#rdrsecretcupid2020

[blatterburystreet]

my Red Dead Secret Cupid ( @rdrsecretcupid2020 ) for @thecrimsonvalley !

I chose to draw these lovely ladies for you! Happy Valentine’s Day!

[prairiemule]

Here is my @rdrsecretcupid2020 art piece!

@fangirl-ramblings was my cupid, so I made you this vector portrait of John, hope you like it! 💜💜💜

[krazyyy]

This is my piece for @outlawmorgans for @rdrsecretcupid2020 of Charlotte Balfour and Arthur Morgan. I saw you had a lot of ideas and I tried so many and ended up with this, I hope its alright. 

Happy Valentines Day 💗

[nattravn-art]

Heya @prairiemule! I’m your backup cupid for @rdrsecretcupid2020!

I possibly couldn’t pass up on your second wish, showing the sibling dynamic between Arthur and John! I have a very soft spot for found family tropes and half feral child John just gives me life.

Considering that in game, family activities are very often linked with fishing, I chose that theme. I hope you like it! :D

[soazzar]

Here’s my entry for @rdrsecretcupid2020 for @blatterburystreet !

I took your wishes in order and hope you’ll like it, I try my best... escpacially for the nsft version ;)

[littlestarofthewest]

Title: One more to Love | Word Count: 2450 | Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader

Tags: A/B/O, pregnancy, angst and fluff and smut

This is my story for @sad-sweet-cowboah for the @rdrsecretcupid2020 event. I’m sorry for the delay, my health wouldn’t let me post any sooner. I still hope this is something you can enjoy! ❤️️

Ever since you presented as Omega in your teenage years, you had this unique sort of disgust for the world around you. Everything began and ended with what you were now; the rest of your personality forgotten. Lucky for you, your parents died before they could marry you off to a disgusting Alpha that lived near your farm. Unlucky for you, there were more horrible Alphas out there, and your heat was a constant reminder that one of them might get you.

Years of your life have been spent running and hiding away whenever your body betrayed you again. To this day, you still feel it in your bones, and it always takes a moment for you to remember that you're safe now, you never have to run anymore.

"You alright?" Arthur asks, his voice barely audible, making sure not to startle you.

"Of course," you say, carding your fingers through his hair. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Despite being buried inside of you, Arthur hardly moves, only his size reminding you of what you're doing right now.

Arthur runs his fingers along your cheek, searching your eyes. "You looked miles away."

"I was," you say with a laugh. "Paradies or something."

Arthur furrows his brows as if he's not sold on that being the truth, and you kiss him before smiling up to him. "I'm always good when I'm with you; you know that."

You don't get an answer. Instead, Arthur leans in to kiss along your neck, almost as if he has to prove your point. You close your legs harder around him, urging him to move, and he follows your lead. Every thrust makes your mind wander again, but it's no longer about the past. You relish in the feeling of utter bliss, being held by your Alpha, the one you truly love and trust. 

Arthur's scent alone can calm you down and keep you in a state of deep relaxation, even more so when you're in heat, and Arthur makes sure to only be there for you. He stays close, always protecting you, and even before you got together, he made sure that your heat was bearable.

Most of the time, Arthur took you out of camp and found a secluded spot where you could lay low for a while, away from any overeager Alphas. He made sure that you ate enough and at least got a little bit of sleep in between the demanding waves of your heat. To this day, you're astonished how he managed to take care of you like that without his urges ever coming out. It's one of the reasons you fell for him.

Even now, buried inside of you and surrounded by your scent, Arthur's restraining himself, never just using you for his pleasure. His hands wander all over your body, his fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kisses from your neck down along your collarbone and even further, circling one of your nipples with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth. Arthur knows all too well how sensitive you are there, and you claw at his shoulders while rolling your hips, desperate for more friction. 

At first, Arthur keeps teasing your breasts as if he doesn't even notice your desperate movements, letting you drive yourself closer and closer to the edge. You pull him close, your lips hot on his ear. "Please, Arthur, take me!"

"You know it's better to go slow," Arthur says, but while he tries to sound calm, you can hear the desperate trembling in his voice.

"You've been going slow all day," you say, remembering each time Arthur made you come, the memory adding to your current arousal. "Maybe I need it fast now. Rough."

Arthur buries his face against your neck, a deep growl rolling out of him. "Don't tease me, darling."

You know he's hanging on by a threat, and every instinct beaten into you by a cruel life tells you that you should tread carefully, but it's Arthur after all. You trust him more than anybody else in the world. He would never hurt you.

"I need more," you whisper, nibbling on Arthur's ear.

Arthur lets out a defeated grunt before he retreats. He grabs you by the hips and carefully turns you around. Out of habit, you arch your back and present yourself to Arthur. His fingers dig into your flesh as he pushes back into you, and you let out a satisfied moan.

You never thought you could enjoy yourself like this, but you desire the stretch when Arthur buries himself deep inside of you and welcome every thrust. Just like you wanted, Arthur goes a lot harder now, adding wet and indecent sounds to your lovemaking. 

You push back against him, eager to feel him as deep as possible. It doesn't take long for your arousal to build up, hot waves of heat rolling over you as Arthur seems to split open your core.

Soon, your thighs are trembling, and you throw your head back, letting out eager cries to spur Arthur on. His hand wanders up your back as if he needs to calm a wild horse, but then his fingers close around your neck. Holding you in place like that, Arthur pushes even harder, finally throwing you over the edge. You move under Arthur as if to throw him off while pleasure ripples through your body. 

Arthur moans, his hips bucking, and you can feel his knot swelling inside of you. Hot spurts of his come fill you up as he leans over you, holding you down until you both come down from your high.

Both of you still breathing heavily, Arthur rolls you to the side, pulling you close while he's still buried inside of you. Arthur pets your hair while nuzzling his nose against your neck.

"You alright?" he asks, his voice rough. "Feeling better?"

"So much better," you sigh, a pleasant warmth taking hold of you, the pressure of your heat gone for now.

"Good," Arthur says, and you turn your head as far as possible to steal a kiss. Arthur smiles. "You should try to sleep. I'll get you something to eat when you wake up."

Pressed against Arthur's warm body and surrounded by his arms, it doesn't take long for you to fall asleep. For once, you believe that your suffering is finally over, and you're excited about what the future might bring.

‐----------

It's been two weeks since you've started avoiding Arthur, and you know you're running out of time. Even with his patience and willingness to give you space when you need it, he's going to suspect that something's wrong. It's just that you haven't figured out what to do yet. 

If you're honest with yourself, you've known for weeks, but managed to convince yourself that the signs didn't mean what you feared. You enjoyed being with Arthur as if you knew that your time together was coming to an end. By now, you can't lie to yourself anymore, though. With every passing day, you come closer and closer to the unavoidable truth. You're pregnant, and Arthur is the father. 

With what you know about Arthur's past, it's the worst thing that could have happened. The only time he's ever talked to you about Isaac and Eliza was at a week moment when Arthur was wounded and more inebriated that was good for him. You felt his pain in every word he spoke that night, only to never bring it up again. There's no way you can put this burden on him once more.

Still, you find yourself wandering over to Arthur's tent by the time it's getting dark. Most of the others turned in already, and you are all packed and ready to go. You don't want to leave the Van der Linde gang, but if it comes down to it, you will leave to give Arthur his peace. It won't be easy for you, but you've won hard battles before, and you know you can endure anything to make your little one happy.

Arthur is sitting on his cot, turning a small jar around in his hands. It contains a little flower that you know his mother gave to him. With a heavy heart, you say his name, wondering if it might be the last time.

"Arthur? Do you have a moment?"

Arthur's face lights up as he looks up to you, and he puts the flower back on his table before clapping the cot next to him. "Sure."

"There's something I have to tell you," you say, trying your best not to drag this out. 

"Alright," Arthur says, his face growing weary. 

You take a deep breath before sitting down, thoughts spinning through your mind, and your heart beating like crazy. You thought about many different ways to start this conversation, but always imagined disaster following it.

"I wanted you to know that I'm ready to leave," you say. 

"To go where?"

After another sigh, you decide to throw it all out there. "I'm pregnant, Arthur. For a while, I thought it might be something else, but I'm sure now. I wish things were different and we could still be together, but knowing about your past, I can't put you through this again. I will go so that you can carry on without that burden."

Arthur is staring at you, and although you have the urge to run, you know that you have to give him a little time to process your words. With a sigh, Arthur runs his hands over his face before looking at you again, his expression still blank.

"Do you think that I would make you leave here while you're with child?"

His voice sounds offended, so you carefully pet his arm. "Of course not, but it's what I want. You've been so hurt by what happened to Isaac and Eliza; I can't do that to you again."

Arthur takes another long moment to look at you; then he gets up from the cot. You suspect him to walk away, but he kneels to open the chest with his clothes, rummaging around in it. When he sits back down next to you, there's something small hidden inside his hand.

"I guess it's my fault. Maybe it's something I said or did, but when Eliza told me she was pregnant, she thought that I would leave her, too," Arthur says, and you feel a sting in your chest. After all, he did no such thing, and you didn't mean to insult him.

Before you can say as much, Arthur holds out his hand, giving you the item he's been holding. It's a small puppet. The head, hands, and feet are wooden while the body is made of soft fabric, the arms, legs, and body of the puppet stuffed firmly to make it feel nice to the touch.

"We didn't have much money, so we made a few things ourselves," Arthur says while looking down at the puppet in your hand. "Children need toys, after all."

"It's beautiful," you say, the words barely audible. Your heart seems to beat out of your chest while you're unsure what to take from this information.

"When I came to the house, there was no doubt in my mind what the crosses outside meant," Arthur says, his voice cracking, "but I still went inside. Isaac loved that puppet when he was small. It's the only thing I took, the only thing that's left."

Your heart aches for Arthur. It already hurts so much when you think about leaving; you can't imagine what it must feel like to lose your family like this. "I'm so sorry, Arthur."

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault, just like it wasn't theirs," Arthur says, his eyes still fixed on the puppet. He scoffs. "Wanted to throw that thing away so many times, but I couldn't do it. I wasn't myself back then until Hosea told me to give up or have hope. Hope is what keeps us going, he said."

You can't help a small smile. Even in your short time with the gang, you got a lot of advice from Hosea, and wanted or not; it always turned out right. Arthur looks over the camp as if he's looking for Hosea in the dark.

"In the end, I only kept it for one reason," Arthur says. "I thought that maybe I might get another chance. That one day, there might be a child I could give this to. So I guess it's yours now."

Arthur looks at you, and your heart gives out. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the puppet while you're frozen in place. This little thing survived so many years and travels, meaning so much to Arthur; he can't possibly waste it on you.

"Oh Arthur," you say, the words barely coming over your lips. "I can't-"

Arthur shakes his head to cut you off and puts his hand on yours, closing your fingers around the puppet. 

"I thought I took good care of them, but I didn't. It's my fault they're gone," Arthur says, his voice heavy. "There's so much more to being a father; I know that now. I understand if you want to go, but I would do anything to protect you and our child, to take care of it as a real father should."

You feel like your soul is leaving your body. You rarely heard Arthur talk so passionate about something, and you didn't think that staying with him could ever be a possibility, no matter how much you wanted it.

Arthur is searching your eyes, his voice barely audible by now. "If you'll have me."

During the whole conversation, you tried your best to keep your feelings in check, but now they all come out in a rush. You throw your arms around Arthur, and he pulls you up into his lap.

"Of course, I'll have you," you squeal, peppering kisses all over his face. "I love you, Arthur."

Arthur almost crushes you with the way his arms close around you, but you don't care. His scent surrounds you, filled with happiness and love, and you drink it all in until Arthur pulls you in for a long kiss.

"Love you, too," he whispers against your lips before burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

You keep sitting there, holding on to each other for a long time while Arthur's hand is resting on your stomach, bringing warmth to your whole body. For the first time in your life, you're happy to be an Omega, and with your Alpha by your side, there's nothing that can frighten you ever again.

[redeadepression]

Return | Arthur Morgan x F!Reader | Nsft

Happy Valentines Day everyone!!

This is my @rdrsecretcupid2020 submission. My Secret Cupid is @artofalonistrubel ! 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They wished for an Arthur x F!Reader - nsfw allowed ;) and I am here to deliver! 

I REALLY hope you like it and it’s everything you wanted! Have an amazing Valentines Day! ❤❤❤

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Summery: You have a lot of regrets for how you left things with Arthur before the bank heist. So when he returns from Guarma, filthy and exhausted, you offer to clean him up.

