had made sacrifices. After all, he had lived a full life. He had traveled the country, free as a bird, experienced a million things and was eager to hang up his hat and do something different. She, on the other hand, had wasted years on training she would never use and would do nothing in life but plate food.

When they entered the town limits, she placed the fake ring on her finger. Arthur gave her a look. "I don't want people to look at me weird," she explained, forestalling his arguments.

They stabled the cart and the horses and when she saw a familiar face behind the reception desk, the kite turned upwards again.

Bill's eyebrows shot all the way to his hairline as they walked in. "Well I'll be!" he prompted, visibly happy to see them. She sensed the same elation in him that she felt when she had spotted him behind the counter: the joy of familiarity, of finding some things unchanged among the upheavals of life. A new century was around the corner and America was flying into it full speed. Small villages were turning into towns overnight, and a week later you found a city where that sleepy town used to be. Even outside of big cities electric power lines were being raised and cars were spotted. It was a period of dizzying change that was leaving many bewildered and forlorn.

Bill was a professional and not once did the eyes that crawled over her bump stutter. "Welcome back,” was his warm addition as he fished for the key of the room with the big tub. He took the baskets with practiced economy. "Congratulations, sir," was his tilt of the head to Arthur whose chin went up.

"Why do men congratulate each other when it's the women who are doing all the work?" she muttered when they entered the room and Arthur locked the door.

He did his 'it is what it is' hand wave. After they undressed, he guided her into the tub and pulled her on his lap, and brushed a finger over the crinkle between her brows. "Ya upset cause of that crib?"

She looked down at her bump between them; this new thing, somehow both exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. "I struggle with it..." she whispered, "...sometimes."

He kissed her, slow and long. "Gonna be fine. Everything's eventual, right?"

For no discernible reason, the kite caught an upslope flow and glided higher again.

"Right," she smiled against his lips.

Late afternoon they were back at the cabin and Savigne’s mood improved further as she cooked lasagna and pies in her new indoor oven. She hummed to herself, awash with contentment as she listened to the staccato of him chopping wood outside. When it was done, she told him to bring in the table the church had donated and place it next to theirs.

“Look over here,” she said as he was doing that. When he turned, she pointed to one tray - “This one is ours. ONLY this one.”

“Okay?” was his confused question.

She pointed to the other tray. “Do NOT touch this one.”

He gave the second tray a slanted look. “Why that one bigger?”

“It’s not.”

“Is too.”

The kite shivered with the advent of a storm.

“It’s not," she growled. "But even if it was, there’s three of them, so that would still make sense.” He mumbled something under his breath but she ignored it. “I also made two pies, don’t touch the second one.”

“What 'bout leftovers?”

She rolled her eyes, thinking 'as if'. “They can take it with them and eat it tomorrow.”

He muttered some more.

She went and minutely adjusted the napkins and cutlery. “I made just as much as I always make, so you won’t go hungry, don’t worry.”

This time when he grumbled, she lost the thread on her patience and looked up. “What’s that?”

“‘M sayin’ I was starved in Guarma. Marston wasn’.”

“Arthur we’re hosts, we have to be generous, Jesus Christ!”

“Fine, but we get the bigger tray.”

“They’re the same size!”

“They ain’t. That one bigger.”

“Fuck’s sake!” She glared at him.

“‘M bigger, need more food,” he explained, rolling his shoulders.

She turned back to the counter to clean up. “There’s three of them, Arthur!”

Suddenly he embraced her from behind, a palm on her bump.“Three of us, too,” he grinned into her ear.

The kite angled upwards and her anger fell away.

“Do not touch the second tray,” she warned, half amused. “I made it so we can sit and eat like civilized people and you don’t spoil the evening by furiously trying to outeat John.”

“Fine,” he cooed into her neck before he kissed it. “Simmer down.”

Just then a knock on the door. He sighed and walked over to answer as she wiped her hands on her apron before she untied it and took it off. The Marstons filed in and Savigne grinned when she noticed that they had dressed up in their Sunday best. The parents looked a bit shy and nervous but Jack dashed towards her and pressed primroses into her hand.

The kite soared.

"Thank you! These are so nice! Welcome,” she smiled up to them, ridiculously happy to host dinner in her own cabin for the first time, feeling absurdly proud and grown up over it. “Please! Sit!”

A few days after that Sadie and Charles stopped by and informed Arthur that they had tracked Dutch, Bill and Javier north.

