Storytime and Brain Doodles

Howdy

You cracked a smile. Of course. Of course that was his response. So it really did work, then. You had gotten your favorite outlaw a phone before sending him back to wherever the hell he came from—the technology his only souvenir from his visit to your time. You doubted it would work when he left, doubted to ever get a response, but you had tried nonetheless not even a day after his absence.

You sent him Hey there cowpoke! about an hour ago, waiting and waiting and realizing he probably hadn’t received it in the first place. But, somehow, miraculously, he had. Maybe, you thought with a laugh, he had taken all that time just to get the ‘damn thing,’ as he called it, to work. That was probably it, as it had taken you days to get him used to the phone, used to texting. The hardest part for him had been typing, as he had never used something even remotely resembling a keyboard. That, and the settings and other complicated features were completely beyond him. You used this to your advantage, making your contact in his phone my favorite girl in the world, knowing full well he wouldn’t be able to change it.

You smiled at the thought of that popping up on his screen as you replied How’s the phone?

There was no read receipt, no bubbles popping up in response. You locked your phone and set it back on your nightstand, attempting some kind of patience. Only, a few minutes later when your phone lit again, you snatched it up so quickly you nearly fumbled it.

I feel like a fool

You barked a laugh, hearing the same sentiments the entire time you were teaching him how to use it.

You’ll get used to it. How’s the past?

You waited another long while, his response coming in after a longer span this time. You wondered what it looked like, the big outlaw hunched over a phone screen, typing one letter a minute. You chuckled at the thought, hoping he stuck to his promise that he wouldn’t show the device to anyone else.

Fine. Less interesting than before. And you?

You’d wondered that, if giving him a phone would ruin his solitude, if his visiting the future would shatter the reality he knew and held so dear.

I’m well, thanks. All’s fine. Then, before you could stop yourself, too happy that you were really hearing from him—I miss you.

It took a while for him to respond, and you worried that you’d said too much. Crossed a line. Nonetheless, your phone lit once more.

I miss you too

Nerves curled in your stomach, happiness blooming within you at the response. The pair of you had gotten close while he was here. Very close. You knew your true feelings extended beyond friendship and wondered if he felt the same, if he had secretly wanted what you did—something more.

Too much of a coward to confront him so soon after he’d left, you responded with courteousness, deciding to leave that for another day.

Well, it’s late here. I should get some rest. Goodnight, Arthur.

You set the phone down on your nightstand and curled into the covers, waiting. While Arthur had been here, he had insisted you sleep in the bed while he take the couch, but he still spent time with you in your room some. He’d left the smell of him behind on your comforter—the smell of being outside, of nature and warmth. You closed your eyes and took that scent in, unbelieving how lucky you were to still be able to talk to him even though the scent—the memory of him being here—would soon fade.

Your phone dinged, and you reached for it one last time for the night.

Goodnight Y/N

You smiled as you set your phone back down, turning over to finally get some sleep. It wasn’t easy—your thoughts were riddled with him, keeping you awake as his time here played through your mind on a loop. Eventually, those thoughts gave way to dreams, and sleep found you all the same.

~

When you woke, you turned to stare at the ceiling. That small ache in your chest returned. You wouldn’t walk into the living room to find him there, waiting for you to rise for the day. You were spoiled by that, ruined by that. You were giddy you could text the man, but it wasn’t the same as being with him. Like the longest long-distance relationship in the world. Nonetheless, you rose, getting dressed in your favorite leggings and old tshirt. You smiled as you did, remembering his reaction to modern clothes. His eyes had blown wide, a blush on his face. Of course you knew why—leggings didn’t leave much to the imagination, a definite change from the baggy skirts that covered most women’s entire lower body in his day.

You decided with a devilish grin to send him a picture, to remind him of the modern world’s perks he was missing out on. You went for your phone only to find a new text from him.

You still sleeping later than the dead then?

You smiled wide. He had risen so early everyday it was a wonder he wasn’t bored to tears by the time you got up hours later. But you cherished your sleep, weren’t about to change that for any man.

You shot back You still putting the sun to shame? and switched to your camera app, looking for the best lighting in the room. You found it and set a timer so that you could get a full body picture, tease the man a little. The lens snapped, and you grabbed your phone just as another text came in.

Something like that

You were surprised at how quickly he responded given he had sent the first text hours ago. That, and his text hadn’t taken minutes to type out this time.

