#rip charthur

[shiningcullen69]

Close enough, welcome back og Ennis and Jack.

[mouldynoodles]

LOOK AT THIS CUTE PHOTO OF CHARLES

MY FAVOURITE SAD COWBOY RAGHHHHHH ‼️

I need that photo of the werewolf ripping of its shirt to fully encapsulate my feelings

[bread--hood]

Charthur fanfic

[3-2-1-annihilation-station]

i think my favorite charthur moment is in this fanfic where they're both fucking in an abandoned house that is specifically stated to be north of the stables by emerald ranch

the only house that fits that description is compson's stead

a.k.a the slave owner's house where all those squatters were living

i don't know if that was intentional but goddamn it do i think about how funny that is a lot

[omgahgase]

nsfw charthur fic - wolf shifter!arthur

i was reading through some old wips for other fandoms and i decided to take a small thing from twt and turn it into a charthur thing bc i'm mentally ill over them. i was also driven to post this by some users who helped me realize that i can post what i want bc what i create is for me. so, thank you. you have beaten away my apprehension with a stick, and now i am DOING THE DANG THING! i'll most likely post this to ao3 after i find an appropriate title that isn't 'charles taking monster cock'

nsfw charthur fic under the cut. content warnings include: monster fucking, knotting, size difference, a dash of mpreg (but not really), and some sweet fluff to top it all off

Fur sprouts along the length of Arthur’s spine, from his nape down to the small of his back, along his arms and his legs and around his jaw. It spreads like moss on a tree, gathering into handfuls and giving Charles something to hold onto, soft like the down from the underside of a duck, sandy brown like the dirt in Flat Iron Lake. Charles grips the hair between his fingers and fits his face into the hot, stuffy section of Arthur's furry neck as he moans a desperate, fervent sound.

Arthur's cock grows three times its size, the thick girth of his length stretching Charles to a startling point, but his strangled cry isn't out of pain more so than surprise. Charles muffles a desperate mewl of a sound into Arthur's neck, humps up into his belly to ease the ache in his ass, smearing wet and sticky across Arthur's hairy lower belly.

Arthur’s fangs start to take shape too, elongating into razor-sharp incisors that could rip Charles’ throat out, but instead, he bares them and grunts, curls his upper lip into a snarl when Charles adjusts and Arthur sinks in deeper. As he shifts, his eyes change from sky blue to a dull grey then, finally, when Charles removes his face from Arthur's shoulder, a striking, stark white, nearly engulfed by his pupils.

He grows, too. Arthur's frame broadens until he towers over Charles, thick and strong, his back hunched like a predator moments away from devouring its prey. His hands and feet lengthen, extending black, blade-like claws from his nails, and, momentarily, something sharp shoots beneath Charles’ chest. When Arthur shifts, his claws leave the most damage. Their last sleeping pad was shredded to unsalvageable repair, but, thankfully, they're not in their tent tonight, so Charles' worry is short-lived.

He knew Arthur needed a night to unwind, to change away from the overbearing hands of camp, and away from Dutch and his endless list of errands he rattles off to Arthur whenever he gets the chance. The gang knows how Arthur gets when he's not allowed to run free after a stressful few days of hunting and taking odd jobs to earn a few measly dollars, of scamming people into pennies and robbing lonesome stagecoaches in the dark of night. Seeing it fit, Charles took it upon himself to do something for him this time to make up for all the things he does for camp. For all the good Arthur does for Charles.

That’s how they found themselves here, a few miles away from camp, in their own secluded piece of wild where Arthur pounced on him mere moments after they dismounted their horses. He pushed Charles onto his back over a soft bed of grass, divested both of them of their clothes, and licked into Charles with an intensity that he’d be able to feel for days. It took only seconds for Arthur to slip inside his lover and let the animal out of the cage, to hand himself over to that other part of him that he tries so desperately to tamper down.

It took time for Arthur to tell him, and it took even longer for Arthur to show him, but now that they're far past the gentle touches and first times, neither of them really cares where this sort of thing takes them.

"Cowboy," Charles calls out around a scream. He tightens his grip on Arthur's shoulders and squeezes thick thighs around his furry middle as a tidal wave of pleasure pulls him beneath the surface until his lungs burn. Arthur picks up pace, then, fucks into him with intent as Charles scrambles for any sort of coherence that goes beyond his cries of, "Yes, that's it, baby! Oh, Arthur!"

It’s not until Charles feels the fat swell of Arthur's knot kissing his entrance does he finally say 'fuck it' and starts babbling, slurring mush mouth words and pleas of Arthur's name.

Arthur whines deep in his chest as he rises to his hunches, his glowing eyes rooted to the large bulge protruding from Charles' stomach, the mound moving as he grinds his hips against the soaking wet valley of Charles' thighs. Charles’ cock bounces between them, untouched and weeping. Pearly white beads at his dark tip, shining in the moonlight seeping through the trees above. Arthur watches, growling, as he takes Charles in his hand and pumps, the entirety of his palm engulfing Charles until only his head peeks over Arthur’s fist. Charles is by no means small, but just the sight of his cock disappearing beneath Arthur’s large hand is enough to make him throw his head back, his back jackknifing off the ground. He squeezes around Arthur’s length and moans a broken sound into the cool air that has Arthur placing a soothing hand on his waist.