Relationships: Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Words: 4688

Warnings: smut, slight mention of voyeurism/exhibitionism kink

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your hands ran nervously along the washboard, dragging a damp cloth under them. Forcing dirt from the fibers as you pressed it against the metal.  

Your body worked dutifully but your mind was elsewhere.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, jaw tensing as you thought of him. It had been a couple of weeks since the heist in Saint Denis had gone wrong. 

Abigail had returned to camp, a mess. Hosea had been captured, the law was surrounding the bank and she had somehow managed to slip away. But they were coming for her. For all of you.

Sadie had jumped into action. Ordering everyone around and getting the camp packed up in record time. You were still far from out of danger. But she had absolutely saved all your lives that day.

It had only taken a day for the papers to start reporting that they had arrested John. 

Abigail was understandably distraught. But somewhat calmed by the notion that he wasn’t dead and could probably be rescued. None of you spoke openly about the certainty of him being hung if the men didn’t return to rescue him in time.

Less certain were the fates of the rest of their family. The papers had reported the deaths of ‘several important members of the Van der Linde Gang’, leaving their names ambiguous. 

You knew rationally that the fact the Pinkerton’s were boasting John’s capture so readily meant that he was the most high-profile Gang member they had managed to arrest or kill.

You also knew logically that Arthur had gotten away alive and unharmed. But that didn’t stop the paranoia creeping in while your mind was occupied with menial tasks.

Even with the information Pearson had managed to gather from the docks of Saint Denis that several well-dressed men had boarded a boat as stow-aways the night of the heist. It was hard to stay positive. The rough description was enough to let yourself believe that it had been your friends fleeing to safety. But there was always doubt in the back of your mind. Even if they did manage to flee the city, where were they now? Lost at sea?

For all the hours you spent wondering and fretting instead of doing something productive, you felt you may as well be out there with them. Your body was present but your mind absent. You worried for them all deeply. But more specifically, you worried for him.

Arthur Morgan had been there for you since you joined the Gang many years before. 

You were young. Frightful and untrusting. A far cry from what you had managed to become in your time here. But Arthur had been there for you all the same.

He was distant and cold at first but as time went on you realised how sweet and sensitive, he could be. 

Bringing you food when you were unwell and clocking anyone that dared to mess with you around the ears before they could blink.

He was your protector. Your best friend. If he never made it back from his journey you would always regret that that was all he was to you. That you never got the chance to tell him how you really felt or what you really wanted out of your relationship. 

It had been a few days since you last let yourself stop and think about him properly, but the concern was always there in the back of your mind. Clouding your rational thoughts and decisions.

You were jolted from your thoughts by the sound of his name. As if the universe had read your mind and finally taken action.

He was there in front of you. Only a few feet away. You hadn’t noticed him approaching but Pearson had. Shouting excitedly about Arthur’s return.

Your mouth fell open at the sight, but you managed to compose yourself quickly. Snapping your jaw shut and using all your energy to stop yourself from breaking into a sprint and leaping into his arms.

You watched from the sidelines, taking a physical step back and letting Abigail take the lead as she pulled him inside by the arm. Shouting to let everyone know he was back.

The excitement in her voice was palpable and for a second it made you flash with jealously. Before taking a deep breath and rationalizing the fact that she was excited to see him because he meant liberation for John.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and followed them through the door. Watching as everyone crowded around to pet him on the back. Rushing to ask him where he’d been and if he’d seen the others.

Someone handed him a bowl of food and he shovelled it down gratefully with all the grace of a starving dog. You smiled to yourself as you watched him eat. The poor thing looked ragged. He must be famished.

You couldn’t hear much of what he was saying from your place by the door. The excited chatter of the Gang’s replies overtaking anything he could utter through mouthfuls of food.

You waited patiently for the excitement to die down. Mrs Grimshaw quieting everyone with one loud cough.

She scolded Arthur for being filthy and through his obvious exhaustion he laughed at her loudly. A hearty belly-laugh that rumbled through the cabin and had an infectious effect on the other gang members.

You could even see the corners of Susan’s mouth quirk as Arthur’s laughter began to subside. You considered her a stern old bat and you guessed Arthur did most of the time as well, having grown up with her. But you had been humbled more than once by his defence of her to other members that had harsh words to say about her discipline.

As the laughter died down you watched Arthur’s shoulder’s slump. The crowd around him began to dissipate and you listened intently as Susan mumbled about getting him some fresh water to wash up with.

You took a few quick steps forward and suddenly you were by her side. You took the bucket from her hands and offered to take on the task on your own. She had been working non-stop since before you’d left Shady Belle and she deserved to sit down for a minute. 

She eyed you suspiciously, but then smiled gratefully, directing Arthur into the back room and explaining to you where to retrieve the water. You nodded affirmatively, slipping from the room and out into the sticky swamp air. You walked towards the tarp and trough that Charles had set up to catch the rain and dunked your bucket into it, careful not to take too much since there wasn’t much there already and this water was mostly meant for drinking.

You made your way back to the cabin, heart thumping loudly in your chest as you passed by your friends and into the back room, trying to look nonchalant as you dumped the bucket of water down by Arthur’s feet. 

He was perched on an old packing crate. Forearms resting on his thighs and his head hung low. He seemed to jump slightly as the pail hit the floor and he looked up at you with large, tired eyes.

“Ah…” He breathed, looking at you tiredly. “Thank you.” He croaked, sitting up a little straighter and taking a deep breath. You smiled at him, taking a step back and not speaking as he began to unroll his sleeves. He pulled them down to his wrists and unbuttoned the cuffs before moving large hands to his chest and starting on his top button.

He paused suddenly, eyes flicking towards you briefly before he turned his whole head and looked at you slowly. You didn’t move, just watching as he slowly undid one button after the other.

Your heart throbbed painfully, and you found yourself licking your lips as glimpses of his matted chest hair came into view. You wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through it. A small puff of breath leaving you as you felt a spark of arousal flow through your body.

Arthur stopped undressing, staring at you pointedly. You noticed his cheeks were flushed and wondered if it was the unpleasant swamp air or if it was your presence.

You smiled slowly, stepping closer to him and watching as his hands automatically dropped to his sides. His lips were slightly parted, his tongue darting out to lick at them as you leaned down to take the cloth Grimshaw had left him and dunked it into the cold water.

You had intended to leave him to bathe in piece but something about this situation seemed too opportunistic to pass up. Seconds before he returned you had been lamenting the fact that you had been unable to tell him how you felt. You hadn’t got the chance to push your friendship to the next level and with him sitting here in front of you now, half naked… It seemed as though the universe was daring you to put your money where your mouth was or walk away for good.

You wrung the fabric out slowly, lifting it to Arthur’s face and pressing it against his flushed cheek. He flinched slightly at the contact. Inhaling sharply, his scruffy beard scratching at the heel of your palm as he quickly closed his mouth. Sparkling blue eyes swirled with confusion as he gazed into your eyes.

An unasked question on his tongue.

What is this?

He was gorgeous. You thought to yourself as you slowly wiped the cloth over his dirty face. Wiping smudges of mud from his forehead and blood away from his bruised cheek. 

He continued to stare, only closing his eyes as you ran the cloth over them. They were heavy-lidded and his pupils were blown wide. You wondered if there was lust clouding them or if it was the exhaustion finally getting to him.

He answered your unasked question as his hands hesitantly moved towards your hips. Eyes questioning as they hovered just above your dress. You looked to them and then to him. He seemed to question himself, hands beginning to withdraw as if he had misread the situation. 

You stopped him from pulling away with your free hand. Grabbing his and pressing it firmly against your hip. He hissed as he touched you, fingers kneading experimentally against your curves. 

You heard him swallow, felt his uneven breath on your face as you leaned towards him. The distance between the two of you closed quickly and you paused with your mouth an inch from his. Your lips glistened in the dull, lantern lit room and his eyes lingered on them longingly. The tension was palpable. Both of your hearts beating strong in your chests. Cheeks flushed as you gently scraped your lips against his. Barely brushing them before pulling back slightly to look for his confirmation that this was alright.

He dove towards you, not letting you pull away as his lips crashed hungrily against yours. You pushed back, matching his energy before physically stepping out of his reach and listening to him whine at your retreat.

He reached for you momentarily before letting his hand fall back to his lap. A question on his tongue as he looked you up and down hungrily. He sat back a little further on the crate, leaning his back against the wall and waiting for you to make the next move.

You weren’t sure if you should. Although all signs pointed to yes. You were scared of what you had to lose if one of you later decided it was a mistake. You were also worried for his health. You had no idea what he had been through while he was away. You weren’t sure he was in the right mind-set to start something with you this soon after coming home and even if he was, you weren’t sure he could physically take it.

He looked fatigued. Drained and dirty. It was clear he hadn’t bathed since he had left. Still wearing the same fancy clothes you had teased him for the day he had left Shady Belle weeks earlier.

He looked as though he needed a long bath and hug. Not someone climbing on top of him and expecting him to fuck them raw.

You couldn’t do much about the long bath but you could do the next best thing and make sure he was at least cleaned up thoroughly, you decided as you knelt by his feet. You pulled the bucket towards you and washed out the cloth. It was already horrendously dirty and you had only wiped his face.

You studied it sadly as you squeezed most of the water out of it. Looking up to Arthur and asking him kindly to remove his shirt. He did as he was told, slipping it down off his shoulders and hissing softly at the wounds on his arms that hadn’t quite healed yet.

You moved towards him. Gently running the rag over his arms and chest. Your heart rate quickening as your fingertips brushed against the taught muscles.

He squirmed uncomfortably under your touch and you realised with a jolt of satisfaction that he was aroused. You smiled to yourself, deliberately running the cloth over one of his stiff peaks and relishing in the small gasp he afforded you.

He had been eager to kiss you back. Perhaps you were wrong about him not being able to take it. Perhaps what you wanted was exactly what he needed.

“Jesus Y/N…” Arthur grumbled, trying his best to sound annoyed. “I’m… I’m not exactly at my best right now…” He said gruffly, making you blush.

You felt a stab of guilt hit you square in the chest. You had been right after all. Perhaps you should leave and give him is privacy…

You pulled your hand away and he stopped you quickly, clarifying his statement.

“You could just about kill me with all this teasin’.” He said mumbled, looking sheepish.

You stared at him for a second. Caught off guard by his candour you reacted without thinking and laughed aloud. His cheeks reddened at the sound of your laugh but he found it infectious, chuckling to himself as you pulled your hand away from his to hold your stomach, trying to take a proper breath.

“Well, I didn’t exactly think it was the best time to be taking things fast.” You explained with a playful tone. “I ain’t exactly sure what you’ve been through…” You added softly, suddenly serious as Arthur’s eyes seemed to darken slightly.

There was a long pause before you spoke again. Not sure if you had ruined the mood or if there ever really was a mood at all. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell.” You whispered, taking the cloth to the bucket once more as a means of distraction from his intense gaze.

“I have.” He replied simply, not offering any more than that as you finally looked to him and realised he appeared to be deep in thought.

You hummed, unsure how to answer or if he expected you to. 

“You wouldn't believe me if I told ya.” He chuckled softly, an underlying hint of sadness permeating his tone as he trailed off once more. You watched him sadly as he tilted his head back. Staring at the ceiling and losing himself in thought once more.

You dropped the clean cloth back into the bucket and stood, catching his attention as he locked eyes with you once more. You used your knee to knock his out of the way and stood between his legs, arms pressing firmly against his chest as you leaned down to kiss him once more.

He kissed you back, squirming as your hands began to trail lower and stopped at the waistband of his pants. He disengaged from the kiss, looking up at you from under his lids and opening his mouth to ask a question.

“What…” He managed to croak before your lips were on his once more. Shaking your head softly, you pulled away, shushing him. Your hands working to unbutton his fly as he groaned into the kiss.

“We don’t need to discuss it.” You said between kisses. Wanting to calm his anxiety but also not really wanting to have a big discussion about what this was and what it meant for your friendship.

You smiled to yourself as his erection sprung forth and he blushed a deep crimson at his autonomic response. He was obviously embarrassed by his eagerness. You’d barely kissed him and he was hard as a rock.

“It’s uh… been a while.” He admitted awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck uneasily. You smirked at him, giving him one last peck before withdrawing.

“And it will be a while longer.” You replied cryptically dropping to your knees once more and pulling at the waistband of his pants. Encouraging him to lift himself so you could pull them off.

He obliged, confused by your comment as you slipped his pants down over his legs and returned the rag to the water. Running it firmly over his thighs and avoiding his obvious arousal.

Arthur watched you incredulously. Cock twitching as the soft skin of your hand brushed past it teasingly. 