You switched back to your camera, looking at the picture. It wasn’t great, complete with a little bedhead, but you didn’t care, too eager to see his reaction to try taking another. You sent it off to him and switched back to your messages. He was in the middle of texting something as your picture attempted to deliver, the bubbles popping up on his side of the screen. But when the picture sent, he stopped.

You waited, staring at your phone. The bubbles eventually popped up again then went away. Then did it again. You smiled through your teeth. Was this really Arthur Morgan, the big bad outlaw, flustered?

You considered sending something to postface the picture, to give him a little relief, but he responded before you could.

Pretty

You blushed hard enough to feel it burning across your face. He hadn’t ever called you that during your time together. He had only gawked at you the first time he saw your clothes then never brought it up again.

You typed out Thank you ☺️ then deleted the emoji. He wouldn’t know what it was or what it meant anyway. You sent off your thanks and put your phone down, deciding to start your day and give yourself a moment to process his compliment.

Less than an hour passed before you were scrambling for your phone again, unable to resist.

You’re welcome

Ever the gentleman. Despite how much you wanted to say back, you couldn’t work up the nerve. Instead, you responded with something you had been curious about.

What’s it like there? Send me a picture. Then, coming to your senses, Do you remember how?

He read the messages after a few minutes but didn’t respond. Probably because he was attempting to use a phone camera, one of the banes of his existence. You let him be as a message came in from one of your friends, your other friend included in the group text.

We were thinking of going out tonight. You down Y/N?

You considered it. You really needed some time away, time to realign yourself with reality—a world without Arthur. It would be good for you. Still, you thought of staying in and talking with him into the early morning hours. You could do both, you figured. But you tended to get a shade past buzzed every time you went out with your friends, and you didn’t know what would come spilling out of your mouth then. Well, out of your fingers.

You weighed your options and chose your friends, knowing life would move on without you if you let it. You would be sure not to text him if you started to drink too much—would hope your friends would hold you to that.

I’m in. Where to? you responded, excited to be doing something other than wallowing over Arthur’s absence.

After doing some laundry and plopping down on the couch with lunch, happy it was the weekend, you got another text from him. You opened it to find a picture that was…well, stunning, to say the least. Surreal. You hadn’t realized how beautiful the place he called home was. You had only ever seen a replica of it, beautiful on its own through a television screen and a gaming console, but nothing like what he had sent you.

He was on horseback, his horse’s ears lifted in curiosity as it looked on through the sunlight, through the surrounding trees, toward the water that stretched on before him. You stared at it in awe, admired it for a long time before responding. It made your heart ache, longing for a place you would never get to see with your own eyes.

It’s beautiful there, Arthur. I’d love to see it one day.

You noticed it was a live photo and pressed down on it, your ears lighting at the sound of the wind through the trees, of a nearby birdcall. Arthur had brought the phone back down at the last second, making the tail end of it a blurry mess of colors. You laughed at that, knowing he wouldn’t understand the concept of a live photo no matter how much you tried to explain it to him.

We’ll find a way to get you here. I’ll show you around he responded.

You smiled sadly, feeling that ache tighten. As much as you hoped for his words to be true, you knew it was foolish. Just a dream. But you played along, happy to imagine the pretty little picture it painted anyway.

How kind of you, Mr. Morgan

The afternoon passed as the pair of you talked back and forth, his usual manner bleeding through the phone, the banter between you making you smile.

It eventually came time for you to pick out what you would wear for the night, how to do your hair and makeup accordingly. After checking with your friends to be sure you were on the same page, you decided on a silky, short red dress, one that hugged your body perfectly. It would certainly make the cowboy blush, at least. You kept that thought in the back of your mind as you fixed your hair and added some dramatic makeup to your eyes. It was simple yet cutting, just enough to catch the eye. You smiled at yourself in the mirror before checking the time, noting your friends would be there to pick you up any minute. You added a few pieces of jewelry before shooting a text to Arthur.

My friends and I are about to go into town. No promises that I’ll be a good conversationalist for the remainder of the night

You waited for his response, debating whether or not to also warn him about what would come through the phone rather than what wouldn’t. He texted back before you could.

How you mean?

Oh. Of course. You kept forgetting how different the lives you led were.