"He ain't goin' north," Arthur said. "He know we gonna go for that Blackwater money, he probably circled 'round."

"Yeah, I thought so, too," Charles agreed.

"You think he means to ambush us after we get it?" was Sadie's question.

"I know it."

"So what do we do?" John asked. "If we wait too long, he's gonna find someone to get it for him."

"Dutch?" scoffed Arthur. "He ain't gonna trust nobody to do that. He never even trust me to tell. No, he gonna wait for us to take it."

"So then...?"

Arthur thought on it a while. "We wait." John twitched a little at this but didn't say anything. "We go now, he gonna be ready," was Arthur's explanation. "He know we desperate, he thinkin' we gonna fly there first thing. But in a few months, he might slack off. Get tired. Might even think we slipped by and give up..."

"That's months without money for the gang," Sadie pointed out. "They ain't gonna like it."

"I don' like it either, but if he set a trap, could be no money ever and that ain't better."

"What do you think?" Sadie asked Charles.

Savigne watched him ruminate, Sadie’s eyes glued to him. They had grown quite close, these two; there was palpable trust and affection between them now. She didn’t think there was anything more than that but she wouldn’t be surprised if there would be, in time.

"I think Arthur is right. They're probably holed up somewhere. Let them suffer through the cold a little. Maybe their camaraderie won't survive the season." Charles offered at last.

The four of them thought on this for a while as the fire crackled in the hearth and Savigne refilled their coffees.

"Okay," Sadie sighed. "Gang ain't gonna be happy, but they wanna be mad, ‘m gonna remind them they should be mad at Dutch, not us." Her eyes glided to Savigne, mirthful. "'Sides...we got a wedding to attend to."

Two weeks after that Abigail called her over and surprised her with the curtains she had measured and trimmed to fit the cabin windows. Savigne had an emotional moment and cried and assured Jack that everything was okay and cried some more before she took the curtains and hurried over to the cabin, elated. She entered and stood stunned for a moment.

“Why did you dress up?!”

He was brushing the lint off his shoulders in front of the mirror and looked immaculate in his fancy suit. Jealously flared in her at the sight of those broad shoulders that had filled back nicely again, the narrow hips and his flat stomach.

“Ya forgot what Sunday is?”

“Of course I didn’t forget!” she said and closed the door.

“Then it should be obvious.”

“You can’t wear that!” she protested as she folded the curtains on the back of a chair. “I have nothing to match it! I’m going to look like the maid marrying the lord of the manor!”

He gave her a dry side eye. “I know you got a nice dress somewhere.”

“I outgrew everything I have! No…” she crossed her arms, “…you have to wear plain clothes.”

He glared at her through the mirror. “I ain’t wearing plain clothes. ‘M gettin' married.”

“Well I’m not standing next to…that,” she waved an arm at him. “Looking like I just came from field work.”

“Guess we gonna have to go shoppin’, ain’t we?” he said stubbornly. “Why ya haven’t yet, I don’ know, but we goin' now.”

“Or you can just dress down...”

“No.” He carefully peeled off his suit. “Get yer coat.”

“Why did you go spend money on-”

“You know god damn why.”

“It’s just some priest saying stuff,” she muttered.

He gave her a look. “How many times you got married? Cause this here is the only one for me, so...” His head jabbed towards her coat. “Go on.”

Savigne huffed and put on her coat. It required some navigating these days. She hadn’t thought Arthur was going to take it so damn seriously and dress up like it was a ball. “Nothing is going to fit me anyway, I’m enormous.”

“Yer barely showing,” he said, putting on his cowboy boots.

“You should take Cricket with you and get him fitted. I’m about that size.”

“I worry ‘bout yer eyes, Savigne.”

“We can just buy a damn curtain and cut holes in it for my arms, would be cheap-” The slap on her buttocks made her jump. “Told you not to do that, god damn it!!”

He grinned and opened the door for her. “Wasn’ doin’ nothin'. Swung my arm, couldn’ avoid it.”

“It’s my belly that’s big, not my butt,” she hissed.

“Sure,” he looked away and bit his cheek, waiting for her to exit.

“You keep aggravating me, we’re going to end up at the doctors instead,” she muttered, heading towards the cart.

“Woman, waddle faster! Shop’s gonna close.”

“I fucking hate you.”

He pulled up at the dress shop and when she made to get off, held out his arm to stop her.

“‘M gonna go in first.”

“What? Why?”

“Need to see who’s doin’ the advisin’.” She gave him a confused look. “Since I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“Ya grew up under a rock? Can’t see before the day of. Bad luck.”