His breath hitched at the feeling. Tongue darting out to wet his lips as he felt his hips jolt towards you excitedly.

His thighs were trembling. You wondered if he noticed.

You tried to mask your smile. Not wanting to seem too eager. You knew you didn’t have much time before you would need to return to the others. But you had fantasized about this so many times in the past that it seemed a shame to rush it.

Although you supposed, it wasn’t exactly going to be anything like your fantasies already. In those you were alone, in a bed. Not cramped into a little 2 room shack in the middle of the swamp with 15 other people.

You chuckled to yourself at the absurdity of your situation.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

Arthur seemed to follow your train of through. Eyes trailing away from you, towards the door and then the adjoining wall. There were people right behind it. His friends and family were a mere plank of wood away. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic setting.

Despite that thought, he swallowed thickly as cock took on a mind of his its own. The thrill of potentially being caught like this making it twitch in excitement. Pre-cum beading on the top and rolling down his shaft before dripping to the floor in front of your knees.

You watched it with bated breath. Arousal swirling in your stomach and heat flowing towards the wetness between your legs.

You looked up at him, eyes heavy as he stared down at you with a look of awe. It was clear he was mildly embarrassed by his bodies reaction but he was far too aroused to care.

You looked at your hands. Stopping your work and taking a steadying breath before rising to your feet. Arthur opened his mouth to speak but you pressed a finger to his lips to stop him as you dropped the cloth beside him.

You leaned down, gathering your skirts in your hands and moving forwards to rest yourself on his thighs. He gasped as he felt the skin of your own thighs against his. The wetness between your legs resting deliciously on his balls as you pressed yourself against him and pinned his erection between your curls and his own stomach.

Arthur tried to speak once more but your palm was pressing against his lips before he could. You leaned forwards, pressing your forehead against his and closing your eyes. He stuttered, muffled gasps against your hand as you slowly rocked your hips and your lips slid delectably against his hot member. 

“Jesus Christ…” Arthur breathed, barely audible as you paused your movements. Pulling away from his forehead and pressing your lips against his cheek. He eyed you as you kissed along his jaw, nipping at his skin with your teeth and making his breath hitch.

You slowly moved down his neck, stopping at his pulse point to nip a little harder and kissing it apologetically as he yelped. His cock jerked hard against you as you felt his juices start to mingle with your curls.  

You removed your hand from his mouth and slowly slipped it under your skirts. Palm closing around his erection and giving it one quick stroke that made him groan aloud. You shushed him with a kiss, squeezing him hard as a warning to be quiet before lifting yourself up slightly to position him at your entrance.

Arthur was breathing hard, his hands squeezing your hips tight enough to bruise as you rubbed your nose against his. Your lips brushing his ever so slightly as he huffed into your kiss.

You sat down on him slowly, moaning as your wet heat engulfed him fully and you returned to your seated position on his lap. He groaned as you rested your weight on him, his hips jutting upwards slightly to try and create some friction. 

You could feel him pulsing inside you. Although he did well to hide is enthusiasm on the outside.

You smiled wickedly, your hand coming up to rest on his cheek before sliding back behind his head. Your fingers massaged his scalp softly as you began to move. Rising up and back down in quick succession. Your lips parting as your face contorted with pleasure. 

Arthur leaned forwards, kissing your neck hungrily and sending a shiver down your spine. You screwed your eyes shut, your head falling back as you begin to move faster. Fucking him with abandon as he huffed and moans against your neck.

“Fucking hell…” He grunted, hands sliding off your hips and around to your ass. He pulled you against him suddenly, making you lose your balance. You stumbled, losing your footing and he caught you, holding you in place as he took control. 

Your legs wrapped automatically around his hips as he began to rise, hands holding you firm under your buttocks as he quickly pressed your back against the wall adjoining the two rooms.

Dust falling from the ceiling like snow in the winter as the wall creaked under your weight.

You cried out, a jolt of pleasure shooting through you as Arthur thrust into you hard. His body holding you against the wall as he began to rock his hips at a brutal and rhythmic pace.

Your hands wrapped around his neck, head falling forwards to rest against his as he rolled his hips into you greedily.

One of his hands moved away from your ass and you reveled in his strength even in his weakened state. Keeping you afloat against the wall with just one hand and his unrelenting hips. He grunted in frustration, trying desperately to get his hand under your skirts and between the two of you. 

You giggled at his plight and he stopped thrusting momentarily to look into your eyes. Flushed cheeks a dark crimson as he questioned you with his gaze. 

“Don’t stop.” You whisper headily, voice small. His lips quirk momentarily, before he looks away. Using the pause to actually concentrate instead of feeling wildly. He managed to navigate your outfit and you gasp as you feel the rough pads of his fingers brush against your clit. “Fuck…” You gasped, breath hitching as he began to rub it in small circles with his thumb.

“You…” He paused, looking at you earnestly as he struggled to get out the words. “You like that?” He asked quietly, seeming unsure of himself. You moaned softly to get the point across, nodding as you tightened your grip on his neck with one hand and raked your nails over his shoulder with the other.

He exhaled shakily as your nails scratched at his skin. The feeling almost too much coupled with all of the other sensations he was currently feeling.

You loosened your grip, running apologetic fingers over the welts rising near his shoulder blade and he leaned in to kiss you softly. Rolling his hips against yours once more, he groaned into the kiss. Hand under your skirt moving faster as he unknowingly sent you hurdling towards your peak.

“Arthur…” You moaned, making him falter. “Arthur I’m…” You stopped, pleasure building as his thrusts started to become erratic. His rhythm lost as he shook against you. You could tell he was close as well. Eyes shut tight and breath uneven. He licked his lips, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he pressed you harder against the wooden wall, making it squeak.

You moaned aloud, unable to keep yourself quiet as you found yourself toppling over the edge of orgasm. You cried out, hot pleasure burning through your body and making your toes curl. His fingers as unrelenting as his hips as he stroked every ounce of pleasure from you.

Arthur wasn’t far behind, a guttural groan leaving him as he thrust into you deeply, pausing for a quick second before continuing to shallowly thrust as he released his seed deep inside you.

You blinked back tears of happiness as you were brought back to reality. The room spinning momentarily before your vision returned to normal and your breathing evened out. You waited for Arthur to make a move but he didn’t seem capable. He had pressed his entire weight against you during his orgasm. Relaxing against your body as he shivered and twitched his way down from his high.

You tapped him lightly on the shoulder, making his head snap up and he pulled away from you quickly. Returning his hand to your buttocks and easily lifting you so he could slip away before helping you unwrap your legs from his waist. He gave you a second to regain your footing before letting go. Standing back and smiling at you awkwardly as you rearranged your dress and tried to smooth it out, ignoring his seed as it rolled leisurely down your thigh.

You straightened yourself and met his eyes, smiling. He stared at you for a second, eyes darting away quickly as his cheeks heated once more.

“Ah…” he started, as he had earlier. Hand coming up to scratch at his beard as he searched for how to continue.

You saved him from his suffering, taking another step towards him and taking his hand in yours. You kissed it softly, making him blush before leading him back to the crate he had been previously sitting on.

He looked to you confused as you let go of his hand and pressed yours down on his shoulders, encouraging him to sit. He complied, dipping down quickly and resting his hands by his sides.

“You’re filthy.” You whispered as you reached for the cloth. Leaving your statement ambiguous as to whether it was fact or innuendo. 

“So are you.” Arthur quipped in response, leaving no room for you to misinterpret him. You smiled coyly as you dipped the rag in the water once again. Wringing it out and using it to wipe over his waning erection.

He hissed as you touched it, fidgeting as you stimulated his oversensitive tip. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” You said softly, not meeting his eyes as you let a rare tender moment settle between the both of you.

Arthur nodded in agreement.

“Me too.” He whispered, unsure if you had seen his movement. “I… wasn’t sure I would be. For a while there…” he admitted quietly, looking down at you with a forlorn expression. 

You hummed in response, not really trusting your voice to answer as you worked diligently on completing the task you were actually assigned to and washing his body.

“If I hadn’t…” he paused, unsure how to continue. “I certainly would have had my regrets.” He said quietly. Not elaborating.

You looked up at him, his eyes telling you all you needed to know. You smiled to yourself, looking back down as you replied. 

“Me too.”

End.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you guys liked this! If you did, please let me know! Comments keep my motivated! ❤

[m-u-n-c-h-y]

Happy Valentine’s Day @rdrdepression!!!

I was your secret Cupid, if you couldn’t already tell, I hope you like some good ‘ol Charthur being cuddly~ 

I’d also like to thank @rdrsecretcupid2020 for setting up the exchange! This was so much fun!

Have a wonderful Valentine’s Day everyone <3

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

RDR Secret Cupid

It was so exciting to be part of the @rdrsecretcupid2020​ (Thank you to the mods for all your hard work <3)

Unfortunately my cupid had to drop out, but I wanted to share my piece anyhow. They had asked for some soft Charthur, so I wrote a piece about their first kiss. Enjoy!

Warning: None Characters: Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, John Marston Word Count: 2,018 Tropes: Pining, Fluff

“Arthur.��  He snapped back, blinking hard, the flash of white burnt into his eyelids from the fire. It had been a long few weeks since they had made it to Horseshoe and it was starting to catch up with him.

“I’m sorry, I’m back.” He turned toward the voice. 

“I asked if you was alright, but I got my answer.” John dropped down next to him. “What you thinkin’ about anyhow?” He pushed the stew around his bowl and muttered. “I don’t know how you eat this shit.” 

Arthur looked down to the bowl of stew in his lap, John wasn’t wrong, the stew tasted like shit. Another thing he needed to add to his list. Pearson had been on him about how low their meat supply was getting. Being on the run had brought a lot more of the gang closer to home, meaning more mouths to feed regularly, his normal hunting wasn’t gonna cover it anymore.

“It’s this or nothin’, and it ain’t that bad.” He threw back the rest of it, much to John’s disgust. He put the bowl to the side. “You always was a picky eater Marston, it’s why you got those beanstalk legs.” John prickled. 

“Shut up!” He put his bowl down. “Stop skirting the question. What’s got you so out of sorts?” He hated that John  was surprisingly good at reading people. He looked across the fire, avoiding John’s gaze as it burned into him. 

“Just tired. Lots to do.” His eyes found Charles, just outside the glow of the fire. A familiar feeling crept it’s way into his gut. John tugged on his shoulder, pulling his gaze back.

“Send one of them idiots out to do some of it. Ain’t always gotta be you.” He motioned to Bill sitting across the fire.

“You think this food is shit now, let’s have Bill do the huntin’.” He deadpanned. John snorted.

“I was thinkin’ more like maybe Charles could do the huntin’. I ain’t sure Bill knows what parts of the animal are edible.”  John smirked and Arthur chuckled quietly. He put his hand on John’s shoulder. Giving it a pat, he grabbed his bowl and pushed himself up. 

“Maybe you’re right, Marston. I should let some of these idiots do it. You can take my guard shift tonight.” He turned and headed to drop his bowl off at the chuck wagon. John barked after him.

“I ain’t mean me!” Arthur ignored him as he vanished out of the fire’s glow.

John was right, Dutch had kept a lot of the gang close to camp, it had fallen on Arthur to do a lot of the long distance work. Especially with John being laid up with mess in the mountains. He tossed the bowl into the wash basin and headed off toward his tent. His mind lingered on what John said. Charles was a better hunter, and his hand seemed to be healing up nicely. He’d speak with Charles in the morning

He dropped his bag on the table as he entered his tent. Unbuckling his gun belt and draping it over the chair, he plopped down onto his cot. He laid back, staring up at the canvas he stared at a small mended patch and remembered how Grimshaw had asked him to pick up some sewing supplies the next time he was in town, he grumbled, adding it to his ever growing list. He closed his eyes, he would worry more about that in the morning.

Arthur poured himself a cup of coffee, swirling the thick black liquid around the cup. The crunch of footsteps came from behind him, and he half-turned, nodding a welcome to the newcomer. 

“Mornin’, Mr. Morgan.” Kieran chirped, bending over to pour himself a cup of coffee. 

“O’Driscoll.” Arthur muttered into his coffee. Kieran bristled and opened his mouth to defend himself, but Arthur held up a hand.

“I’m just needlin’ ya, Kieran.” He took a swig from his cup. “Quit bein’ such an easy target, they can smell fear ya know.”

Kieran stuttered, his face flushing with embarrassment. He raised his mug to his lips, hiding behind it Arthur shook his head and leaning over to refill his coffee as Grimshaw joined them at the fire. 

“Gentlemen” she greeted. Arthur reached out, taking her cup from her and pouring her some coffee. 