Women go out to get as drunk and rowdy as the men do now. Maybe more

He started to respond when you added I just mean I may drink too much to text very well

He started typing again then stopped. You knew he didn’t realize it, that his hesitation was so obvious through the screen. He stayed silent, the screen blank like he had put his phone away. You thought that odd and promised to make it up to him later with a picture of you dressed to the nines.

Your friends texted you saying they had arrived and you went to meet them, checking your phone one last time before you got in the car. Still no response from him. You pursed your lips and stashed your phone, choosing to focus on having a good time with your friends instead. You got in and barely greeted them before the three of you were speeding off into the night, up to no good.

~

You had started off at a bar that had more of a laid back atmosphere, good to drink in but a bit dull. After catching up with the two of them on careers and sex lives and everything in between (you mentioned Arthur but not the strange circumstances that brought you together, only that he lived far away), you all deemed the place a bust and decided on a bar that would hold nothing but fun—Rowdy’s, the one with a fitting name. The three of you called an Uber and were there in no time, dancing and drinking enough to have a ball. It was some of the most fun you’d had in a while. But no matter the entertainment, your mind kept going back to your phone, back to the man on the other end of it. Tipsy enough to text him and not quite drunk enough to say something stupid, you started to reach out only to find two new texts from him.

Sorry, someone almost caught me on this damn thing earlier. Then, Enjoy yourself

You grinned like a kid, couldn’t help it. You tried to catch one of your friend’s attention to take a picture of you propped up at the bar but couldn’t, the music thumping too loud. A man saw you waving and came over, so you asked him instead. “Hey, could you take my picture? Need something hot to send to someone.”

He snatched up your phone. “Ooh absolutely! Okay, pose.” As you adjusted your dress and crossed one leg over the other, he said, “Is it a boy? Should I be jealous?” You laughed open-mouthed, and he took candids of you doing so.

“Definitely,” you teased. “He’s as fine as they come.”

He opened his mouth wide in feigned jealousy then went back to posing you. “Okay good, now put your hands over your knee and smile. Yes, yes! Just like that. Oh these are going to be so good.” He snapped a few more. “Now give me a little smirk. Like ‘you know you want me’ smirk. Yes, perfect!” He took a few more, smiling in delight. “So perfect, oh my god. You look literally edible in these.”

You laughed, truly appreciating it. “Thank you!”

He looked through a few to be sure they worked then handed the phone back to you. “There should be plenty in there. They’re all good, who am I kidding! What a lucky lover boy!”

You grinned, wondering what Arthur would have to say about being called a lover boy. “I appreciate it,” you called out over the music.

“No problem at all!” he said before squeezing back into the crowd on the dance floor.

You looked through the pictures, liking the ones of you smiling but knowing the ones of you smirking like a cat were better, would have the effect you wanted them to. You picked your favorite, admiring the perfect angle and lighting the guy had captured of you in this killer dress. You shot it off to Arthur, your heart racing.

You locked your phone, too nervous to watch it, and downed the rest of your drink before moving back to the dance floor. You joined your friends in dancing your heart out, trying to keep your nerves away and your happiness at the forefront.

After a half hour, you mentioned another bar that had both of your friends pulling you away, calling a second Uber. You were off to the bar that was as dingy as it was fun in minutes, checking your phone as soon as the car left the curb.

Damn.

That was his response. Your heart pounded at the word as you shot back What?

He typed and typed and typed, and you wondered whether he was again unsure of what to say or trying to text a whole paragraph.

You were less than a minute from the bar when he finally texted back.

Guess I ain’t ever seen you dolled up before

You were about to push, about to ask him how he felt about that, when he sent another message.

You look good.

You felt a familiar rushing of blood from your heart straight down as the car came to a stop. You got out behind the other two, your eyes never leaving the screen as you responded Wish you were here. I look even better in person

He read it and didn’t respond. Your friends were half leading, half dragging you into the bar, scolding you for being glued to your phone, attempting to snatch it right out of your hands.

“Fine, okay!” you said with a smile, putting it away and going inside. Despite walking in, being swallowed by the crowd, ordering a drink so strong it could knock you on your ass, your mind was miles away. It was with him, on that phone, in another world.

People swarmed you as you downed your drink. The air was thick with body heat, sweat already beading on your skin. Or maybe that was from your nerves. You didn’t expect it, his response. But you were drunk enough to flirt right back. You knew one thing—depending on how far he took it, this would lead to a conversation you only dreamt of. And you had to be a shit-ton drunker for that.