"Charles—darlin'. You’re doin' amazin',” he praises, wonderstruck. “You look so pretty like this."

Arthur speaks from within, raspy and throaty, the voice of the ancients. It's echoey and old as if thousands of people are speaking at the same time, all collectively using their voices to create a rumble so intense Charles can feel it in his throat, in his cock, and where he and Arthur are joined.

And when Arthur comes, his knot fits into Charles so easily. He stuffs Charles until he's pumped full and Arthur knows Charles is tight around him, firm and secure.

"You're gonna carry my pups," Arthur rumbles, his fangs dangerously close to Charles' neck. "Gonna get you pregnant, Charles. My Charles. My, big, strong, beautiful Charles.” 

Arthur punctuates his words with a sharp snap of his hips, his clawed hand spreading wide over the expanse of Charles' stomach, over the bulging skin like he's trying to will his words true.

It’s impossible, and both of them know that, but Charles still lets Arthur take him, mumbling dirty promises into his ear like an oath he plans to keep. Charles feels warmth shoot into him, tepid and slick, and he takes it all, winding his arms tight around Arthur's wide shoulders and threading trembling hands through dark fur. He tries in vain to pull him in tighter when they're both already pressed so close together as if he wants to fuse them together entirely.

All it takes is for a fanged tooth to press down on Charles' neck, grazing his tendon for him to come, too, spurting white and sticky up his swollen stomach, his heaving chest. Arthur swoops down to lap at the come spread over Charles' flushed skin, collecting it in his mouth and kissing Charles with fervor.

He doesn't let up until Charles swallows.

And when Arthur's done and he's slowly shifting back, his sanity now under control, he kisses Charles slowly, with a ferocity that's near breathtaking—like he's trying to drink Charles' entire essence, consuming his heart and soul that Charles has already so graciously given to him.

Arthur's knot is still snuggly nestled inside his lover, now smaller than before but continuing its job it was made to do. Charles whimpers a weak, spent mumble of a sound, over-sensitive and tender all over as he moves, getting used to the feeling of the thick sloshing in his lower half. It should be disgusting, the state of himself, but Charles cherishes these shared moments because it’s with Arthur. It’s been years and he still wonders, out of all the people Arthur could’ve chosen, women and men included throwing themselves at him in every town, a creature of the night or not, how he still chose Charles.

And no matter how many times Arthur tells him that—that he's Arthur’s person—Charles will still gawk in disbelief because he'll never understand how he managed to tame someone like him, a man more wild than the wild itself.

Arthur moves atop him, his face now back to normal, no more fur, no more fangs. His eyes are still glowing bright blue, a sign that his knot isn't going down any time soon, so they might as well get comfortable. Charles combs his hands through Arthur's hair, and scratches at the spot behind his ear that sends tingles over his scalp. Arthur bucks his hips on reflex, making Charles cry out, and then he immediately stills, eyes wide.

"Sorry," he mumbles, voice thick.

"Don't be," Charles assures. "You know I can handle it ."

Arthur shakes his head, unconvinced. "I'm hurtin’ you."

"I never tell you to stop," Charles counters, using the remaining strength in his tired body to give Arthur a look.

Arthur ignores him and props himself up on strong arms, eyes roaming over the red lines along Charles' thighs and hips, the raised draw of skin clearly visible in the moonlight. Where the scratches turn angry and crimson, small dollops of warm blood seep out into the brisk breeze, gliding along the length of Charles' wounds. His bite marks aren’t the worst of it, but Arthur still treats them as such, eyes lingering on the teeth-sharp shapes of Arthur’s bite and fangs. 

Arthur's expression turns solemn when he takes a gentle hand and trails a finger across the purpling splotches decorating Charles' body, the marks that will bloom into full bruises by morning.

Charles, not liking the flash of guilt taking root in his lover's eyes, grabs Arthur's face in his warm palms and pulls him down for a kiss.

"I'm fine," Charles says, his tone soft, like how it always is when he gets like this. "You could never hurt me."

“You’re always sayin’ that, but look at ya. You looked like you were mauled.” 

“Because I was,” Charles agrees, easily, because why deny the truth? Charles isn’t a liar, and he’s not going to start acting like one to make Arthur feel better. Arthur needs to know that Charles can handle anything he throws at him, bites, scratches, wounds, and all. 

Charles said he loved him, all parts of him. The good, the bad. The wolf. When Arthur shifted in front of him for the first time, Charles wasn’t scared, nor was he surprised to know that every version of Arthur was beautiful, fur and fangs included. Charles understands that he would do just about anything for Arthur, and that includes braving a few hours of being fucked stupid by a creature in the stories his mom used to tell him to get Charles to behave. Charles never complains, because he never finds an issue with it. Because there isn’t an issue. 

Charles brushes their noses together, swoops in for a second kiss, and bites back a smile when he feels Arthur’s breath stutter. “I’d let you eat me whole if you asked.” 