“Since when are you so superstitious?”

“I ain’t. But a smart man takes no chances.”

“Please! It’s ridiculous.”

“Just sit here for a minute, won’ be long.”

“But…”

He pushed the reins into her hands and jumped off. “Don’ try to climb off by yerself, ya hear? You’ll roll all the way back home before me and Cricket can catch up.”

She opened her mouth to say something nasty but he disappeared through the door before she could.

He entered the shop and was relieved that there were no other customers. He walked up to the counter and the man behind it looked up, did a double take and paled so quickly, it was like someone had thrown white paint in his face. His step didn’t stutter but he cussed silently, thinking he was recognized. His mind spun off with panic, but when he spoke, his voice remained calm:

“Howdy. ‘Member me?”

The man opened and closed his mouth like a fish for a several long moments, then gave up and nodded instead.

Arthur inspected him a while. He didn’t remember this man at all so the likely theory was some old forgotten bounty poster. He scratched his beard to look nonchalant and glanced over his shoulder at Savigne who, surprisingly, for once was doing as told.

“I ain’t so sure if you do,” he drawled. “Mind provin' it?”

The man’s Adam's apple bobbed up and down. “The train,” was the late choked whimper.

“Be more specific, I ain’t got all day,” Arthur said roughly.

“I…I was there...that night.” He fumbled for his handkerchief and hastily dabbed his brow with it. “Ice box.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes to hide his relief. This must be one of the kitchen staff. ‘Thank fuck’ he thought but outwardly just nodded and gave the man a long head to toe. It wasn’t ideal to be remembered as a train robber, but it was miles better than being recognized as Arthur Morgan who was supposed to be dead.

“That’s right. What you doin’ here, you change careers?”

“I did,” was the whisper before he cleared his throat. “I thought…safer…to sell gowns.” The man exhaled a shuddering sob at the irony of it.

Arthur casually leaned on the counter. “My lucky day,” he said and smiled a toothy grin. The grin made a new wave of sweat break on the man’s brow which he hastily dabbed at.

“You got a name?”

“Lionel. Sir.”

If there ever was a name that don’t fit a man, Arthur thought. “Listen here, Lionel,” he drawled, immensely relieved at the turn of events and ready to take charge of the situation. He casually leaned back on the counter on one elbow, gesturing at Savigne with his free arm. “See that pretty lady?” The man nodded stiffly. “She with me. Gonna be my wife.” This seemed to surprise the store owner and Arthur’s gaze sharpened. “What? Ya sayin’ I can’t have a wife?”

“Absolutely not!” was the squeal. “I mean yes, yes, of course you can! Sir!” He dabbed his forehead some more. “I was just…surprised by her beauty!”

“You sayin’ she too pretty for me or somethin’?”

“No sir! I just-”

“I ain’t no god damn peg legged pirate,” Arthur growled, somewhat offended.

“Of course n-”

“Bag it! Like I said, ain’t got all day. She gonna come in here and buy a dress.”

The relief that washed over Lionel was so palpable that Arthur was momentarily tempted to glance over the counter to see if he had pissed himself. Obviously he had assumed that he was being robbed and had just now realized that Arthur was here as a customer.

“Only here’s the thing...," Arthur added, "...she delicate.” The shop owner owlishly blinked at him with incomprehension. “Cause she’s with child,” Arthur clarified.

This shocked Lionel and he nearly flinched with the surprise. “Y-your child?” Then quickly: “Sir?”

“The hell ya sayin’!?” Arthur barked and was amazed how much paler a man could get.

“N-nothing!” cried the other man, voice breaking.

“Of course my child! Ya sayin’ I can’t have a child!?”

“Absolutely you can, sir! You will sir! I was just…she barely shows was my meaning!!”

“See, that right there,” Arthur hummed, leaning closer as the man tilted back, “is exactly the attitude I want when she come in.” Lionel blinked again and Arthur sighed, exasperated. “'M gonna make this simple cause yer havin’ a slow day: she come in here and walk out upset cause ya have some dumb…opinions…” he spat the word with some venom, “… ‘bout her beein' with child but ain’t married yet, and you look at her wrong, or yer even more foolish and you say somethin’ of the sort…” he ignored the vehement head shake that Lionel was giving him, “…'m gonna come back and we gonna have us a little…reminiscin'…of our first meeting. Only this time y’ain’t gonna be a spectator. We clear?”