“Mr. Morgan. We are running a little low on food. If you could find time in your busy day to do a little hunting.” Charles moved to the fire as she spoke, kneeling down to pour himself a cup of coffee.

“I can join you, Arthur.” He paused as attention turned to him. “Two can carry more.” Arthur smiled and Charles felt his ears get hot.

“Sure!” Arthur finished off his coffee. “Meet me by the horses when you’re ready.” He dropped his cup in the wash basin and went to prepare his pack. 

Hosea was talking with Dutch in his tent, hunched over a table full of papers. They dropped their voices as he passed. Arthur stuffed a couple things into his satchel, lingering as his eyes fell to the poison arrows on his table. Charles must have dropped them off, he thought as he picked them up and turned to leave, his heart fluttered.

The men were still deliberating when Arthur appeared in the entrance of the tent. Making sure his footfalls were heavier on the pallet as he stepped inside.

“Gentleman.” He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “I’m heading out, gonna be gone a few days hunting. I’m takin’ Charles with me.” 

Hosea nodded and Dutch waved him off. The men returned to their plans and Arthur made his way toward the hitches.

The horses knickered as he approached, Ulysses pushed his head into Arthur’s back and nibbled his satchel playfully. He turned and chuckled, taking the horse’s head in his hands

“Hey boy, how ya doin?” He scratched Ulysses’ nose. “Ready to ride out? Let’s get you saddled up.” He clicked his tongue and grabbed his tack.

Charles tightened Taima’s saddle, checking the saddlebags for everything they might need as Arthur wandered into his peripherals. He watched as the horses swarmed him, the warm timbre of his chuckle made Charles smile. He led Taima over to the hitches to join Arthur.

“So, where we heading?” He ran his fingers through Taima’s mane. 

“Ain’t entirely sure, there’s plenty of deer around here. Could bring a couple back.” Arthur grunted, tightening the rear cinch. He draped his arms over Ulysses back.

“When I was in town I heard some men talking about some boars they swear was big as a bear.” He paused, trying to read Arthur. “May be worth checking out? Could feed the camp a while, a boar that big.” Arthur pulled himself into the saddle.

“Boars? Where about?” He stepped into the saddle, pulling himself up.

“Up near Three Sisters.” Charles saddled up. “Or so they said.”

“Well then, let’s head out!” He clicked his tongue again and pulled Ulysses out of camp. 

They headed north, the sun falling behind Citadel Rock as they started into the Cumberland Forest. Arthur found himself staring at Charles as they made their way through the trees. His chest tightened as he broke his gaze. The comfortable silence between them breaking as tension built in Arthur.

Get a hold of yourself. Charles is your friend. This is a silly boyhood crush. You do-

“You doin’ alright?” Arthur snapped back and glanced at Charles, concern painting his face. Charles pulled back on Taima’s reigns, slowing his pace to match Arthur’s.

“M’fine” Arthur muttered, heat flooding his ears. “Just lost in thought. Sorry.” 

Charles hummed and they rode along in silence. The sun hung low in the sky as they reached Moonstone pond.

“We should stop here for the night. Get a fresh start tomorrow.” Arthur pulled Ulysses off the path and over to the derelict cabin. 

He pulled the bedroll from the horse’s tack and dropped it on the ground beside him, grabbing a few more things before freeing Ulysses to go graze. Charles dismounted, gathering his belongings he freed Taima to join Ulysses. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll get started on a fire.” 

The temperature had plummeted since the sun had fallen behind the mountains, the wind picking up through the trees. Charles pulled on his thick jacket as he set off in search of firewood. Glancing back at Arthur as he worked to clear a spot for the fire, steam rising off him in the cool evening air. Charles felt that familiar feeling creep into his gut and he ripped his eyes away, scanning the floor for kindling and wood. 

Arthur had cleared the ground cover when Charles returned, arms overloaded with wood. He looked up as Charles unloaded the wood.

“Let’s get this fire started, before you catch your death.”  Charles chided. Arthur smiled awkwardly, the flutter in his stomach re-ignited.

“Ain’t so bad out here.” He dismissed, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. 

Charles huffed gently and got to setting the fire. Arthur laid out the bedrolls before disappearing into the the growing darkness. He returned a few minutes later, bow in hand, wrapped in a thick coat.

“Guess I’ll go see about some dinner.” Arthur called out, lingering awkwardly near the edge of the fire’s cast light. Charles pushed back onto his haunches over the flames clapping the dirt from his palms.

“Thought you weren’t cold?” Charles stood and went for his own bow. Arthur flushed and looked down. “I’ll join you.”

“You don’t gotta do that.” Arthur sputtered. 

Charles heart swelled, his mind wandering back to that first hunting trip they took up in the mountains. He smiled to himself, proud that Arthur was still using the bow.

“Think of it as a second lesson.” Charles motioned to the bow in Arthur’s hands. A small smile played at Arthur’s lips and he nodded.

They set out on foot, the trees were alive with small game and soon enough they had picked off a couple rabbits. Charles gave way to let Arthur loose the arrows. Watching him closely, his eyes lingering and his mind wandering, the familiar warmth building in his core. He pulled his eyes away, moving to collect the carcasses.

“You’ve really improved. I’m impressed.” Charles tried to make his voice even. “Rabbit’s aren’t an easy target, especially at that distance.” He picked up the carcass.

“T-thanks. Just been doin’ what you taught me.” Arthur’s cheeks flushed in the darkness as he reached the second rabbit.

They made their way back to camp, rabbits in hand. Easy conversation flowing between them as they pushed through the undergrowth and into the glow of the fire. 

“Let me get these ready for the fire.” Charles reached out, taking the rabbit from Arthur’s hand. His fingers lingering just a bit too long.

Arthur watched Charles as he prepared the rabbits, watching how he gently stripped the carcasses and rubbed herbs into the meat before placing it over the fire. He carefully turned the meat to avoid charring it. 

“Here.” Charles held out a skewer to Arthur.

“Thanks.” He took a bite, the flavors exploding in his mouth and his eyes lit up. “You’re gonna have to teach me how you did that.” He took another big bite and Charles blushed. 

“I guess we’re going to have to do this again then.” Charles trailed off and Arthur’s eyes met his, the fire between them flared.

“Yeah.” he breathed. “I guess so.” He leaned in and cupped his hand to Charles’ chin, their lips gently brushing together. Charles stiffened and Arthur pulled back, panic filling him.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...I just. I don’-” Charles’ lips crashed into his, hungry and warm. He hands tangling through Arthur’s hair. The forgotten rabbit burning over the fire. 

They parted, Charles pressing his forehead to Arthur’s, pushing the hair from his face, he smiled.

“Don’t be. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” He pressed his lips to Arthur’s again.

[thecrimsonvalley]

RDR Secret Cupid - “For my next trick...”

This one goes out to you @smithandrogers!  I’m your backup cupid for the @rdrsecretcupid2020 and I really hope you’ll enjoy the text, it was super fun to get to write these two dorks <3  ~~~ There were many people he would consider when the phrase “skulking off” came up around the camp. In fact, Arthur was well aware that he himself was one of these individuals, though his position as golden boy, adoptive son and all those other lovely phrases gave him quite the leeway to come and go as he pleased. One of the few individuals for who he would not use this word was Josiah. It was not so much the action of him taking his leave or moving from camp to get a breather. No it was the word “skulking off” that did not suit this well dressed gentleman. A person of his composure did not “skulk”: they “took their leave”, “withdrew”, “removed themselves” or whatever other fancy word they could possibly come up with. No matter which one, he had seen the other man move away from the camp site and, after a short debate, he himself had followed.

Arthur found no particular shame in confessing he enjoyed Josiah's company. There had been many, both men and women, whose presence he had found a great deal of enjoyment in yet he could never help himself from placing an individual scale onto it. While some were soft and gentle, requiring a great deal of attention others blew through his life like a hurricane and every encounter left him with the feeling he had just been ran over by several trains. For the time being he had not managed to figure just where this man was supposed to be categorised. 

Stepping into a clearing between the trees, his eyes set onto the back of the other man. With a smile he acknowledged that this place was certainly a neat little spot for some brief alone time. The trees gave enough shade, cutting off any view from the main camp yet their roots had not shot up enough through the ground to render it completely unusable. Thought the thought felt quite out of place, Arthur could not help but to consider that this would be an almost idealistic place for a little outing, if one was so inclined.     Almost as if Josiah had sensed his presence, the man spun around, the gesture almost unnaturally smooth. The only one he had seen coming even close had been the manners in which Hosea had held himself in younger years when retelling his endeavours during his short acting career. It was either a scene thing or a conman thing, neither of which he himself possessed. A smile played over the other man's lips as he gave a light bowing motion.      “If it isn't Arthur out for a stroll” Josiah said, his voice as melodic as ever “what a pleasured encounter!” “Just thought I ought to make sure ya don't get eaten by a bear or what not.”  He heard Josiah give a laughter combined with the low line of “perish the thought” as he once more turned. By now Arthur could see that he had been carrying along one of his bags, full of what he had never really figured out. It was a private matter, outlaws or not it was not in his nature to rummage through the belongings of anybody in camp. “Now that you're here” came Josiah's cheerful voice “you might as well be my test audience.” “Ya sure you wouldn't rather have me fetch Jack? Or Sean?” Arthur muttered, adding on a grumble “then again, we'd all have to listen to that idiot yap his mouth off about faes and what not!” “Let's not spoil the act before you've seen it.” There was a bit of an accusing tone in Josiah's way of speaking and, despite his own pride taking a little bit of a turn, Arthur did sit down in the grass. Sure, he had enjoyed some of those tricks, even though he couldn't for his life figure out of what use they were. Perhaps he had lost some touch with his sense of wonder and whimsy; a sentiment he felt most strongly to be the truth. “Pick a card.” Choking back a laughter, Arthur bit down onto the line of how it was the oldest trick in the book and instead did as he was told. Hovering his hand above the outstretched deck, he took a small bit of amusement out of almost pinching one of the cards before shaking his head and once more “contemplating” which one he should settle on. Throwing a glance at Josiah, he was rather surprised that the other man did not appear to be bothered at all by his jest, just patiently holding onto the cards with that charming smile on his lips. Saving his own mind before it went wandering, Arthur finally tugged one out. “Don't show me” Josiah continued, turning his face rather dramatically “memorise the number and colour!” With a shrug of the shoulder, Arthur did as told before sliding the card back into the deck. It was quite hard to pretend like he did not know how this would end but he patiently waited through the other man shuffling the deck about. With a snarky sentence resting onto his tongue, he felt a light pinch of surprise as he watched Josiah give the deck a sharp slap, the cards seemingly vanishing from out of his hands. “Well good look finding it now” Arthur muttered, though he was quickly silenced with a “shhh, it's not done yet” from the other man. “Pray tell, Mr Morgan, is this your card?” Josiah's hand movement was as flowing as water as he reached over towards the side of his face, brushing against his cheek, sending shivers down his entire body. With all his might, Arthur tried to pretend like it had not bothered him, all the while attempting to get a read on the other man. Was the smirk an invite? A mere gesture of amusement because he had been caught off guard? As the card was flashed before his eyes he gave a grunt, pushing the other man's hand away. “Yeah, yeah, that's the right one, you've done it a thousand times.” “You offend me Mr Morgan” Josiah responded, dramatically pushing his hand towards his chest “it seems I have to really floor you with the next one!” “Really? Ya gotta work on that originality ya know? What ya gonna do, pull a crow out of yer sleeve? Never ending handkerchiefs?” It did feel like a tiny victory as he watched Josiah give a little frown, his fingers sliding up to twirl through his dark curls and stroke down his moustache. It was a gesture that Arthur found as fascinating as it was charming. Then again there was a lot of things he found absolutely infatuating about this man that came and went as he pleased. He would be damned if he could not confess, at least to himself, that he found him alluring in all the right ways. “Well Arthur, you've forced my hand” Josiah said, straightening his back “I shall have to perform the act of a lifetime!” “Finally something original then.” “So it shall be.” Half by half expecting the other man to turn about, Arthur felt a tad dumbfounded as he watched Josiah instead step up in front of him, straightening his sleeves in that manner that only a skilled con artist could. It was a terrible gesture: not for its performance itself but rather for how it made his heart make a leap in his chest. He was not a man used to being wooed, it was him who did that to others but Josiah, this terribly wonderful man, he certainly had at least a hint of power to do so. “I shall now ask a person in my audience to close their eyes.” “Well now, how's that gonna impress anyone?” Arthur chuckled. “Patience, Mr Morgan, patience.” Shrugging his shoulders, he did as told, though the mere fact of sitting there, hands rested over his own knees and heart still beating like a drum gave him an awful strange sensation. He could hear the other man move about, the ruffling of shirt sleeves and the steps in the soft grass heightened by his lack of sight. Over it all was the low beat of his own pulse, his inner voice screeching while outwards showing nothing. The gentle brush of Josiah's fingers came against his cheek and Arthur thanked his lucky star that he had perfected the art of remaining stationary. While still trying to figure the trick out, a vain attempt from his side to remain one step ahead of his companion, he felt the sudden warm sensation of a pair of lips upon his own. Almost choking on his own breath, Arthur quickly opened his eyes, looking right into the soft yet oh so amused gaze of the other man. “You shall now fall hopelessly in love with me.” No matter how much he wished to say something, be it protest or agreement, Arthur felt his throat choking up, rendering him speechless. He did observe how the other man seemed to tense for a few seconds, perhaps awaiting some sort of outburst or reaction yet when none came, Josiah instead gave an amused “oh my, is it already taking effect?”. This simple sentence, dripping with a teasing tone, finally shook him back into gear. With a mix of wishing to defend his own selfish pride and not be made a fool of, Arthur reached his hands out, grasping onto the coat of the other man and with a swift movement he managed to tug him down, trying his best to soften the fall. Despite how much his thoughts told him to “pay back in kind” he was none too keen on accidentally hurting the now laughing man in the process. To wrestle Josiah down onto the ground, pinning his hands onto the grass, was barely a sport at all. Brutal strength was his own talent and one he knew that few in camp could match him with. Despite how much he had wished for it to be a move to show power or confidence, Arthur could not help but to let his lips crack up into a smile upon hearing the amused chuckle from the man before him. “Yes, indeed, I would say it is working just as it should.”  