“I’d never ask that, ever,” Arthur says, serious and weighty as if he thinks Charles is ready to offer himself on a silver platter. 

(He is, but Charles thinks Arthur already knows that.) 

“But if you do, then the answer is yes. It’s always yes.” 

“You’re so strange,” Arthur snorts. “Who’d willingly give themselves to a wolf?” 

Charles thinks about it, then, “Abigail.”  

Arthur chuckles and ducks his head into the cozy spot between Charles’ neck and shoulder. He kisses at the bite marks littering his skin as he says, “That don’t count. She’s crazy.” 

“If she’s crazy enough to be with John, then I’m crazy enough to be with you.” 

Arthur laughs this time, hearty and full and so him that Charles finds himself laughing too, smiling into the soft spot behind Arthur’s ear. He kisses at the birthmark just below his hairline, relishes in the shiver shooting down Arthur’s spine. 

“Try again, darlin’. You ain’t any more crazy than you are foolish.” 

Charles makes a show of thinking over his answer, making Arthur roll his eyes and prop himself atop folded hands over Charles’ chest, looking at him like a curious puppy. 

“Someone who cares about you,” Charles finally says, earnestly, like he’s confessing all over again, but this time with actual words instead of just twisting a fist in Arthur’s handkerchief and planting one on him after a shoot-out. 

Arthur smiles, fitting the shape of his mouth over the indents of his fangs on Charles’ body with gentle lips. “So your way of carin’ for me is lettin’ me eat you?” 

“No,” Charles says, shaking his head and trailing kiss-bitten lips along the rough scruff of Arthrur’s jaw, “it’s giving myself over to you if you asked. But,” he shrugs, “I’ve already done that.” 

“I didn’t ask,” Arthur says it like it’s a wonder and not a true fact. 

“You didn’t need to. I wanted to. I’d give you anything if it means you’ll stay with me.” 

“Now that, Mr. Smith, is a foolish thing to say,” Arthur huffs. “I’d be with you regardless. You don’t gotta give me anythin’. It’s my choice, bein’ with you. There ain’t ever gonna be another person out there for me. And even if there was, they ain’t you.” 

Charles, feeling as if something inside his chest exploded into a supernova, bites back an overwhelming sob and surges forward to kiss him again. They both hum, moving their hands over waists and achy muscles to cup each other’s faces like they think the other might disappear if they didn’t hold on. 

But they won’t. Neither of them will because this is the type of thing that leads them here: loving each other in ways neither really understands but they both accept. They love and they question but most of all, they know that they both want to stay together. For as long the lives they live will allow it. 

“There isn’t anyone out there like you either,” Charles marvels when they separate, watching as Arthur’s bright blue eyes change from striking to something softer, something more delicate than what a man like him would think he’s capable of. “I’d choose you every time. In every life I’ll ever live.” 

Arthur sighs and fits himself cozy between Charles’ thighs and atop his chest. “You think that’s possible?” 

“Yes,” Charles answers because he’s not a liar like that. “Would you still choose me?” 

“Don’t be actin’ dumb now, Charles,” Arthur jokes. “You’re too smart for that.” 

Charles grins into the sharp line of Arthur’s jaw, feeling his lover’s smile stretch wide over his face. 

“If you wanna make me stop, you could always just marry me.” 

Arthur laughs. He laughs and shakes and snorts an ugly, goofy sound into Charles’ chest, his hair a rat’s nest tangle and cheeks flushed to the yards, and Charles thinks he’s never looked more handsome than he does right now. 

“I will not take that as a proposal, not when I’m still inside ya and we’re buck naked in the woods.” 

“But someday?” Charles asks, hopeful in a way he has no control over when they live the lives they have. It’s a silly, foolish little dream that he thinks about more than he wants to admit, and has only voiced a handful of times over the years they’ve been together. It’s frivolous and laughable and he shouldn’t be asking Arthur something so serious so casually. 

But, when Arthur kisses him, when he holds him close and embraces him tight, when he says a breathy little ‘yes’ in between every swipe of his tongue, Charles starts to think it’s not just a silly, foolish dream. 

“Yes,” Arthur says as he kisses him hard and makes love to him soft. 

“Yes,” Arthur says as he rolls them over in their bed of grass, gazes up at Charles like he’s a wonder. 

“Yes,” Arthur says as he leans up into Charles’ space that hasn’t been his own in quite some time now.

Arthur kisses and caresses and repeats the word against Charles’ lips like it’s a fact and not just an agreement. Like it’s an oath he plans to keep. 