You quickly ordered another drink and downed it too. You joined your friends on the dance floor, trying your best to stick with them and avoid the gazes of men who occasionally looked to the three of you. You stayed all of ten minutes before you couldn’t take it anymore, the anticipation eating you alive. You shouted to them about another drink over the screamingly loud music before making your way to the bar. You sat at it, ordering your third as your pulled your phone out.

Shit, I wish I was too

You couldn’t keep the grin off your face. He wanted to be here. With you. As your drink arrived and you took a sip that was harsh enough to kill a man, you responded before you could change your mind.

What would you do if you were?

You wondered what he thought of it, saying these things to each other. He of course had no clue what sexting was, but was there some version of it in his day? Naughty letter writing maybe?

Drink with you. Dance with you.

Oh. Maybe this was more innocent than you thought it was. He texted again.

Hold you close. Tell you things I’d be a fool to say when the sun came up

Heat shot between your legs and you crossed them, taking another long sip of alcohol. I’d like that. What kinds of things?

Before he could respond, your friend came up behind you and snatched your phone out of your hands.

“Aha!” she said, seeing that the conversation was between you and Arthur. “Knew it was the mystery man.”

“Hey!,” you said, scrambling to get your phone back. Your other friend came up and swatted your hand away as they put their heads together, reading every last word of the night’s conversation. You were praying it was just that, that they weren’t clued in on where exactly he resided.

You rolled your eyes at them when their mouths fell open in unison, your face heating up. Then they looked to you.

“Y/N. Y/L/N. You didn’t tell us you were literally sexting this man! Jesus christ, no wonder you’re glued to this thing!”

“Wait, he’s texting back,” the other said before you pounced and snatched it away, not wanting them to see another word. “Hey!”

“Forgive me for wanting a little privacy,” you said with an innocent smile.

They both looked at you with shit-eating grins before one pulled her phone out, her fingers flying across the screen.

“What?” you asked. She didn’t answer. “What are you doing?”

She snorted. “Ordering you an Uber.” She locked her phone and pocketed it, looking back to you with that same grin. “So you can get home and finish that naughty little conversation. Only on one condition though—you tell us everything tomorrow.” The other nodded profusely as you rolled your eyes.

You sighed at them. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

They both smiled at you as one ushered you back to the bar, the other following. “Your Uber will be here in eight minutes. Come down some shots with us before you go.”

~

You arrived back home, your nerves heightening at every step. Arthur’s response before you left had been I’d tell you you’re beautiful and that picture took my breath away

You thought on a response the whole ride home, drawing a blank. Your brain was fried with the compliment. You couldn’t believe he actually admitted that to you, that the man you were pining over felt that way about you. But how would you steer this conversation where you wanted it to go? Is that where he wanted it to go?

You stepped into your room and took off your heels, plopping down on the bed. You contemplated a bit before coming up with You’re too kind. Tell me more so that you could better feel him out. Despite the small break in the conversation, he texted right back. Slowly, but certain.

I’d tell you how bad I want to kiss you, seeing you like that

Damn. He really did feel the same, then. Your heart leapt with excitement.

You texted back And I’d ask you how come you haven’t already. Been waiting for you to

You smiled at his next text. Seriously?

Absolutely. I’ve wanted you to kiss me since the day you came here

He typed a response then deleted it, typed then deleted it. Your alcohol logged brain thought to send ‘wanted to do more than just kiss you’ but you fought off the urge, not wanting to push him too far too fast.

After about two minutes, he texted back.

Well I wish I could. Wish I’d known while we was still together

You couldn’t believe your luck. Had he really wanted you back all this time? You had wasted your time together, truly wasted it. What a pair of fools.

With a pounding heart, you shot back How would you kiss me? Describe it to me.

He seemed to ponder this. He read it and didn’t text back for a moment. Then, Slow. I’d savor every second

You felt that heat rush between your legs again as you imagined it.

The lip gloss I wear tastes like strawberries. Just for your information you responded, teasing him.

Good thing I like strawberries he said.

That made you imagine his lips on yours, warm and sure. You would open your mouth for him, letting him taste you. God, would it be perfect. You suddenly snapped, releasing that hold on your desires, letting whatever you had to say come spilling out.

Say you did find a way to come back here somehow and you were kissing me like that

He shot back Yeah?

What would you do next?

He hesitated a moment. Then, You know what.

Enlighten me.