[rdrsecretcupid2020]

RDR Secret Cupid: Rules

Howdy friends and folks! After gauging y’all’s interest, here it is the Red Dead Redemption Secret Cupid 2020!

The concept is similar to a Secret Santa exchange: every participant (but we’ll call y’all Cupids from now on) will be assigned another Cupid to create a work for, secretly! This blog will then reblog all entries on Valentine’s day, the 14th of February.

--

Schedule

Applications via google forms close on January 14th

You will receive your Cupid’s url and wish by January 16th by email. Make sure you give us a valid address and that you whitelist ours!

You are responsible for submitting your work on your blog on February 14th.

--

Rules:

This goes without saying but join if you’re fairly certain you’ll have the time! This is very important as if several Cupids drop out, other Cupids will be without a gift. We’re planning to have back-up Cupids but let’s try not to overload them with last-minute works.

It’s a Secret Cupid, so keep who you got assigned to a secret!

Only artworks and fanfictions are accepted.

After much hesitation, we decided to allow 18+/explicit material on 2 strict conditions: First, you MUST be over 18 to participate/ask for an explicit piece. Second, you have to abide to tumblr’s tyranny laws, host your work elsewhere and instead submit a snippet/cropped image of your work.

We will immediately reject and block the application of any participant asking for any mature work involving underage characters or asking a piece showing hate towards any minorities.

The list of participants will only be sorted according to what type of work they wish to receive (fanarts or fanfic, or both) and according to their major squicks/trigger but otherwise, it will be randomised. Please understand that you might end up with ships or characters you don’t feel particularly strongly towards (And always remember the first fandom activity’s rule: ship and let ship!).

To keep things fair, the mods will divide the final list of participants in half, and then each half will be randomly assigned and maintained by one of us, ensuring the other mod isn’t able to spoil their own surprise either.

The minimum requirement for art is a finished piece, according to the artist’s standards and style. Please, put a lot of heart and soul into your work!

The minimum requirement for fics are 1000 words. Again, please put a lot of heart and soul into your work!

Please try to stick to your recipient’s wishes as much as possible.

If, for any reason, you really can’t make the deadline, please inform us as soon as possible so we can find a replacement in a timely fashion.

We mods will not sort people depending of their artistic levels. As the participants will be randomised as much as possible, there will be difference regarding of “quality” and styles. Please remember to be kind to each other!

--

Submission rules:

Please tag your work with #RDRSecretCupid2020 so we can reblog it on February 14th! Make sure this tag is present among the 5 first tags of your work so it’ll be indexed by tumblr’s fine databases. You can also @rdrsecretcupid2020​ in your post!

If your work contains mature content, please submit a cropped version/a snippet and host your work elsewhere, for all female presenting nipples��� sake.

If you have any question, feel free to send us and ask or contact us at  rdrsecretcupid2020(at)gmail(dot)com!

Application form

- Mods Natt & Crimson

[the-man-with-the-plan-der-linde]

Happy Valentine’s Day, @lusus--naturae! Thank you for your patience! ^__^

UM, CAN I SAY I LOVED YOUR REQUEST?! Hope you don’t mind I did both Charles Châtenay AND Margaret, for some sexy silliness, lol! This was such a blast, and what a great pair of under-repped characters!

Here’s a link for butts 🙃  Thank you @rdrsecretcupid2020 for organizing!

[nattravn-art]

You seemed to like the idea of an RDR Secret Cupid, so I’m thrilled to announce you that it’s there; over at @rdrsecretcupid2020!! :D

I drew Charles and Karen as cupids for the banner because... because. I just wanted to see them as cupids. Simple like that. :)

[strwxberrymilk]

“Even a man who is pure in heart and says his prayers by night may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms and the autumn moon is bright.”

Pairing: Werewolf John Marston x Reader

Word count: 3,362

Happy Valentine’s day! Here’s my fic for the always lovely @littlestarofthewest from the @rdrsecretcupid2020 event!! You said you liked tropes and mythical creatures, so I hope you like confessions of love and werewolves!! 

~

Summer winds danced through the trees, their sunlit branches trembling, gently moved by the warm breeze. Crickets began chirping along with songbirds as the sun sank over the heartlands, calling sweetly to the coming dusk. Creamy wisps of clouds delicately kissed the horizon, beckoning forth a warm glow over the lands, coating cliffs, and wildflowers in its radiance. The Dakota River was turned into liquid gold and the meadows seemed less like grass and more like twenty-four-carat threads waltzing in place. The campsite basked in the golden hour, hushed if only for a moment, by the setting sun. She sat there on an old fallen log, journaling and taking in the half-light of day. The breeze swirled through her hair and onto sun-kissed skin as she tucked wild strands behind her ear. Her pencil scraped purposefully at the paper, marking down her fleeting thoughts as the day came to an end.

Tonight would be the first full moon since she had been bitten those weeks ago. The freezing dampness of Colter was testing in itself, but with the hapless attack from an O’driscoll scout, the journey was frightful. She had been on guard duty when the beast came from the trees, roaring madly, sending spittle flying through the cold air, and clamping its razor-filled maw around her throat. Luckily, the men came just in time, hurdled into action from the sound of the beast- shooting the creature dead and getting the girl inside. There was no mistaking her fate then. In fact, most of the people who ran with the Van Der Linde gang were all too familiar with the curse that would soon befall the young woman, having to deal with it themselves as well. She healed quickly from the wounds, biding her time until the moon would finally rise, uncovered and full. And it seemed that a night full of firsts would arise with the setting sun.

He watched her sitting on that log, basking in her radiance, starry-eyed and captivated by the way that the light caressed her skin and how the dust in the air danced a halo around her. How he longed to be the sunlight on her skin, craving to be sweetly buried in those locks, holding her to him, with full dominion over her body and affections. She was to be his, and his alone- it was what he ached for, what he needed in order to feel whole again. Since the day they met, John Marston had an eye for the lady. Much to Dutch and Hosea’s chagrin, John had immediately imprinted upon her the second their gazes met. This bond that had suddenly drawn the two together held a more significant meaning than john had known at first, only recognizing that she was his destiny after a talk with Hosea. The girl was clueless, however. Merely thinking that the young man just enjoyed her company some. Maybe he thought of her as a sister that needed his protection or a damsel in need of saving- because in her mind, surely this tall, dark, and villainously handsome man couldn’t feel the same way about her. So, she pushed down these hot and blooming fantasies of romance every time she spent a moment with John.

The girl shut her journal with an inward sigh, slouching, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes fluttered shut with a long exhale, worried about the night to come. John was leaned against a nearby tree, watching, spell-bound by her entirety, and just how gorgeous she looked. He pushed off of the rough bark when he saw the clear anxiety in her posture, spurs clinking as he headed towards her. “Evening miss (___),” he called, stopping to stand next to the log. The girl snapped her head up to look at him, her eyes weary and thoughtful. “Oh, hello John,” She quickly looked back at the landscape, feeling her cheeks heat up under his gaze. “What’re you up to?” The question hardly squeaked out from her lips as she nervously played with her pencil, refusing to meet his eyes. John huffed, bringing his hands to rest on his gun belt, turning to watch as the sun made its final descent behind the distant mountains. “Well I noticed you looked worried, so I came to see how you were,” He glanced at her in his periphery, “-Since I know it’s gonna be your first night is all.” He added quickly, mumbling slightly, shaking his head. The girl sighed, swallowing her feelings once more and turned to face him completely in her seat, “Hah, well you’re right. I am really worried John. I-I mean I’ve never gone through anything like this before, especially not alone.” Nervously laughing she continued, “I really am frightened.” John moved to sit beside her, resting with one elbow on his thigh. She could now see his face fully, handsomely drenched in the afterglow of twilight, black wisps falling into his eyes. His lips were pulled into a tight line and his brows furrowed, “(___), I’m gonna be honest with you. It’s not easy. In reality, it will be painful, and damn difficult. It was, even for me.” He placed a heavy hand onto her smaller ones, squeezing slightly in re-assurance, “But you’re a strong, fine woman. You’ll manage just fine I’m sure.” John grinned a toothy smile and chuckled as the young woman laughed as well. “Thank you, John, I- uh- That means a lot to me.” She glanced down before finding herself lost in those coal brown eyes, staring longingly at his scars, tracing down his face and to his lips. A soft sort of tension ebbed between them and through the beginning night, making their silence quite awkward. Noticing this, John cleared his throat and spoke up, “Say, why don’t we go grab some dinner and get you settled?” He stood up and held out a hand to the girl. Smiling sweetly, she took his hand and walked with him back to the center of camp.

They sat together at a table and ate their stew, chatting about things other than their lycanthropy. After dinner, John and the girl rested around the campfire with the rest of the gang, all more quiet than usual out of respect for the girl’s first moon, and by Dutch’s orders. It was easy for them to empathize with her since all first turns are involuntary and happen no matter what, on the first full moon after one is bitten. After a wolf’s first moon, they are free to choose when to turn or not, voluntarily shifting at will, not tied to their beastly form when those bright nights come. After a while, the girl grew more exhausted, feeling hot under the rays of the rising moon, and asked john to bid her goodnight. He walked her back to her own tent, re-assuring her that everything will be alright and that she should try to sleep and get some rest while she can. With a kiss to her delicate hand, He wished her a peaceful first moon. The girl heaved and entered her tent. As the flaps closed behind her, the girl began to undress. She was sweating already, and her clothing clung to her, nearly drenched. Being left in just her drawers and chemise the girl lied down onto her bedroll, panting, exhausted and growing more agitated as time went on.

She slept for a short while as the camp around her calmed to a hush and only embers sizzled where the roaring fire once sat. The moon rose higher into the night sky, stars twinkling sporadically in the deep black depths. Crickets stopped their singing and no rabbit even dared to exit its burrow; the earth knew that it was time. With a gasp, she woke, suddenly and painfully- her skin burned with heat and her chest ached. Pure instinct ran through her veins, as she lifted herself from the ground, stumbling out of the tent and into camp. Nobody was out now, all stowed away, sleeping soundly in their bedrolls. She wheezed as her feet carried her out into the forest. Her heart began to race, every time she waltzed into a patch of moonlight, promptly carrying her faster downhill. Her skin felt like it was on fire, searing deep into her bones, making her cry out in pain. Her yells were the only sound that echoed in the trees, becoming more erratic and desperate as she stumbled towards a clearing in her moon-drunk stupor. All she could hear was the blood rushing through her ears as she cleared the tree line. Stepping into the moonlight sent waves of chills down her skin, cooling the heat that ached her. The pure ecstasy that direct moonlight poured into her was indescribable. She whimpered as pain overtook her short-lived pleasure, breath hitching as she hunched over. Her entire body was trembling severely, and tears welled in her eyes. Bones began to shift and crack horridly as she writhed in pain, screaming out into the night air. Her once soft and manicured hands grew into large wolf-like paws with long unmanaged claws hanging atop. Her spine elongated and ruptured, stretching and pulling. Her chest moved in the opposite direction, ripping through her underclothes, leaving her bare. The girl’s legs grew longer and bent wildly, breaking and contorting into those akin to a canine. Her bare feet morphed into large paws, making her stumble, catching herself on the ground with her arms. The girl’s once petite frame was now hulking and covered in thick fur. The worst pain was in her face and jaw, cracking and relocating, making her shriek in pain. The moon was at its peak now, casting its midnight rays below into the valley and onto the girl. Her screams turned to beastly roars as the shifting came to its end. Whimpering and writhing in the dewy grass she looked up to the moon. This final action, a gesture of submission and connection sent a rush of primal strength into her. She rose now, standing tall and greeted the moon with a hauntingly beautiful howl. She sang away the pain, tilting her head back and flattening her ears. This is how she was supposed to feel. To be liberated by the moon’s benevolent grasp.