[verdemoun]

Wait wait wait please tell me more about Kieran and Javier timewarp plsplspls do they go on manfailure dates. Will they go on fishing trips. Does the timewarp vdl gang own a shitty little kayak like they deserve? Need to see Kieran and Javier being losers in love traversing modern times

THEY ARE MY ENDGAME because this is johnigail charthur era but i need my boys to find happiness.

kieran having been in modern era for 12 years when javier gets there. he may be a loser and also neurodivergent but he's so much more relaxed and confident than the gang ever got to see him be. grew his hair longer learned what a razor is and keeps his beard more even length even if his moustache is never more than like kitten whispers. healthy weight functional muscle from walking (drunk sprinting) and gardening like he's thriving

and javier's like having a rough time y'know he just wants to be around the gang all the time. he has felt so alone pretty much since the gang broke up and he's really ashamed of the fact he gave up his/Dutch's ideals and started working for the government for the sake of saving his own skin. and the general learning modern era stuff. most of the gang are busy with their lives though so kieran is accidentally the one who has to show him around?

javier has a type. and kieran very confidently taking his hand with a smile and saying they had to hold hands crossing the road? tall pasty manfailure with ratty dark hair? javier is panicked he is screaming oh no he's hot. it's a constant game of 'is he flirting or is he being socially dense' and javier is about to rip his hair out which kieran finds hilarious and adorable. its completely intentional. kieran is very honest, will fall in love with anyone he finds beautiful and thinks dad bod timewarped rdr1 javier is every bit as damned fine as rdr2 javier.

look they are disasters okay they're disasters in queer genderless human forms. javier went from still holding onto an on-and-off relationship with john pre-1899 that relied on codes and discretion not for being gay but because john was still trying to work things out with abigail (javier was so in love he just accepted being treated like that!!) to blushing at spontaneous pda because kieran glanced over and remembered how handsome his boyfriend is. getting told i love you seventeen times a day. doing something stupidly mundane only to hear 'pretty' from across the room and kieran just watching with the goofiest in love smile on his face. not only how flustered javier gets but also has he ever been in a relationship where he was loved as much as he loved someone? trying not to cry as he catches his semi-verbal boyfriend practising spanish so they can talk in javier's first language because NO ONE IN THE GANG EVER TRIED TO LEARN SPANISH EVEN THOUGH HE DIDN'T SPEAK A WORD OF ENGLISH WHEN HE MET THEM

javier's loyalty also meaning he is the biggest advocate for anything kieran needs to support his neurodivergency?? using the famous 'make grown men piss themselves' glare before staff can even comment on kieran bringing his snacks to a fancy tapas place on date night. also knowing exactly what makes safe foods safe and being able to offer mouthfuls of new foods that kieran might like or very honestly say 'do not touch you will be physically disgusted by this'. both considering a perfect romantic evening fishing. just quietly fishing lost in sharing tips and bait and the total bliss of one another's company. couple pic looks like american gothic with both of them completely blank and holding fish. nestled on the couch watching tv in spanish because kieran has his headphones on and doesn't listen anyway but really enjoys it. javier replacing the weighted blanket. kieran being taller and just picking javier up if something his brain detects as a threat happens because protect loved one comes first and javier trying trying to assure him the small yappy dog is not a threat to their lives but also almost tearing up because imagine someone loving him enough to actively try and keep him safe

it started ironic but their song is literally fish by craig campbell and javier will sing it while playing guitar despite neither one of them particularly enjoying country music but loving that song. the gang are mortified and see kieran as an innocent soft bean of purity who doesn't understand the song is not about fishing. not only is he fully aware but that is exactly why it is their song. trust they have the best sex life in timewarp. just losers with trauma and seperation anxiety who are completely devoted to each other, actually listen to one another so sincerely and never have to be worried about being left behind or forgotten again

to the second point annabelle being the big cheese wealthy woman of the group bought hosea a very modest aluminum boat with a low power engine because he's getting too old for rowing and she knows he does enjoy fishing. john will not touch it with a 10 foot pole he is convinced it is going to sink at any second when someone is reeling in a fish all other passengers have to move to the other side for balance and despite opportunities to buy significant better ocean vessels hosea loves the ss old girl. they can pry his shitty boat from his cold dead hands. so many happy, good, new memories he's formed with the gang in post time-warp.

[new-austin]

charthur for the bingo

Rip Arthur you could've had so much gay sex.

[mechecolomar-archive]

Charles and Arthur would have been some great lgbt rep for video game characters... unfortunately rockstar is homophobic 😔

[rodeo-boots]

hello my dear! i was hoping if i could request some charthur! in many fics i see arthur constantly being comforted by charles, but never the other way around... so many, you could write charles returning back to camp injured/tired, and arthur has to care for him for the night? 🥺 i would love to see some trans!charles as well, but i won't ask for too much... nsfw is welcome, and as always, feel free to let your wonderful brain work its magic with any other ideas you have <3

Thank you so much for your request hny, I hope I did your idea justice <3

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3122

Warnings: mild gore, angst

AO3

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Beaver Hollow was a shithole. The air was humid and dense, the mood at camp even lower than the temperatures could get during the nights. Arthur positively hated it, wished they had another choice but to take camp at such a spot. Breathing was getting harder for him by the day and some nights, he rode out only to take a deep breath of fresh air in the wide open meadows elsewhere.

He much preferred being anywhere but at camp, preferred to be far far away from Dutch and Micah, from those friends of his – whatever they might be called. These days, he couldn't even exchange a proper word with Javier or Bill anymore, met with stubborn phrases of loyalty whenever he dared to cross their paths.