He typed again and deleted it, the bubbles appearing and disappearing twice. You were out of patience, taught with need. He finally responded You really want me to text that?

You laughed, knowing right where this was headed. You hiked up your dress and moved your underwear out of the way, brushing a finger against your slickness. You let out a sigh, knowing just what to say back.

I’ve already got a hand between my legs, Arthur.

He took no time to respond.

Goddamn, woman.

When he didn’t go on, you sent I’m waiting.

He took a while to respond, and when he did you realized it was because the text was a long one, one that would take time for someone who had never used a keyboard.

I’d get you back to your room. Push you down on your bed. Climb over you and kiss you even harder. I’d strip all those clothes away and admire that beautiful body. I’d kiss your breasts while I traced a hand down and felt how wet you were for me

His words drove you mad. You teased your finger around your entrance, imagining your hand was his, imagining he was doing all he had described. You suddenly needed your clothes off, needed everything out of the way. You sat up and unzipped your dress, shimmying out of it. You took your bra off and tossed it aside, doing the same with your underwear. When you were bare, you laid back down and ran your finger around your nipple before bringing it back to your clit, pressing down enough to make you whine. You texted back with your other hand, slowly.

God, I want you so bad. Tell me more

He responded You first

So you had gotten him as worked up as he had you. You brought your hand up to text faster, the absence of your fingers a disappointment to your needy body.

I’m back home, in my room, on my bed. Naked. I’m touching myself and imagining you’re the one doing it

He shot right back Christ, I wish I could see that

On a whim, you smiled and responded You can

You switched to your camera and turned the lamp on to give him something to see. You propped yourself up a little so that your breasts looked better and brought your hand down between your legs, taking a picture. It was angled low enough that he could see where your arm led but not low enough to see what your hand was doing. Your breasts were on full display for him, a needy look on your face. You fired it off to him, followed by I can show you more if you’d like

He read it and didn’t immediately respond. You were willing to bet he was too busy shoving his hands down his pants. Or maybe he had already done that and was trying to wring some pleasure out of himself instead. After a minute had passed, he said Show me more

You grinned. You first

He again hesitated. You were willing to bet he was a little embarrassed about that one, and even though you desperately wanted to see him touch himself, you let it slide and added Or you can continue describing to me all the things you’d do to me if you were here

The bubbles popped up once more, and you brought your hand back down and rubbed a finger over your clit, wondering whether you would get a text or a picture. You were bound up in pleasure when he finally responded.

I’d push a finger into you and feel you for the first time. You’d feel so good, all tight and hot

You were halfway through a response when he added I’d start pumping in and out of you, watching that pretty face of yours draw up with pleasure

Damn would I love that. Can’t wait for you to do it to me you said.

I can’t wait to do it either

You sucked in a breath, a harsh swirl of your finger making your body jolt with feeling.

Are you touching yourself? you asked him.

Yes.

Good.

You imagined it, his hand around his cock, the man pumping himself slowly. It was enough to make you bite your lip, the image sending so much feeling between your legs that you clenched down around nothing, your finger on your clit driving you higher still.

You switched back to your camera and spread your legs, moving your finger down to your entrance. You pushed into yourself just barely, the wetness there soaking the tip of your finger as you angled the phone. You covered your clit with the rest of your finger and hand so that he couldn’t see much apart from where your finger was hidden, a gleam of wetness there. You snapped the picture and brought the phone back up, admiring. It showed just enough, not too much, but was still erotic as hell. You sent it to him.

He read it and didn’t respond. You wondered if he was working himself over, trying to reach his high from the picture alone. You certainly would have if he had sent you a picture like that. You imagined it instead, his face tight as he worked himself over. You brought your hand back to your clit at the thought and swirled wildly, bucking your hips and rocketing yourself back toward your undoing when he responded.

My lord. You’re beautiful. You that wet for me?

You were climbing too high to respond. You tossed your phone on the bed and gave in to your own hands, moving the other down to pump a finger in and out of you. You imagined him on top of you, what it would feel like to have him inside of you. You bucked your hips in rhythm with your hand, your other running wild across your clit, imagining he was fucking you all the while. You felt your climax nearing, the feeling like lightning coursing through you. You were seconds away when you moaned his name, the word barely more than a breath on your lips. Your body spasmed suddenly, and you felt the familiar white-hot bliss, your eyes rolling back in your head as your orgasm consumed you, as you thought of nothing but him, him, him.