John bolted awake in his tent. He heard her song so clearly, even in his sleep, calling to him. This siren song beckoned him fourth, setting his heart on fire. He threw himself out of his tent, heart thumping wildly in his chest. He knew that the bond that nature had secured between them would call to him eventually, but just how quickly and wholly instinct took over was jarring to him. He scented the air, nostrils flaring, and pupils blown, searching for the girl- his girl. His lanky form bounded through the forest floor, stomping over thickets through the underbrush. Most times he was confident in his will to keep from turning when exposed to the moon’s rays, but when his ears pricked at the again enchanting howl that sang from the she-wolf, her scent drifting back up the hill, he felt his continence slip from his grasp. Stumbling forward he growled as his own beastly form began to manifest, shifting from man to wolf. His once slim torso now broad and coated in inky black fur, heaved deeply as he tried to regain some sort of restraint. With his senses, now heightened, he could feel the girl close by. His massive paws padded quietly as he stalked through the underbrush, head swiveling and ears twitching, looking for an indicator of her location. nose to the wind, his stride came to a stop as the tree line thinned into a clearing. The moment his eyes found her, gaining her bearings in the meadow, he felt more human as a wolf than he ever had before. She stood gazing upwards, her fur sparkling in the moon’s rays, tail waving slightly under her long, muscular legs. A fire sparked in his loins, churning butterflies in his gut- feet carrying him out into the open air to meet her.

She hadn’t noticed him approach, focus fixated on the night sky. His steps broke the silence, causing her to snap her attention to him. The girl wasn’t used to her new senses, nose scrunching as she took in his scent, it was unfamiliar yet known, something she remembered but now dripping in musk. Fear swam down her spine, hackles raised, and ears pinned snarling a warning to the dark-furred male. She backed up slightly, tucking her tail, crouching defensively. The male was shocked, not knowing why she didn’t recognize him. He let out a small sound between a whimper and a bark, ears lying flat submissively, stepping forward. Shadows uncovered the wolf as he slinked forward into the moonlight, head hanging low and eyes locked onto hers. The deep scars that cut into his fur were now visible in the misty silver rays and his eyes, stark red against midnight brows, pierced like a beacon through the air and into her. Her ears flicked forward in question, head bobbing backward. This night could not get any weirder, she thought, she had expected her first moon to be strange, yes, but she knew that face; It couldn’t be anyone but john. She let him approach, stepping closer herself, calling out a quiet whimper in question to the male, ‘john?’ The larger canine broke from his submissive stance, bouncing slightly and happy to be recognized by the she-wolf. His tail began to wag rapidly, and he grinned, ‘I’m here (___), it’s me.’ Along with her demeanor, the tension broke and she sprang forward, closing the gap between them and tackled John to the ground. She laughed in relief, ‘Man am I glad to see you! I don’t know what I would’ve done if some other folks had found me so quick!’ She pressed the bridge of her muzzle to his chin and breathed in a deep whiff of his scent, which became clear to her in recognition of the man whom she pined over. John grunted, out of wind from the sudden hug, and chuckled, ‘well you did look like you were ‘bout to kill me right there. If I ain’t know you, I would’ve tucked tail and ran, you sure showed like a seasoned wolf already.’ The girl rolled off of him, reaching her feet and cocked her head to one side. ‘What’d you mean ‘if I ain’t know you?’ How did you know it was me, not like anyone’s seen me turned before?’ Her brows were furrowed, and she gazed around as if to look for anyone else there with them. ‘well,’ John said, standing up, ‘I could smell you, but really it was that beautiful call of yours. I knew that nobody else could sing so sweetly to me-‘ He stopped suddenly. The words falling out of his mouth far too quickly. John wasn’t quite how to tell her how strongly he felt, but damn he knew it needed to be more romantic than word vomit. John huffed, ‘Anyways, let’s get you back home. Or at least closer to camp. folks around here ain’t used to seeing things like us.’ He gestured back to the tree line and placed a paw at the small of her back. She sent him a smile, her eyes, soft, gleaming gold in the moon’s light. They started into the forest, side by side. ‘And while we walk, I could explain some more things that you’ll start to experience? Having had your first moon and all.’ He questioned, looking down at the girl. Humming, she answered, ‘That sounds wonderful, thank you, John.’

Through the night, the two young werewolves padded through trees and over thickets, conversing quietly. He described his first moon to the girl, and how he learned all he knew from Dutch. How scents work, how to track prey as a wolf, how ranking works. The moon was sinking low now, barely kissing the tops of distant trees. The wind settled into a slow breeze as the caterwauling crickets hushed to a whisper, and twinkling stars began to fade. It was when they got onto the topic of packs and ranking that imprinting came up.  The two stopped just outside of camp. John’s throat was dry as he described the ‘at first sight’ bond that takes place between destined mates. He stated that, ‘It feels like when you’re apart from them, that you’re suffocating.’ The girl was quiet for a long moment before asking, ‘And that you would give the world just to hold them? for even one second?’ She refused to look at him, worried that if she did, he’d know exactly what her question was. John took in a deep breath before exhaling, ‘I never knew how I should tell you this. But I think right now is as good as tomorrow and as any day. (___) from the second I met you all that time ago, I knew that you were meant to belong to me.’ He took the girl’s smaller paws into his and gave them a gentle squeeze, eyes lingering on her face, taking in her ethereal beauty. Even as a wolf, he thought she was the image of perfection itself. The girl was shocked, mouth hanging open. Her head shook as she looked up to meet his eyes. ‘are you toying with me, John Marston?’ Her eyes welled up with tears. In her mind, there was no way that this man, who treated her with such chivalry, who was so handsome, fiercely loyal, and genuine could feel the same way about her that she does of him. John’s eyes looked worried as he pulled her into his chest, claws raking through her soft fur. ‘I always questioned it or dismissed it, but tonight- when I heard you howl- it just solidified it to me.’ He breathed deeply, looking down and stroking her cheek, ‘We are meant to be with one another, (___). We’re supposed the be mates.’ The girl lifted her head from his broad, inky chest and grasped onto the hand that remained on her furred cheek. he stammered mouth opening and closing before finally admitting, ‘I love you.’ She choked out a sigh of relief before returning his confession, ‘I love you too.’ He leaned down and touched his forehead to hers, holding each other tightly in the dying moonlight. His next words were those of ancient origin, that was said between every pair of courting wolves, symbolic and true in meaning. ‘I vow to protect you, love you, provide for you in any way that I can.’ He whispered to her, earnestly. The girl smiled before answering, ‘I vow to serve you, comfort you, and provide for you in any way that I can.’

The pair pulled away from one another as the beginning signs of day spread along the land. ‘we should get you inside before you turn back. You’re gonna be exhausted- just like I was after my first moon.’ John called, taking her hand in his own. In the east, the sun peeked from behind the horizon and songbirds sang to the coming light. The sky was yellow and blue, beckoning day to come once more. The new couple, giddy and spry, traipsed paw in paw into the awakening camp. The only other souls awake at that early hour were Dutch and Arthur, who sat just outside Dutch’s tent, drinking their coffee and talking quietly. They snapped their heads in the direction of the two wolves that came into view. Dutch smiled touched and knowing while Arthur grinned and nodded before taking another sip of his hot coffee. The girl yawned as she carefully entered her tent, John following close behind. She lied down atop the furs and blankets on the floor, tail wrapping around her bent legs, and beckoned John to do the same. ‘Stay with me?’ she asked, humming quietly. He curled up beside her, holding the girl close to his chest, laying his head down just above hers. ‘Always (___), always.’

~

I apologize that i couldn’t get this posted sooner! This weekend was chaotic and i couldn’t get to my laptop. I really hope you enjoyed it, I’m a fairly inexperienced writer and this was my first insert fic. I know it doesn’t live up to your god-like writing skills but I gave it a shot anyways! 

Have an amazing week sugarplum!! <3

[squidproquoclarice]

Really, really pleased for have gotten to write for @rdrsecretcupid2020.  I was asked to write for @my-funky-little-cowboy​, who requested some soft Sadithur.  For Valentine’s Day I decided to go for a super soft UA (despite where it starts, heh) where the worst traumas of 1899 didn’t come to pass, and so most people lived.  Hope you enjoy!  Soft Sadithur with some Tillier and Abijohn, and maybe a nod towards potential future Charen, which she also requested. ~~~~~~~~~~ March, 1901 White Deer Crossing, Minnesota For the second time in her life, Sadie Griffith was getting married.  That fact carried with it both love and a particular sobering reality, given she’d said I do once before less than five years before, and she’d meant it with all her heart then too.  Hadn’t truly thought about the weight of till death do us part until she’d sat there in that cabin in Ambarino, holding Jake’s hand as the pneumonia won the fight.  There one moment, gone the next.  She’d had the rest of that whole winter to rage and grieve and rail against God, to be numb, to cry herself to sleep.  But at least she’d been there, at least he’d been able to say goodbye.  Far too soon, but a good death, compared to some. She’d buried him in the spring when the ground thawed, packed the wagon, and drove away, knowing she’d never return.  She couldn’t run that farm alone, so far from everyone else, but she could have let the livestock and the few crops go and become some kind of hermit, surviving by her hunting and trapping, living as alone as she’d been through those endless snowy days and nights. But she couldn’t live with the gaping wound of Jake’s absence everywhere she turned.  So she’d headed south.  Run into a gang of toughs calling themselves O’Driscoll Boys who’d shot Betsy, and seen a lone woman and her few belongings as easy pickings.  She could have given in, but that part of her that felt frozen since Jake took sick three days after falling through the ice, not only thawed, it exploded.  If she was going to die, she was damn well going to fight as much as Jake had, and she wasn’t going to be pushed by some swaggering bastards who viewed a widow and saw only prey.  Especially since Jake had ridden that route to avoid bandits in the hills, and gone hunting to replace the provisions they stole, as far as she was concerned, they had as good as killed him themselves. The next wagon by found her standing there over four corpses, blood spattered.  Rifle still in hand, pointed at the driver as he hopped down, ready to make it five.  Ragged, feral, furious, taking out some of that anguished scream that had lived inside her for months.  He’d looked at her, looked at the dead men and the dead horse still in the wagon traces, nodded slightly, and said, voice almost nonchalant despite the horrible sight she must have made, “Seems you can hold your own, ma’am.  But as you got no horse now, and being as there are more of their kind roaming about,” he gestured towards the bodies, “I wouldn’t recommend camping alone.  So if you’d like to travel with us a bit, you’d be welcome.”  Seeing curious faces poking out from wagons further back in their caravan, she’d relaxed a bit, seeing women there with them. Not the most auspicious first meeting, perhaps, but looking back, all she could see was that Arthur had been kind to someone with nothing left to lose.  But that was the way of things.  They all had stories about how they’d been alone, desperate, scared, lost.  How this ragtag band had taken them in and forged them into family.  Their leader had died, but Dutch Van Der Linde was still spoken of with a sort of hushed reverence like some kind of hero or god.  Secretly, she much preferred Hosea, warm and approachable and so human, with his roguish twinkle and his jokes about how all he wanted in his dotage was to sit around and dandle some more grandchildren on his knee. Children--a hope she and Arthur had both had to put away, and now taken down again, dusting it off with care.  They’d traveled for a long time, and somewhere along the way she’d become fully one of them, an outlaw wandering and hunting and killing and scamming alike.  But that didn’t matter.  They were family.  This was what they’d all wanted in the end: home.  A good place, peaceful and happy, where this bunch of orphans and outcasts could believe that finally life might be gentle and kind, that something fine could grow from settled roots.