The only reasonable people left were getting ready to pack up and leave, and Arthur wished they had done so earlier. He wished Molly had taken that chance while she still had it, wished that John and Abigail and Jack would be long gone by now. Not much longer, and he wouldn't be able to help them anymore, would succumb to the illness nesting within his chest and die the death that's always been destined for him.

He only saw one glimpse of hope and that was Charles, Charles who's loyalty had never solely belonged to Dutch but to a life of freedom. His only reason for being here was the younger man these days, the younger man who rightfully preferred to be anywhere but here himself. He had work on his hands, had assigned himself way too many tasks at once, trying to help out the Wapiti reservation while wanting to provide for the last folks at camp here.

Arthur wished he could help him, but just like Sadie, Charles treated him as though he was already standing in the grave.

Today, Arthur was solely here to catch up with Charles, like he was most of the time. He missed him, missed the times they had once spent together in a past that had been much better than what one might dream up now. All they could do was dream at this point, though Arthur's sleep was plagued by nightmares most of the time.

He had waited an entire day, had asked Sadie just before she could ride off to town. No one knew where Charles was, and by the time Micah saw him trail around camp like a lost puppy one time too many, he took it upon himself to finally give him an explanation.

"Your sweetheart's out huntin', got a little caught up it seems." The man grinned at him with his foul, yellow teeth, Arthur rewarding him with a grunt before he turned on his heel. If that was the case, and Charles had been out for days by now, something couldn't be right. The man was the best hunter they had, the best tracker left at camp. And no one seemed to care about the prospect of having lost him.

Arthur shook Micah off his tail, climbing into the saddle of his horse without missing a beat. Even though he wasn't as talented a tracker as Charles, the man had taught him a few tricks in the past, hopefully enough to come in handy now. He departed without looking back, spurring on his stallion with his heels firmly pressed into his flanks. Arthur snapped the reins, further on edge now than he had been all day. He had a bad feeling about all of this.

It took a while until he had picked up a trail of hooves, unsure if he even could identify them accordingly. His vision swam more regularly these days, his head feeling heavy as he peered down the side of his horse. He felt like he was getting sea-sick but he pushed on nonetheless, having only one goal in mind and that goal being Charles' safety.

All the time they had known each other, they had guarded one another's back better than their own. Arthur had no problem watching out for his friend, though Charles was way more than that to him.

They had ridden out together one too many times, had shared too many stories of the past and plans of the future to consider their relationship as professional and distant as it was meant to be. Often enough, they had kept each other warm at night, had shared their secrets and their doubts, and had listened to what the other had upon his heart.

Arthur's own now beat frantically in his chest. He hadn't noticed how tears had begun to cloud his vision the further he rode. It might be the wind stinging in his eyes, but the air was perfectly still. He brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, blinked, caught his breath and pushed onward. After all the time that had passed, he couldn't be sure how far Charles might've ridden, least of all with a fast horse like Taima beneath him.

He just hoped they were okay.

Day soon shifted into night, and without a trail to follow now that his eyes were no longer of use, Arthur decided to settle down. He didn't bother setting up his tent, didn't bother with much more than a small campfire to stay warm. His nose was running within the cold but he ignored that, too, staring down at his own two feet while his arms loosely hugged his knees to his chest.

A sound from aside tore him out of his thoughts, made his head snap up and his hand instinctively drop to his gun belt. "Who's there?" He asked, rasped more accurately, coughing against the scratchiness of his throat. Maybe he really shouldn't be out here, but it was much too late to turn back around.

He pushed himself up, his bicep quivering beneath his weight, the rustling within the bushes stopping, until a figure pushed through all the way. "Arthur?" He could identify Charles' voice well enough, would never be able to forget it, cursing under his breath as he stumbled to his legs to catch him. The man had to have found him with the last of his strength, had to have followed the smoke and the scent of the campfire until he'd eventually seen him.

Arthur couldn't tell what was wrong from one glance alone, pulling Charles closer to the campfire to examine him. It was dark by now, cold, the humidity making way for temperatures that were much too cruel for most humans to endure. But Arthur knew he was going to die anyways.

"Christ– what's happened t'you?" He muttered, not even daring to ask where Taima might be now. Charles' shirt was left in pieces, torn and bloodied, scratches and what appeared like bitemarks upon his skin. "A cougar?" Arthur asked, laying his friend's head down in his lap while peering down at him with concern in his eyes. The tears were back, but he didn't acknowledge them.

"Murfrees," Charles' voice came, little more than a gust of air, meeting Arthur's cheek as he spoke. The man tried to sit himself up, pushing at Arthur's upper arm to give him space. And while Arthur backed away enough to allow him to breathe, he didn't let him put any more strain on his wounds. He hadn't gotten much of a look at them until now. "What're you doing out here, Arthur? You shouldn't–"

Arthur softly shook his head, muffling a cough with the back of his hand. "Don't talk," he muttered, grabbing for the knife on his belt to help the other man out of his shirt. "S'this okay?" He asked quietly before bringing the blade to the hem of Charles' shirt, watching him swallow until he got a small nod in reply.