You came down with panting breaths, stilling. You would give anything to have him here, to have him find his own pleasure with you. But, you figured, even though that wasn’t a possibility, you could still help him find it.

You shot to him More than wet. I just came on my fingers from imagining you were here, fucking me into this mattress

He read and didn’t reply. It wasn’t hard to figure why, the man probably so overcome with arousal he was close to spilling into his own hands. You tried to picture it, how he would look all strung out on the feeling of that high coursing through him. After a minute passed, he texted back.

I think I’m starting to like this thing

You laughed and shot back I knew you would. Did you find your pleasure, Arthur? All for me?

All for you, miss

You grinned at the nickname.

Good. Those pictures are there for good by the way, for whenever you may need them.

I may need them a lot. Gets lonely around here

You smiled into your phone. Just wait until we figure this time jump thing out. I’ll make that loneliness fade right away

Oh yeah?

Yeah. I’ll let you fuck me good and proper

Jesus, woman. Then, You can’t say things like that and expect a man to keep his sanity

You pushed. I’ll be yelling your name, letting you take me so good it’ll be all you think about for days

It’s already all I think about, and I ain’t even done it yet

Good. You stay thinking about it until I see you next

Is that a promise? You smiled at the question, wanting to keep this conversation going into next week.

For you, Arthur, that’s a guarantee.

You locked your phone and set it on your chest, smiling at the ceiling. He’d told you he had feelings for you. He’d more than proved it. Suddenly, the weight of not being able to see him in person wasn’t so heavy. You weren’t so upset over a reality that couldn’t be anymore. Maybe, you thought, just maybe, it was because one day you would see him again. He had gotten here once. Who was to say he couldn’t do it again? Couldn’t take you with him when he went back?

Arthur revolved around you like he were a planet and you were the sun, never straying too far from your orbit. As you reached the halfway point of your pregnancy, his trips to town and involvement in jobs waned. You didn't mind. It was nice having him so close. You'd spent most of your time together. You would sit and mend clothes while he'd polish a saddle, or clean his boots. Talking about everything and nothing. His increasing openness about his own life was endearing. You could tell he yearned for this chance to settle, even if he'd never openly admit it.

The secrecy of your relationship, or lack thereof, came to a head one evening as the camp sat down to dinner. You and Arthur were sat together as usual when Mrs. Grimshaw came up. Nonchalant as ever and without ever looking at either of you, openly asked if we needed help moving your things into Arthur's tent.

"After all, there is no reason for you to keep all this up. Every single one of us can see what's goin' on. You're expecting and you're both the biggest fools to think we haven't noticed!" Grimshaw declared.

The camp fell into an awkward hush. Forks and spoons stilled. Conversations trailed off. Eyes fell on you and Arthur.

Arthur didn't move much himself, his jaw tightened at first, then loosened. You'd know this would come eventually… but not like this. You just stare at Arthur beside you, mind blank. He clears his throat, eyes blinking as his tries to find words. Then a chuckle pulls at your lips. Arthur's eyes glint towards you, silently asking what on earth is your problem.

You just smile.

"Well… there you have it I guess."

It's like a huge breath was expelled at once as camp accepts what had just happened. Forks scrape against bowls again, and people laugh and shout their congratulations. That was that…

 ***

Now with the news out it was like Arthur and you could breathe a little easier. Your reluctance to share the news increasingly seemed silly as you settled into a new, more open, routine.

Mornings were your favorite as you'd often wake to Arthur's hands wrapped about your stomach. He had never been a morning person. Sure, he had woken up with the sun but that never meant he enjoyed it. He had confessed he had gotten in the habit of purposefully trying to wake earlier—just to have an extra hour to himself and the baby.

Some mornings you would wake and catch him silently relishing in it all. Others, he would be whispering to the life inside you. Telling old stories and jokes. Sharing hopes and dreams. You often thought your heart could not take seeing this rugged outlaw being so sweet to an unborn child. How on earth would you handle it when he would be holding it in his arms?

And then early one morning, you caught more of one of his stories. The unchanged soft rise and fall of your breathing convinced him you were still asleep, so on he went. His voice low and gravelly with morning roughness, but still gentle as a breeze.

"…your brother, Isaac," he murmured. "Born long before you'll be. He was a good boy… quiet." There was a heavy pause—highlighting a rare and deep sadness that tinged his tone.