Lionel’s head bobbed up and down so fast, his hair lost the pomade.

“Ya sure?!” Arthur roared.

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” His severe cry was even louder than Arthur’s boom and Savigne’s head turned towards them as she shifted around to see into the store.

“Good man,” Arthur drawled, giving him another long head to toe. “Now go change yer store sign.”

“Sir?”

“Ya seem smart enough, but I don’ want a dim-witted flock of women to come in here and look at her funny and upset my wife. Seein’ as it’s yer store, you’d be responsible for that,” he explained patiently.

Lionel scrambled from behind the counter, carefully gave Arthur a wide berth and flipped the sign to “closed”. Then he just stood there, dabbing his forehead. Arthur walked up to him and ignored his flinch when he reached out to smooth his jacket. “You advise her well, ya hear? Can’t do it m’self for obvious reasons.”

“Bad luck,” breathed the other man, standing stock still as Arthur patted his shoulders.

“That’s right. So don’ insult my wife by sellin’ her somethin’ silly just cause ya didn’ wanna break out the good stuff.” A flurry of head bobs. “Also…” He glared into the man’s eyes long and deep to make his point, “…goes without saying…don’ mention the damn ice box.”

“Why, of course sir. Goes without saying.”

Arthur grunted in approval and exited the store to walk to Savigne’s side to hold up his hand.

“What were you doing in there so long? I need to go to the bathroom again, Jesus!”

“Ya damn near flooded the soil ‘round the outhouse with how much you piss, ground suckin m’boots in like it’s the Bayou.”

“Fucking liar!” she spat.

“Any day now whole thing gonna sink into the lake o’piss growing under.”

“Give me your gun, I’m going to kill you!” She grabbed his hand and ambled down.

“Would if ya could shoot straight,” he growled. Then, softer: “‘M sure Lionel in there has a bathroom.”

She jerked her arm away and stomped to the door.

Arthur sat and smoked for a long while as he waited, hat tipping low every time a lawman strolled by. Finally she walked out, looking a lot calmer.

“It needs adjusting, we have to pick it up tomorrow,” she said as he came around to help her back up. “And he wouldn’t tell me how much it is so if we end up spending too much, I’m going to be mad.”

“Woman, ‘m the man and ‘m handling the damn money.”

She gave him a severe glare. “I think this whole thing is going to your head. You’re puffing up something awful.” She rolled her shoulders, mimicking his accent “Look at me, ‘m the manly man, big, burly, hairy man!”

“That’s right,” he countered, unfazed. “Finally learning, are we?” He walked towards the store door, ignoring her scowl.

“She’s a lovely lady, sir,” Lionel said, looking much recovered now that he was convinced that he wasn’t in mortal danger.

“Sure is.”

“If you don’t mind me asking…was the ice box for her? I remember your…colleague…umm…teasing you that day.”

“Was,” Arthur said, caught a little offguard by the question. Then he surprised himself by adding: “And he ain’t my colleague no more. I’m…retired.”

Lionel nodded and drew himself up a little. “The dress will be ready tomorrow by noon.”

“Now listen here,” Arthur stepped to the counter. “‘M retired but I ain’t stupid. ‘M gonna come pick it up myself. Not that I don’ trust ya, Lionel, but ‘m gonna tell my brother where ‘m goin’. So if I walk in here and I find a buncha lawmen waiting, he can come visit you after. ‘M sure you understand why I’d be pissed to go to jail and leave my wife in her state.”

“Goes without saying. And…congratulations, sir.”

Arthur nodded and turned to leave before he paused. “I like yer shop. Yer good at this, stick with it,” he said over his shoulder before he walked out the door.

“Can we go home now? I have to use the bathroom.”

“The hell? Told ya to go in there.”

“I did.”

“Then go again.”

“No way I’m going twice,” she hissed. “That’s embarrassing.”

“Where does it all even come from?” he grumbled, clicking his tongue at Cricket. “Ya climbin’ down the well when I go to sleep?”

Savigne exploded into laughter and it quickly turned into sobs. She pulled out a handkerchief, wiping at her eyes, manically cackling and crying at the same time.

“Calm down, Christ,” he said gruffly, giving her a sidelong glance as he navigated the cart through the crowded streets. “Was just jokin’. I know ya won’ fit through the rim.”

“Just stop,” she laughed, wiping her tears. “You’re going to make me pee.”

“Think long and hard how ya gonna explain that to Bill when droppin’ off yer laundry on Sunday.”