His lungs rattled when he exhaled, leaning further above his friend to cut through what was left of his shirt, his breath catching at the gruesome sight of his torso. "How bad's it hurt?" he murmured, catching onto the sweat upon Charles' forehead and the strain in his eyes. He knew he had to act fast if he wanted to help him, able to see that his wounds already had started to swell and shape bruises. When his friend only hummed, his eyelids fluttering in a way that made Arthur's chest constrict painfully, he reached for his satchel right away, pulling out the last bit of alcohol he carried.

Arthur didn't wish to do anything that might make his friend uncomfortable, but he couldn't exactly ignore the deep gashes on his chest, mumbling an apology while ripping fabric off his shirt and drenching it in alcohol. "Hold still," he advised, biting down on his lower lip as he started to clean up the wounds, applying minimal pressure and stopping every time Charles stirred beneath him.

He had never seen the other man in so much pain, had never seen him as vulnerable to begin with, cursing under his breath when he didn't find a set of bandages where he had thought they'd be. "Hang on–" Arthur got to his legs, cushioning Charles' head on his rolled-up bedroll before stumbling over to his horse, his vision clouded by black and white specks.

These days, he couldn't move as swiftly as he was used to anymore, grabbing the saddle for support and gritting his teeth, his free hand slipping into his saddlebag to blindly feel around for the bandages he hoped he carried. He returned to Charles' side right away, falling to his knees in front of him, not caring for the mud that smeared his shins and knees, hands shaking as he unraveled the bandages.

"You'll be alright– jus' hold on," he kept on muttering, even though Charles' eyes had long since fallen shut, his breaths much too shallow for him to see. "It's okay, please…" he wrapped the bandages around his torso, covering all the open gashes he could find, his muscles quivering when he lifted Charles' body ever so slightly. The man was deadweight in his arms, Arthur's lip trembling while his throat grew tighter, swallowing down a sob when he laid the other man down again.

Arthur took off his jacket, covering Charles as well as he could before taking his hands off of him entirely. "Charles? Charles… are you with me?" He couldn't stop himself from reaching out, cupping the man's cheek in his hand, his features peaceful, though that wouldn't calm Arthur just now. His skin looked much too pale, what he could see of it through the illumination of the campfire light at least, running his thumb over his chin as his eyes stayed on the other man.

"Don't you give up on me now," he whispered, his eyes glazing over further. "I– I need you, Charles." And while he knew that the other man was unable to hear him, Arthur couldn't stop talking, the panic within his chest spiking the longer he didn't get a response. "I promised you I'd get you out of here– that we'll run away, make a life for ourselves out West." His breath rattled, a sob leaving his chest after all. Arthur dropped his head to Charles' shoulder, his hands holding onto the man's upper arms.

He tried to calm his breathing, hot tears streaming down his cheeks to seep into the jacket he had covered the other man with. "You can do it– you have to," he mumbled, his voice barely audible through the tightness of his throat. "I still— I still haven't told you I love you." His shoulders shook, keeping his face buried within Charles' shoulder as he stayed hunched over, not caring for how hard it was to breathe like this.

*

The night had grown darker and colder around them, merely sounds of nature audible after Arthur had passed out from exhaustion. His hand held Charles' in a loose grasp, body curled up by the other man's side to offer him more warmth. The tears had left salty traces upon Arthur's cheeks, his lashes sticking together though he had no strength to open his eyes either way.

Maybe he'd die out here, with Charles by his side, wishing and praying the man hadn't passed away already. Arthur couldn't bear the thought that he might still be breathing while his friend wasn't, the worth of his own life much less than what Charles had amounted to by now. He had only ever wished for his friends and family to be safe, for his loved ones to escape this cruel and harsh life, but it seemed there was no escape. For even when Dutch wasn't involved, people got hurt.

Arthur didn't feel how the other man's fingers moved within his grasp, how Charles squeezed his hand tighter and stirred by his side. He was far gone by now, captured by a deep sleep he hasn't had any way to fight.

It only was with a tightening hold on his shoulder that he eventually woke, turning his head away as he rasped out one cough after another into the crook of his elbow. "Arthur." Charles' voice sounded faint, like it came from far away, even if the man laid right by his side. Arthur turned again, heaving his breaths as he rolled onto his back, his gaze meeting that of the man next to him.

He swallowed thickly, knowing that his eyes had to be reddened and puffy, not only from his illness but because of the crying he had done previously. "You look… horrible," Charles whispered, letting go of his shoulder to reach down and take his hand again. His fingers were clammy, but undeniably alive where they held onto Arthur's.

"I was always ugly," Arthur responded, wheezing out a laugh that turned into another cough before he knew it. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, relief encompassing his expression, though he knew that there was no reason to believe that the worst was overcome just now. "Let's get you home," he muttered, weakly whistling for his horse that had to be somewhere nearby. They had to leave this place, get Charles back to camp to try and stitch him up, hoping that they still had the supplies to do so.

Charles held onto him, not letting go even as Arthur tried to stand, softly shaking his head when he turned to look back down at him. "Leave me," he said. "I'll only be baggage to carry–"

But Arthur wouldn't hear that. "I ain't rode out here to abandon you," he grunted, gathering Charles in his arms as well as he could, his horse already waiting by their side. "We'll get you to camp, get you back on your feet and fix this." It was hard to maneuver Charles onto his horse, the man barely able to keep himself on his own two legs. He managed, anyhow, stubbornly bringing his own body into the saddle behind the man to make sure he wouldn't fall.