"He and his mama were gone by the time he was four," Arthur continued quietly, thumb stroking carefully over your stomach. "You don't have to worry though. I'm gonna do better this time… I promise."

Your heart sank to the furthest pit of your being. Arthur had never told you this. Then again how could he? He is always one to keep anything close to the chest, let alone the loss of a child. Knowing him, and your current condition, it would be the last thing he would tell you of his own accord.

"Isaac?" you say, your voice no more than a sleep-filled whisper.

Arthur froze. The second he heard your voice—soft, sleepy, but awake—his breath caught like a man caught stealing. Slowly, he turned his head towards you. His face was unreadable, then it softened into something apologetic.

"Isaac...," he finally started, the name feeling foreign on his tongue, "was my son." A pause heavier than a gunshot lingered between you, then Arthur exhaled. He did not look away from you. He could not. He owed you the truth.

He began slowly, "Eliza. She was a girl I'd met. A waitress. It wasn't anything serious, at least it wasn't supposed to be. She got pregnant and had Isaac." Arthur swallowed hard. You couldn't help but just stare at him, eyebrows knit in concern and care. You weren't angry… just sad.

"What happened to them?" you asked cautiously.

The question just hung in the air for a moment, before Arthur carefully cleared his throat. Emotion weighing heavy on him, he let his eyes fall down to the soft fabric of the quilt that enveloped you both. When he finally met your gaze again, his eyes contained a sorrow unlike any other.

"They were killed, both of 'em. Some men raided their place. Robbed them and killed them over a measly $10.00." A muscle twitched in his cheek, and he reached up to swipe his hand across his face. That quick gesture he used to wipe tiredness or quiet tears. As his hand thumped back onto the quilt, you gingerly reached out to hold it. Rubbing tiny circles onto the sun-kissed back.

"I wanted to tell you a million times. I's just ashamed. Not of Isaac… never of him. I'm ashamed I wasn't there to protect them."

At this you sat up, the best you could anyway, and held his hand proper. With your left hand you reached to run it through his hair. Arthur leaned into your touch, eyes falling shut as the comfort of your hand in his hair grounded him.

He cleared his throat again, "The raid happened over a decade ago. I tried to visit every few months. I only knew when I'd finally went back and saw the graves. I shoulda been there more." There was a bitter edge to his tone. You could feel it was entirely directed at himself. You settled with the idea that this was long before you. It felt cruel, but you internally heaved a sigh of relief, but the feeling of your heart threatening to crumble persisted. You shifted you hand to rub his shoulder and leaned forward to let your forehead meet his.

"I am so sorry, my love."

You could feel Arthur's breath stagger. Trying to hold back mountains of long-kept emotions. He turned your hand in his and pulled it up to his lips, placing a delicate kiss. You then both shifted, so you could lay together in that soft quiet of the morning. Just barely illuminated by the timid golden hues of sunlight starting to pierce through the tent canvas. He lays his head on your shoulder, curling into you. His eyes closing in relief of having this secret laid bare. You never say anything further about it—silently agreeing it would stay that way. You both drift back into a light sleep, overwhelmed by the revelations of the morning.

Your eyes quickly snap awake as you feel a quick movement from within. Then another. A tiny jolt at the walls of your stomach. Arthur felt it as his eyes flick open. Then it came again. A soft gentle kick. Arthur did not move. Just stared wide eyed at your torso. Then his hand lifted and pressed flat against your stomach where the baby had just kicked. Nothing happened for a moment, but then that flutter hit again. A feeling so unique you could not even begin to describe it if you tried.

You giggle with wonder, "Abigail said he should start to move around this time." You flick your eyes from Arthur to your stomach. He's looking at you with a raised eyebrow and his head slightly cocked.

"What?" you ask, totally clueless.

He shakes his head, smiling and grumbles, "You said 'he'."

Now it was your turn to cock your head, but in an effort to actually recollect what you'd said, "I didn't even realize…"

Arthur shrugs and a smirk begins tugging at the corner of his mouth.

His eyes scrunch for a second as he thinks, then asks, "You want a boy?"

You smile a little, noticing the glassy look in Arthur's eyes. You reach to take his hand, pulling it up, and placing a kiss on the back of it.

"It doesn't matter to me, one way or the other. It's ours. That's all that matters." You settle Arthur's hand back down and pat it, a grumble in your stomach tearing all your focus away.