“Oh my god!” she wailed. “Bill doesn’t go through my laundry, you sick man!”

“Ya sure ‘bout that?” he drawled.

“Of course I’m sure,” she said but the slight hesitation before she said it made him grin.

“Pretty little thing like you come in…” he shrugged, “I would wanna know what she wearin’ under them skirts.” She gave him a shocked look and crimson shot up her face.

“Jesus, yer face suckin’ up all yer blood like that, grub needs some o’that too, ya know.”

She wailed again, covering her face. “Go faster, I’m going to burst.”

“Just hold on, I know a graveyard close by if ya really gotta go.”

“I fucking hate you!” she yowled between her sobs.

When they arrived she ran to the outhouse and afterwards walked through the cabin door, sighing with relief. “God, I feel like I worked all day and all I did was sit on a horse cart and listen to your bullshit.”

“Did ya like yer dress?” he asked from behind her, helping her take her coat off and hanging it up.

“Yeah. Lionel was really nice.”

He hummed dismissively and embraced her shoulders from behind before she can walk away, hands caressing her shoulders, then gliding across her belly.

“Is it easy to peel off?”

“No.”

His hands gathered her skirts, fingers bunching them up slowly as he nipped her ear. “Is it easy to lift?”

“It’s a dress,” she shuddered. “Of couse it’s easy to lift. Why?”

His warm palms dived under the hem of her chemise and traveled over her belly, then crawled to the waistband of her bloomers.

“Might wanna drag you away for a bit if ya look too fine,” he whispered and kissed her neck.

“Don’t even think about it,” Savigne chuckled and squirmed against him.

“‘M thinking about it,” he said and kissed her jawline.

She moaned and dropped her head against his shoulder, mumbled under her breath. He could hear the shiver of lust in her voice and it hardened his cock. He marveled about the fool who had lived twenty years thinking he was living the good life, drifting around to pitch a tent in blizzards and heatwaves, eating slop and drinking his nights away, pitying folks who lived as he did now. He dimly wondered where that man was now, what sad location he was camped, if he was sitting alone on a cot and drawing in his journal. Or maybe right about now that fool was bleeding out in a desolate corner, lying in the muck, clutching at the highlights of his wasted life.

He walked her forward to brace against the counter as his hand worked on the buttons of his trousers. His breath hitched with excitement, the last vestiges of his blood circled out of his head and pooled into his gut and all thoughts of that man vanished like smoke.

Luther ambled into the dark room, lit a lantern, lit his cigarette with the same match, locked the door behind himself. He stepped to the little counter in the corner and pulled out a bowl, took out the package from his jacket pocket, cut down the slab of meat into cubes and emptied it into the bowl. Then he trudged over to the window and cracked it open and put the bowl to the low desk in front of it while he settled into his rocking chair. It creaked under his weight but held, and soon he made himself comfortable in the chair that had adjusted to all his curves over the many years he had been using it. The cool Saint Denis air wafted through the window. He didn’t have to wait long.

"Welcome, Bartholomew," he said gruffly as the dirty tabby slithered through the opening and settled on the desk to eat his dinner. "Yer fillin' up nice and proper, ain't ya?" he said. Bartholomew acknowledged him with his one eye for a moment. Then he turned around to the bowl. His ear with the tip bit off dipped in and out as he ate with silent enthusiasm.

"Was at a wedding, case yer curious," Luther drawled, watching his cigarette smoke unfurl in the small room, wavering with the breeze that licked through the opening. He loosened his tie and the top button of his shirt. "Was mighty nice, tell ya that."

The cat gave him a dismissive glance over his shoulder and went on eating.

"Fine, I'll tell ya," Luther grumbled and sat up to open the drawer of the desk to retrieve a bottle of whiskey and a shot glass. The cat, used to this ritual, didn't acknowledge it. A pair of voices argued under the window, then came a smack of laughter, then they argued on, growing fainter as they walked away.

"First off, had my pal Gregory pick me up. Ya ‘member Gregory? He the one who rents his tent for fairs and circuses. Busy man this time of year, but I tol' him 'm collectin' my favor, so he came. Drove me to the cabin, yappin' all the way there. I don' mind - Gregory and I don' run into each other much, so was fine to listen. We got there early and as we came closer, big guy came out, shoulders all hiked, gun belt on his hip. He relax when he see us and held up a hand in greetin'.” Luther’s eyes narrowed as he punctuated with his cigarette hand: “I approve of this man's suspicious nature, Bartholomew. He weathered, like youse, ain’t trustin’ and that a good thing. Too much trust is a dangerous thing. Anyhow…he came to meet us and I tol' him we gonna erect a big tent for the guests and he blinked like 'm speakin' French.”