Though Tilly and Javier would provide Jack’s first baby cousin, and she expected Swanson would have another wedding to perform soon enough. She slipped down the hall to Arthur’s room, though like her, he would have packed all his things to move it to the cabin they’d built for some privacy, like John and Abigail’s.  Knocking, she heard him answer, tone distracted, “Yeah?” She didn’t reply, just opened the door and stepped in.  He stood at the window, looking out over the preparations in the yard, looking pensive, or nervous, or both.  They’d talked so much, starting in those long hours out hunting together, about Jake, about Eliza and Isaac, and the sadness in him made sense.  He’d had part of his soul ripped from him too, and something about that drew them to each other.  Paradoxical that in sharing sadness, it also made her more able to joke and laugh with him, but perhaps that feeling of kinship and trust and comfort stood behind it all and made it so easy to be that free with him in both joy and sorrow. He turned to see her.  That smile, that glow in his eyes, a man who’d learned the feel of hope all over again, still caught her heart with a fierce tug.  He was a pleasant looking man to begin, but God, seeing him alight with happiness and wonder and hope made him beautiful.  She only hoped that fate would be kind, and she’d get to grow old with him. Crossing to the window, she peeked out at the bustle going on.  “That is--quite the commotion, ain’t it?” “Too late to elope, I suppose?” he asked her, and she sensed he was only half-joking. She reached out, taking his hand in hers, glad for the reassurance of it.  “They’re our family.  You’d be sorry if they didn’t get to be a part of it.” “Sure.” “Besides,” she couldn’t help but tease him, “we’re gonna get plenty of time just to ourselves, I promise you that.” “Well, we’re gonna get teased like hell whenever we come out of that cabin, so I’d say let’s make it a few days at least before we take a chance and emerge.”  There was a blush alongside that lopsided grin, but that gleam in his eyes told her that he was more than eager to keep making up for all those lonely, loveless years.     They watched for a few more minutes, standing there together without a need to say anything.  She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d come to see him one last time before meeting him before Swanson and taking his hand as he changed into her husband.  He was her friend, like Jake had been, and he’d be her friend before anything else, no matter what.  But it comforted her all the same.“I didn’t ever think…” She knew what he’d started to say.  He hadn’t ever expected a day like this, a future like this. Neither had she.  After Mary, after Eliza, after Jake.  After becoming a killer and an outlaw.  There was no way to turn back the hands of time.  She could never be that Sadie again, and he would never be Jake, and she could never be Mary or Eliza for him either.  But they didn’t need to be.  This would be a different happiness than she’d had before, but not a lesser one.  Maybe this peace and this second chance meant even more so for its coming after such darkness. “We ain’t young, no, and we ain’t innocent no more.”  She heard the husky edge to her voice, fighting against the swell of emotion.  “But Arthur, that don’t mean we won’t be happy.  That we shouldn’t be happy.”  She had to believe that they could.  They’d been damaged, torn, broken, but they had chosen to be good people all the same.  Both of them helped people where they could, chose kindness rather than hatred, and that soothed something.His hand tightened around hers.   “Sadie?”

“Yeah?”  She turned away from the window, towards him. “Thank you.”  She understood he meant it for far more than a few words.  He looked like he wanted to kiss her, but he smiled, touched her cheek with his other hand.  “Guess I’ll save all that for later.” Just then, Mary-Beth burst in, asking, “Arthur, Sean wants to know if you’ve seen--”  She gave a little cry of alarm, looking at the two of them.  “Arthur Morgan, you know you ain’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding, it’s bad luck!” “She came to my room, how is this my fault?” “Just go talk to him, you know how he gets when he gets a notion in his head, and I don’t want him ruining a lovely wedding!”  Ushered out by Mary-Beth back towards her own room, she let herself be shepherded, trying to not laugh.  Tilly, Abigail, Jenny, Karen, and Susan already waited there. “Well, Mrs. Morgan,” Susan said, giving her a smile, “should we get you ready?”  She gestured to the dress laid out on the bed.  A widow couldn’t wear white, not for a second wedding.  She had to reflect with some amusement it wasn’t as though any of them in that room, though none of them was technically a wife, could claim virginal purity regardless.  But in truth, Sadie would rather not wear white, even if it had been an option.  She’d seen more than enough of icy, pristine white.   The rich yellow called to mind the glow of light and fire, the vivid burst of spring flowers, and that was what she needed, a dream of life and warmth.  They’d all helped her make the dress after Arthur finally mustered the courage to ask her to marry him at Christmas.  There were long hours of loving labor in every stitch, every pintuck, every bit of embroidery.   She looked at all of them: Mary-Beth with her love of romance, practically vibrating with glee.  Tilly, and the slight curve beneath her skirt, with her own hopes and dreams.  Abigail, still hoping John would marry her in truth, but eyes shining with happiness as she clipped a few last threads on the dress.  Jenny, shy and sweet, deftly twisting flowers into a circlet for her.  Karen, briskly polishing Sadie’s boots to a high shine, and she wondered if she could prod Charles to finally ask Karen to dance.  Susan, who’d loved and lost, more than once, and sometimes she was still as prickly as anything, but in the end, she loved them all and fought for them like a she-wolf.  In a way, this was their day too, their celebration. Caroline was in Oregon, and their rift as sisters might never be mended.  Her mother was long gone, dead shortly before she and Jake finally gave up on their family’s farms in Tumbleweed and ran off to Blackwater to marry, and from there to Ambarino.  So she’d been alone that day, and so had Jake. She was getting married again today, but this time, it wouldn’t be alone.  She’d have family around her today, and for the future, the kind of love from a large and boisterous family that she’d never known before.  After struggling so long either alone or with only Jake to help her, that thought of belonging, of the support of being woven into something strong and sturdy with so many threads from other people, made her smile.  She threw up her hands in mock resignation.  “All right, all right, I put myself in the capable hands of you gals.” ~~~~~~~~~~ “It’ll be fine, Arthur, you’ll see.” Hosea said, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.  “You’re as jumpy as a cat.” He glanced over at Hosea.  “And I suppose your wedding day went smooth as silk?” Hosea let out a laugh that barely skirted turning into a cough, but he waved off John’s offered arm, sitting down on Arthur’s bed unaided. “No, I spent the whole morning pacing a trench into the floor, threw up an hour before the ceremony, and then the thought of kissing poor Bessie at the altar after that about threw me into a panic.” “Sounds like a poor start to things,” John remarked, leaning back against the chest of drawers, crossing his arms. “Well, I talked the preacher into getting me some whiskey.  Wasn’t quite sure whether I wanted to make myself a stiff drink or clean my mouth out, but it seemed it’d suffice for either.  I chose the latter, in the end.” “Why’s that?” “Cause tense as I was, I wanted to see her on that day as clear as I ever had.”  Hosea glanced over at John first, then at Arthur, giving one of his self-deprecating smiles.  “Though I still wasn’t quite sure she wouldn’t come to her senses and leave me at the altar, mind.” “Hosea, please…”  The last thing he needed right now was that worry.  Even now he could feel it trying to take root.  Sadie would see sense, and say that there was no way she could tie herself to the likes of him.  There had been two women in his life who’d seen something in him fit to refuse to be his wife, and for good reason, so why should this time be any different? Because this was Sadie.  Because ever since he’d seen her, terrifying and magnificent on the roadside, dead O’Driscolls and a dead horse, things had simply worked.  With Mary it was all back and forth, giddy dreams or ferocious fights, and nowhere solid to build, just castles in the air.  With Eliza, he’d started so far back, feeling like he must be a shame in her life she didn’t quite know what to do with--the outlaw and the drunken fool who’d gotten her pregnant.  With Sadie, it had always been possible to just be, and she saw fit to accept that, and somehow, even love him for all that he both was and wasn’t. “She won’t run,” Hosea said, voice going soft.  “She knows you.  She’s family.  Been with us long enough to understand who we are and what we all come from.  She’s that rare type--the ones who can stand right by your side as a partner, who make you want to be better without making you feel like the lowest fool in God’s creation.” She was just like that, and he supposed that was the difference.  She was his friend, his partner in so many things, and that made it easier more often than not.  Though he’d still agonized plenty before asking her to marry him, and suspected he’d made a hash of it all the same in his anxiousness.   Arthur heard the bittersweet note in Hosea’s voice, and sensed he knew precisely where that longing ache stemmed from, because how could it not?  “I wish Bessie had met her.  That she was here today.” Hosea managed a wistful smile.  “Me too.  But however long you’re given, it’s worth it.” Sadie had said much the same.  It hadn’t been an easy thing for her to risk this again, after such a short time with Jake.  Just like opening himself up to the possibility of children, of being a father for real this time, terrified him even as much as he hungered for it.  They were going into this with their share of scars and fears, but they would be there for each other through it.  That was what made it bearable, and what made him able to cautiously step out onto that bridge they’d built together back from that wilderness of pain where they’d been so lost, trusting that it could hold his weight.  The other side of it was still a mystery, because he wasn’t sure he could truthfully say he’d ever been fully happy for more than moments, but he looked forward to seeing where that road led.   They’d gotten a good start on it, all of them, by settling down here on this land where the woods met the prairie, living a quiet and simple life.  Dutch had died two and a half years ago now, dead in some senseless brawl across the western Grizzlies.  At first Arthur had blamed himself for not being there, which was stupid since they’d all understood that Dutch justifiably hadn’t wanted company while going to town to scratch a particular itch at the saloon.  Then he’d felt lost as anything, as had all of them, bereft of that father-leader who’d drawn them all together with that magnetic charisma and the sense that Dutch had some magnificent bigger plan behind it all.  What were they now?  A bunch of vagabond nobodies, bandits and whores and scamsters that no place wanted.  And yet, they were each other’s still--they were family. They’d hunkered down that winter near Strawberry, paralyzed by that loss, and hit the road in spring as much out of habit as anything.  It was the woman and her dead horse and those dead O’Driscolls that snapped them out of things.  She needed a place, she needed people, and they’d given her that, without Dutch there to lead them to it.  They could stand for the best of Dutch’s notions without all that high-flown shit from Evelyn Miller that frankly most of them hadn’t cared about all that much, and which lately had seen them seem to stray so far from those ideals anyway, becoming more violent, more selfish.  The system was too big and vast to fight, and they were too tired, needing something simpler and surer than to be on some visionary quest.  They wandered the land, and things boiled down to a simple, pure code they agreed they could and should live by: we’ll help those who need it where we can, and stand against those who hurt others where we can.