"We– we don't got supplies at camp. Don't make it hard on yourself, you can't… safe everyone." Charles' head lolled back against his chest, Arthur dearly trying not to listen to the words he had spoken in an attempt to stay composed.

"Then I'll bring you to the reservation, Rains Fall will—"

"I'm not gonna take anythin' away from them." Arthur snapped the reins, pushing his heels against the flanks of his horse to get the stallion going.

He stayed quiet, brows furrowed while he concentrated on the path ahead, leading his horse through the trees as fast as he could. "I'll get you to a doctor then… just hold on." Charles didn't raise his voice again, so Arthur focused on riding for now, unwilling to face the thought of leaving his friend anywhere to die.

*

They arrived in Annesburg before the sun had crept too high up in the sky, Arthur stopping a man on the streets to ask for directions to the nearest doctor's office. He had slung an arm around Charles' middle to try and keep him from falling off his horse, the man seemingly passed out once again.

Urgently, Arthur followed the directions he had been given, yelling for someone to come help him once he had found the building that had been pointed out to him. From there on out, everything happened much too fast. There were hands helping him off the horse, hands that pulled Charles from his grasp before he could do or say anything. He only saw how the other man was led away from him before he collapsed on the wooden porch to the building, waving people away that tried to pull him back to his feet.

*

Arthur woke in a bed with clean white sheets. The room was lit by sunlight, smelling of disinfectant and cleanliness. He stirred, his head pounding nastily when he tried to sit up upon the mattress. His first thoughts belonged to Charles, though he didn't need to search for long until he saw the other occupied bed within the room, grunting as he swung his legs over the edge to stand.

With uncertain steps, he made his way over to the other man, his clothes different from before, white and clean, feeling like nothing he had ever worn in his life. Arthur sat himself down on the chair by Charles' side, able to see that his clothes had been changed, too, the visible bandages around him clean.

He reached over, taking one of the hands the man had rested upon his stomach. His motion seemed enough to rouse him, Charles' eyes blinking open slowly, the dark orbs meeting Arthur's own soon enough.

"You okay?" Charles asked, his voice heavy from disuse.

Arthur stared down at him, shaking his head in disbelief before bringing the man's hand to his lips to kiss his knuckles. "You's the one who nearly died, and you're askin' me if I'm fine." The corners of Charles' mouth lifted ever so slightly, Arthur releasing a light sigh. It was a relieved sound, fueled by his belief that now everything would turn out to be okay.

"What you said to me before, in the forest. Did you mean that?"

Arthur had to think for a moment, not having expected Charles to have heard any of his words at the time, nor for him to remember now. He nodded, kissing the back of Charles' hand once again. "Every word," he whispered, not embarrassed on behalf of what had left his mouth in a moment of desperation.

"Good." Another brief smile passed over Charles' features. "Because I do, too. And I want to keep living." He disentangled his fingers from Arthur's, reaching up to gently grasp his jaw. "With you."

[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.

[my-funky-little-cowboy]

[Charthur] Arthur getting back from town all beat up after some odriscolls ganged up on him and Charles takes it into his hands to help clean Arthur up even though it's three in the morning

This took a bit longer than I would have liked, it’s been a busy month. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Hurt!Arthur, Gore, BloodCharacters: Arthur Morgan, Charles SmithStyle: Angst and a lil’ FluffWords: 1,335[ Leave a Tip ]

The blood dripped from his brow, stinging his eyes. He pulled his sleeve across his face sending a surge of pain through his ribs. He groans softly and pulled himself up into the saddle. Dutch’s words ringing in his mind, “Don’t draw unnecessary attention, lay low.” All he wanted to do was play some cards while he waited for John. He groaned, it hurt to breathe, he definitely had some broken ribs.

“Let’s go girl” He muttered. His throat was on fire, the bruises already blooming around his throat from where they had tried to choke him. 

The ride back to camp was excruciating, He had been careless, won a bit too much at the table and figured the men that followed him out behind the saloon had been just a couple of guys looking to make a quick buck.

It had been a set up to get him alone, God damn O’Driscolls had near 15 men waiting for him. He barely had time to react as the stock of the rifle met the back of his head. The flash of white hot pain as he hit the ground. He got his arms under him and slowly began to push his way up, the boot cracking the first three ribs as it impacted. 

Arthur wheezed as he hit the ground, his side screaming out in pain. He clenched his teeth, biting back a cry of pain, the grit from the mud crunching between his teeth. He rolled over, pushing himself to his feet, a hand roughly grabbing his collar pulling him forward as a fist caught him in the stomach. He coughed out the remaining air in his lungs. Gasping a breath he roared out throwing a wild uppercut, his fist connecting with the jaw of the man still grasping his collar.

“So, this is Dutch’s boy. The infamous Arthur Morgan?” Another fist slammed into his jaw. He swung wide toward the voice. He stumbled back, squaring off his feet. Finally taking in his enemies. The men surrounded him, he spit the crimson streaking from his mouth. Wiping the dribble onto his arm he raised his fists defensively. 