“‘A tent?' he says.”

“‘A tent,' I says. 'Nice and cozy so guests don' freeze and run off first thing after food.'”

“‘How many guests you cobble up, old man?' he ask, wary.”

“‘Just a few,' says I. I know he worried one or two will talk to the Law after, tell 'em who he is, where he is, but I assure him everyone invited is likely to flee in the other direction of the Law if they spot’em.”

“Then I go in and Savigne come hug me. She all jittery and anxious like a child. I say ‘Woman, stop jumpin' like a hare, you gonna have the child here and now!’.”

“She laugh at this like it's the funniest thing she heard and offer me coffee. She happy, Bartholomew. When you live as long as I, little things is where it’s at, so seein' her healthy and happy like that swells my heart. I known long time this man the right man for her.” The cat finished his meal and gave him another look over his shoulder before he dived back in to lick the remnants.

“Nah,” Luther waved as if Bartholomew had spoken, “Yer wrong. Sure, he an outlaw, sure he done bad things. But I been 'round and lemme tell ya, many fine men done worse. This man cut of old cloth. He ain’t gonna stray and he ain’t gonna betray her. He never gonna hurt her. That counts for somethin’.” He sipped his whiskey.

“I say ‘Call yer brother, let's set up the tent’. People roll in just ‘bout then and they help, takes us no time. Then the pastor arrive and Arthur and me walk to Marston's tent so he can change. Did I tell ya this man has a woman and a child? Woman pretty as a daisy and the boy cute as a button.” He scoffed to himself. “Lucky fool.”

“Anyhow, guests bring in food and deck that long table like a buffet. Told’em ain’t no need for gifts, but they bring a little somethin’ cause poor folk is generous folk. They bring a jar of pickles, a sweater, someone brought an old guitar, another his only other pair of shoes…I gave Savigne my mother’s cookbook. She never learned her letters, my mom, and I learned mine late, but I wrote it as I ‘member it. I ain’t gonna use it, ‘m glad she got somethin’ of mine.”

The tabby sat around to face him and began to groom itself. “I know, I know, ‘m gettin’ there. So time comes and we waitin’ with the pastor. I know this Arthur has nerves of steel, seen how he was with Ecco. But now he twitchin’ and shiftin’ like a boy, pullin’ on his jacket, fidgetin’ with his tie.” Luther rumbled a deep laugh and sipped his whiskey. “I look over at Missus Adler and she grin at me…” He sighed and gently slapped his knee and the cat watched him with that sparkly one eye. “Tell ya what - I was younger, that woman would crush my heart. Anyhow…”

He sighed and put out his cigarette and the tabby immediately jumped up into his lap and curled on the big cushion of his stomach. “Out comes my girl and lemme tell ya, she look like a cool drop of water, pure and precious.” He ran a large hand over Bartholomew as the cat purred and quietly drank his whiskey for a while. “I never had no children, but you wouldn’ known it today, all ‘m gonna say. I knew she was shy cause she was in a sea of new faces, but she didn’ stumble and didn’ freeze, she walked over all proper and made me proud. Was worried more for Arthur than her,” he chuckled to himself as he scratched behind an orange ear.

He raised a finger. “‘Cept when the ring came out, then her eyes brimmed and she twitched a little and her hand shook.” Another earthquake of a chuckle trembled through him. "She jump to kiss him 'fore the pastor was done say his bit, tell ya that!" he laughed.

His laughter wheezed into silence. He pondered on getting undressed and closing the window and going to bed, but he didn’t sleep much these days and the tabby was comfortably purring in his sleep, so he sat on and listened to the city sliding into silence little by little. He thought that in these late hours, years turned into paper walls and you could hear the past murmur through if you put your ear against them. It used to bother him when he was younger, but the older he got, the more he grew to like it.

“‘M thinkin’,” he grumbled at long last, “Might be I helped a little, ya agree, Bartholomew? Might be...I fixed it. Took a long god damn time, but think I fixed it. Maybe just a little.”

He sat there a long time as the church bells rang the hours while the tabby slept on him and Saint Denis slept around him.

#arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan fluff #low honor arthur morgan #mid honor arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #fluff #smut #fanfic #dom arthur morgan

15 notes · View notes