By last summer, the notion of a hearthfire rather than a campfire called to all of them.  They belonged to each other, but having somewhere to call home, a place to belong, mattered.  If the world wouldn’t give them that place, they would damn well make it themselves, and so they had.  They’d bought this land and built on it, and they’d make this their home.  Civilization was civilization, and chances were it would follow them, and they’d have to deal with that in the end, but it meant neighbors and friends, not just the horrors of the big city. Another knock on the door, and he couldn’t help hoping it was Sadie again.  But it was Tilly who came in.  “Hosea, Pearson’s about ready to murder Bill.” Hosea sighed, shaking his head.  “I’ll handle it, sure.”  His was a quieter, less thunder-and-lightning leadership than Dutch’s, but it proved what they needed.  They needed to be a family, not a rebellious cause, and having Susan and Hosea in charge marked that shift.  In the end, it had been strangely easy to just stop fighting an impossible cause, and to cherish the things they already had. Tilly turned to go, but Hosea held up a hand.  “Stay a minute, before I go deal with it.”  He chuckled lowly.  “Though I suppose you don’t need a murder on your wedding day.” “Don’t make for a good omen, I imagine,” he agreed dryly.  He yielded the chair to Tilly, gesturing for her to sit. Hosea looked at the three of them, and smiled.  “Well.  Look at you.”  That smile flickered into nervousness.  “I told myself I’d do better saying the things I need to say before I…”  He cleared his throat.  “Any luck, I’ve got a few years left in me anyhow.”   “Aw, Hosea, don’t be talking that kind of crap.” “John, don’t.  I’ve had a good run, and it’s a better end, when it comes, than I ever would have thought.  I love all our dear miscreants, but you three, you’ve always been something special.  You’re the children I never--you’re my children, all right?” He understood that, looking at John and Tilly.  He’d been fourteen, John twelve, and Tilly fourteen when they’d been taken in.  They were something different than the others.  They were the ones who’d still been children, who Dutch and Hosea and Susan, and Bessie when she was alive, had helped finish raising.  The ones that Hosea had taught to read and write, whose nightmares he’d heard.  His brother and his sister in the truest kind of way.  “Arthur’s getting married today.  Tilly, I expect that’ll happen soon.” “Javier asked,” Tilly said softly.  “We just ain’t said anything yet.”  She gave Arthur one of those cheeky smiles of hers.  “We didn’t want to steal the thunder.  You waited long enough for this, I figured.” He gave her a smile in return.  “Thanks.” “John’s already provided me with one delightful grandson, but I do hope you plan to do right by Abigail, being as we’re now honest folk ourselves.” “I asked after Arthur asked Sadie,” John protested.  “But Abigail said just the same as Tilly, all right?” “All right, John.  I expect young Lenny and Jenny might be next.  But anyway, seeing all of you settled, comfortable...it does me good.”  His eyes brightened, and his smile was genuine, guileless.  “Thank you.  For making an old man’s last years so happy.  Now, I expect you’d best tend to the bride, Tilly, and John, you should check that boy of yours ain’t got into any mischief.  Arthur, why don’t you help me prevent whatever Bill-based mayhem we got?” Following Hosea down towards the stairs, hearing the raucous female laughter from Sadie’s room as Tilly slipped in the door again, he said, “You know you’re enough to cow Bill all by yourself, Hosea.” Hosea paused on the stairwell.  “Smart boy.”  He looked Arthur in the eyes for a long moment.  “I do love all of them.  But you’re my oldest, and the one most like me, and we all know how they rely on you.  So they’ll look to you, and Sadie too, when I’m gone.”  He put his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.  “You went and became a man.   And I don’t mean by marrying.  Got nothing to do with that.  But you finally came into your own these last few years, and I’ve watched it happen.  You’ll be OK without me.  You’re a better man than me, Arthur.  You always were a good son, but now you’re a man a father can be proud of.” Oh, Goddamn, was a groom allowed to cry on his wedding day?  He held it back only with effort, but he couldn’t help reaching out to give Hosea a hug for those words that felt like they meant everything.  “Thank you.” “Of course.  You need a bottle of whiskey?”  His tone was light and teasing. “No, no, I’ll be fine.”  He’d drunk far too much in the past to try to not feel things, to numb the guilt and sorrow and crushing self-loathing.  Like Hosea said, today he wanted to see everything, to feel everything, to remember everything.  It came down to simple belief: Sadie wouldn’t feel compelled to abandon him, and he wouldn’t fail her.  They would work together, be happy together, because the love and trust and friendship was there.  He’d seen it in Hosea and Bessie for all those years.   The rest?  It would work itself out.  He was here, surrounded by family, surrounded by love, with a home.  Things looked pretty good. Hosea smiled, giving him one last pat on the shoulder, then letting go.  “Damn right you will.  Now you head back up to your room, I’ll get the boys together to get you ready, and let’s get you hitched.” 

[that-wimpy-cowboy-doll]

The Story of Her Name

Happy Valentine’s Day @shallow-gravy​ !  I was your @rdrsecretcupid2020 :)  Hope you enjoy <3 <3 <3

Pairing: Arthur x Female Reader (no use of Y/N)

Warnings: very mild violence

Word Count: 2092

Summary: On a dark and stormy night, Arthur tells his girls his story of the man who helped them be a family.

O’Creagh’s Run, Grizzlies East

April 1907

Thunder cracks overhead, violently punctuating the rolling waves of water that drop from the sky and hit the roof of your home in fat droplets.  The stove in your living room comes alive with fire and light, and your home is warm with love.  You snuggle closer into your husband’s bare chest, threading your fingers through the fine golden hairs there.  It’s late, but in spite of how heavy your body feels, sinking into the mattress, you can’t will your eyelids shut.  Arthur smiles into your hair, letting his hand run languidly up and down your back.

“What you thinkin’ about?”

“Mm...I think we oughta take another trip soon, the three of us.  Take Claire up the mountains or...to the bayou or something.  Maybe out east, show her the ocean somewhere.”

Another bolt of thunder cracks, and this time you jump a little, eliciting a small chuckle from deep in Arthur’s belly.  He trails his hand up to your shoulder to move away a few strands of your hair.  In the room next to you, you hear your daughter stirring, and then the pitter-patter of six-year-old feet scurrying to the door.

“Watch out,” Arthur rumbles - you can hear the smile in his voice.  The feet turn the corner, and your door scrapes open, like it always does, a little brown head of hair peeking curiously around it.

“Mama?”  She’s still wrapped up in her blanket, her wide blue eyes, her father’s eyes, blinking up at them from across the room.  “Papa, I’m scared.”

“Come here, baby.”  Arthur opens up the blanket, and you make room for her, smiling as she piles into the small space between you.  “That big bad thunder wake you up?”

“Uh-huh.”  She’s taken to sucking her thumb again, a habit she only falls into scared or half-asleep.  Right now she looks both.  “Papa, can you tell me a story?”

“A story,” he repeats, smiling tenderly as she snuggles up under his arm.  “Well, I ain’t much of tellin’ stories these days.  We used to leave that up to your Grandpa Hosea.”  He flashes you a knowing but solemn smile, before turning his attention back to Claire.   “What story you wanna hear?  The one ‘bout the crazy brothers, who rode barrels down a waterfall for the lady?  Or the one about how your daddy wrangled zoo animals?”

She pulls her thumb out of her mouth long enough to reach for your hand, and soggy as it is, you take her little mitt in yours.  Her little gap-toothed smile shines in the moonlight filtered through the window, and when the heavy rainclouds roll over the moon again, she pulls you closer to nuzzle in between you and her father.

“I wanna hear the one about my name.”

“Uh-oh,” you say softly and wink at Arthur.  “I think you forgot something, little miss.”

“Pleeeeease,” she sings.

“What do you say, Papa?”  You run your finger up the shell of his ear, settling your hand in his hair.  “The story of how Miss Claire came to be Miss Claire?”

He stretches out his muscles and gathers his family close, kissing each of his girls on the head before he gets started.

One time, a long time ago, your daddy and your Uncle John was makin’ all sorts of trouble in a big city called Saint Denis, where you’d see people and animals of all shapes and sizes. Daddy decided to go away for a little while, and hunt him some deer up near the mountains.  He found his way up to the lake, but somethin’ was odd.

He heard a man huffin’ and gruntin’ and callin’ out a name.  “Buell,” the man said, “Buell, you stubborn son of a - ”

“Papa,” you say threateningly, and he catches himself, throwing you an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry.”

Well, eventually, your papa slowed his horse down, and there next to a boulder, there was an old man with a funny hat and a missing leg.  And he said, “Mister, you got a second to help an old man?”

So I slowed on down, and I tied my horse to a tree, told her to stay.  “What happened to you?” I said.

“Durn horse threw me, and my leg still on him.  Reckon I saw him take off down toward the lake.  I’d be mighty grateful if you fetched him for me, Mister.”

Now, your daddy didn’t much want to chase down an ornery horse that day.  It wouldn’t be the first time he said no to someone in need, or acted mean to somebody didn’t deserve actin’ mean to.  But this man had a kind face and a kind soul, grizzled as he was, and I couldn’t very well say no.

So I said, “sure.”  And I headed down the hill.

He was right.  His horse was by the lake, wooden leg hangin’ off the saddle, and he was a fine horse.  Big and gold and strong, with blue eyes that was watery, and smart.  He neighed at me, lifting his hooves off the ground, saying, “no, sir, you don’t come no closer.”  

And I lifted up my hands, show him I weren’t no trouble.  I said, “hey, boy, you’re alright.  Whoa, boy.”  And I got closer.  He started to calm down, real slow-like, and finally let your pa put his hands on the horse’s mane.  I patted him, real gentle, and led him on back to the feller sittin’ up against the rock.

The feller was mighty kind about getting his horse and his leg back, and he didn’t have no money to pay your daddy, but he said, “anytime you feel like hunting some, come on by and I’ll be happy to hunt with you.”  And he shook my hand and headed on home.

“Did you go hunting with him again, Papa?”  Claire asks feebly, her soft blue eyes already growing lidded and tired.  Arthur threads her hair through his fingers, gently scratching on her scalp.

“I sure did, baby.  He was a crazy old feller, that gentleman.  He’d fought in the war, but seemed every time your papa met him, he was picking fights with a bigger and meaner creature than the last.”

First, he took your papa fishing for the Tyrant, a great big pike in the lake who darn near dragged the veteran and your daddy out of their boat before he’d be caught.

Claire’s gaze floats lazily upward, to the large fish mounted above your wedding photo, its mouth open and its eyes fixed wide ahead of it.  Her small elbow bumps into your side, and she points to it.  You nod gently, stroking her hair and pretending it’s not just to tangle your fingers with Arthur’s.

Then, we set out to find a great white wolf who lived up in the mountains.  She was a smart wolf, led the old feller and me up the mountain to where she’d caught and ate a deer.  And then, just when we thought we was on her scent, she set her friends on us to try and eat us, too.  So the veteran and I fired a few shots at her friends, and when they was all gone, she jumped right on me, ready to eat me alive.

We shot her then, so that your daddy could come home to you with all his arms and legs still on him.

The last time I saw the man, there was a boar - a great big angry pig with tusks - runnin’ wild, terrorizing the animals around his home.  So we set off to hunt him, too.  We was getting close, up in the mountains again, and the old man said we should split up, try and catch him separately.

Well, when I was trackin’ the boar up in the bushes, trying to catch his trail - when animals and people walk through the dirt, we leave footprints.  Papa was trying to see if the footprints in the dirt had come from the boar, and how long ago the animal had been there.  I was trying to catch his trail, and then I heard a couple of shots not too far off.  Where the old feller would’ve been.

I run down, see if he’d caught the big…

He looks at you, and you can see the gears turning in his head to figure out the right word, one that won’t earn him a dirty look or a gentle smack to the shoulder.  You feel a grin tugging the corners of your lips.

“Creature?”

He nods enthusiastically, and then sets his brow again, all too serious.  You knew what Hamish had meant for Arthur - a new start.  And this was what he’d done with it.

I wanted to see if he’d caught the big creature.  But the boar had got him with one of his tusks, the old man, and he was layin’ down, trying to breathe, and the boar charged on him again, only this time, I was ready for him.  I got the big beast, one bullet right between them beady little eyes.

He imitates the sound a bullet makes leaving a barrel, and Claire’s eyes go wide, or as wide as they can go, her snuggling deeper into his chest, small hands fixed on his union suit.

The old man was dyin’.  He knew it.  He told me, “Arthur, take care of Buell for me.  He’s a good horse.”  I told him I would, and he died right in my arms.

He combs a hand back through the fine strands of her chestnut-colored hair, and while she looks about ready to fall asleep in his arms, she straightens up a little.  “And you took care of Buell, too, Papa.  The big horse you let me ride sometimes.”

“That’s right, baby.  Almost as old as that old man now, but I reckon he’s happy.”

“You forgot something, Papa,” she yawns, and doesn’t put up a fight when Arthur scoops her up to take her back to her own room.  “You forgot to tell me...how I got my name.”

“Well, that’s the best part of the story.  The old man, the one who thought your daddy saved him, the old man who really saved your daddy, his name was Hamish.  Hamish Sinclair.”  You follow them out the door, and down the small hallway to her bedroom, Arthur laying her out on her bed and tucking her in closely.  “When your momma and I saw you for the first time we said, ‘hm...she’s got strong eyes, like Buell.  And a strong heart, like Hamish.’  And we thought Sinclair sounded pretty good like ‘Miss Claire.’  And there you was.”  He smiles brightly, and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead.  “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

But she’s already asleep.

Arthur wraps his arms around your waist, guiding the pair of you back to your own bedroom.  You forget that the thunder has stopped and that the rain coming down on your roof now is just as gentle as his touch, just as fine as the nightgown clinging to your skin.  He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your lips, and smiles at you when you lie beside him, your thumb moving slowly over the stubble on his chin.

“We made a great girl,” he whispers, as if he can’t believe it.  You know, sometimes, that he doesn’t - that he doesn’t think he deserves the life you both have made out here.  He dreams sometimes that you and Claire disappear in the dead of night, and when he wakes up gasping and crying, you hold him until the sun peeks through the windows.

“We did,” you whisper back, toying with the top button of his sleeping suit.  “She loves you.  I love you.  And we ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

He closes his eyes and nuzzles up against your nose, the hand at your hip drawing oblong shapes into your own gown, then sneaking under to trace your skin.  You jump a little, feeling the desire flare up from your thighs to your belly.

“Mr. Morgan.”

“Mrs. Morgan,” he chuckles, kisses you again, and slides the hem of your gown up to your waist, his rough, calloused palm pulling you closer by the small of your back.  “I been thinkin’...I love having the three of us around, you, me, and her...but what if we made it four?”

You smile again, trailing your own hand down to his neck to pull him closer, to press your lips to his.  “You might be onto somethin’, cowboy.”