“O’Driscoll boys!” The red stained his teeth as a smile grew on his face. He shrugged the first hand off his shoulder, ducking and spinning landing a solid hit to the assaulter’s jaw. 

The crack makes Arthur’s smile grow more predatory. The man falls to the floor, another taking his place. He felt the hands lock onto his wrist, spinning his arm behind his back. The foot hit the back of his knee dropping his legs out from under him. The gravel biting into his knees. The fist came across his face, he felt the blood drip into his eyebrow.

He pushed himself back, knocking the man behind him off his balance, the pain ripped through his shoulder as his body pressed against this arm. He yanked his arm free, the pain caused him to cry out, scrambling to his feet he used his momentum to tackle the man in front of him.Grabbing him by the hair he slammed his head into the ground. 

Arthur stumbled to his feet, his one arm hung uselessly at his side. He turned to face the other men, his eyes wild, pulling his gun from his belt he fired dropping the last of the men. He holstered his gun, grabbing onto his arm, holding it tightly to his body. He looked down at the men on the ground, reaching down he pulled a belt off one and fashioned a makeshift sling.Turning out the man’s pockets he pulled a pack of cigarettes out and some change, pocketing both. He placed a cigarette between his lips striking a match against the saloon wall. 

The moon hung low in the sky as he left town, his head swimming in the pain as the adrenaline wore off. He leaned heavily against the mare’s back, the smell filling his nostrils, he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Charles stood among the trees near the outskirts of camp, his gun held loosely at his side, the still of the early morning air calming. No one had passed by the camp in hours, not surprising given the hour, but even the wildlife had been quiet. The crickets surrounding the camp suddenly stopped their song, Charles raised the gun, the trodding of horse hooves becoming audible in the silence.

“Who’s that?” Charles shouted out into the dark, no reply “Identify yourself or I’ll shoot.” Charles raised the barrel toward the sound, a shadow moved. T

he horse snorted through the trees, moving slowly toward Charles, gun still raised. The light filtering through the canopy cast shadows into the trees. A familiar white and brown of the horse’s coat made Charles drop his gun.

“Arthur?!” He moved forward, the horse continuing it’s slow pace toward the camp. Arthur’s form slumped over the horse’s back. “Hey! Wake up, Arthur!” He rushed toward the horse, Arthur groaned, slowly blinding his eyes, the blood and sweat making his eyes sting.

“Charles?” His voice rasped, he pulled himself up in the saddle his ribs screaming in protest.

“What the hell happened?” Charles grabbed the reigns, leading the horse back to the center of camp. Arthur coughed weakly, wincing with each jostle of his arm.

“Got jumped playing cards by those damn O’Driscolls. I’m fine.”

“You look like shit, Arthur. You’re not okay, let me look at you.” Charles said dryly, hitching the horse outside of Arthur’s tent. Arthur swung his leg over the horse, sliding his way down awkwardly. Charles watched him, arms crossed, his expression annoyed. 

Arthur dropped himself onto his cot, his breath shallow. Charles followed him into the tent, he stared down at Arthur, turning and grabbing a rag from his shave kit. He wet the cloth in the nearby shave bucket and returned to Arthur, wiping the dried blood and grit from his face. The cut oozed fresh blood, Charles wiped the fresh blood away and cleaning the wound the best he could. 

“What’s wrong with your arm?” Arthur didn’t respond, his eyes closed tightly, jaw clenched. Charles reached down, gingerly taking his arm in his hands, he put his arm down carefully at his side. He removed the makeshift sling and unbuttoned his vest and shirt. The bruises blooming on his skin told Charles of the degree of the fight. Charles looked over everything, stopping when he reached his shoulder. Deep purple bruising surrounded his shoulder, the bone sitting awkwardly under the skin, Charles looked back to Arthur’s face, his eyes still closed. He grimaced down at him, he had seen this before, his shoulder was dislocated, it needed to be put back in, it was going to hurt.

“Arthur.” He put his hand onto the front of Athur’s shoulder, pushing back his shoulder blade. Arthur shoulder tensed beneath his hand. “I need you to relax, this is going to hurt a bit, but I need to get your shoulder back in.” His other arm grabbed Arthur’s arm at the elbow,  pressing it close to his body and rotating it back and out. 

“Charles.” He groaned. 

The shoulder relaxed under Charles’s hand and he slowly removed it, gently grabbing hold of his wrist and guiding the hand toward his chest and up in a quick motion. The shoulder slid back into the socket and Arthur shuddered under him. 

“Shit! You weren’t wrong!” He croaked.

“Still don’t need help?” Charles chided. Arthur wheezed out a laugh, his good arm grabbing onto his side. Now sure he broke more than a couple ribs. 

“I’ll live.” He sat up slowly, placing his arm on Charles’s shoulder. “Thanks though, you’re too good Charles.” Charles shook his head, standing up he moved to pull some bandages from the chest by the foot of the bed.

“And you’re a fool, Arthur. Stay still and let me bandage up that cut.” He leaned over, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.