"What I do want… is breakfast," you say, shifting to get up.

Arthur lets out a huff of defeat at having to leave your shared bubble. He pushes himself up and tumbles from the cot with all the grace a man of his stature can muster. He offers you his arm, steady support as you rise. You both get dressed as usual. Arthur helping to reach the laces at your back, leaning over to get your boots, and carefully filling in for the movements that are getting increasingly difficult for you to do. You grab breakfast together, eating silently before Arthur shuffles to do chores and scope jobs, while you settle in to continue nesting.

 ***

The days continued on. Shifting into weeks. Then to months. Before you knew it you were far enough along that the baby was expected nearly at any minute. You waddled along, feet swollen, back screaming with every wrong lean. Despite all the fears you'd been carrying, and all the extremely detailed conversations with Abigail, you could not wait for labor to start.

Grimshaw had finally put her foot down—restricting chores, citing 'I won't have you dropping a baby right in the middle of my camp!' It was tough, but you knew it was her way of looking out for you. Arthur was as antsy as you had ever seen him. You were sure his anxiety was worse than yours. He noticed every ache and wince. He seemed like he'd go out of his mind seeing you in such a state without much means of helping. He would steal the good pillows from Dutch's tent, bring cool cloths to soothe your neck, and massage your back nearly every chance he could.

On a particularly rough evening, you had settled on your cot. You sat nestled in-between Arthur's legs. Your back to him as his hands worked out the coiled knots lacing your spine. His hands working slowly, big palms pressing exactly where they were needed.

"Mmm," you moan out, almost a purr at the release of tension about your body. The relief allowing you so doze slightly, the memories of the last few months flittering through your mind. Arthur's hands shifted from your back to grab your shoulders. He slowly eased you to rest against his chest. He chin landing softly against the top of your head. You couldn't help but let a little laugh escape your lips.

"Look at us… If someone would've told me nine months ago I would be seeing this soft, domesticated, version of us I'd laugh in their faces," you say. You pause for a moment.

"I love it though…" you inhale deeply, "and I love you."

Arthur presses a kiss into your hair, his lip lingering, then reaching around to peck your temple. His stubble tickling at you ear in that way that made you shiver.

"I love ya too," he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

"Now don't get weepy on me Morgan. That's my job," you warn playfully.

Arthur snorts. Like, actually snorts. A sound so unusual from him that even he seemed surprised.

"Me? Weepy? Nah" he grumbles, no real bite to it, just warmth and a hint of mock offense. His arms tighten around you, pulling you firmly against him.

Then a thought crosses your mind. Fleeting, but real. You had gotten rather blunt in the later months of your pregnancy. So, you spoke the questions without a second thought. Even though maybe you shouldn't have…

"Can I marry you?"

Your question hung in the air, simple and direct yet heavy. Arthur didn't say anything right away. His breath paused for a moment, like he'd been hit softly in the chest. The weight of what you had just asked quickly settled and panic started to creep in. You sat up to turn to look at Arthur. Words started tumbling from you like a waterfall.

"I mean…" you scrunch your eyes closed in embarrassment, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I did that… No, actually I do. I just— I wanna marry you. To share your name and everything, but not in the big fancy need a ring and a dress with flowers and all that insanity way. I—ugh!" you just give up and throw your hands up to cover your face.

Arthur, again, didn't do anything a first, but you soon felt his hands tug at yours. Pulling them from your face and forcing you to look at him.

"If that's what you want, you are more than welcome to have it," he says softly. A smile tugs at his lips. His grip still firm on your hands, he lifts them up to hold them in front of you both.

"I hereby declare you… Mrs. Morgan." Arthur said, sitting up straight and making his voice as distinguished as he could muster. It made you burst into laughter… and then joyful, hormonal, tears.

Arthur couldn't help but erupt into a hearty laugh himself, enveloping you again in his arms as you both laughed.

 ***

It wasn't long after the two of you simply declared yourself married that the baby made its triumphant arrival. You had woken with a start. A flash of dull pain streaking through your lower abdomen and back. Like a cramp from your monthly but much worse. You tried to shake it off at first, but when it kept coming you couldn't ignore it. Especially when the warm dampness of your waters came, spreading from beneath you onto the cot.

It was time.

And Arthur was still sound asleep…

You called for him, voice uneasy and tinged with flashes of pain. Luckily he stirred almost instantly at the sound of your voice. You groaned for him to get Grimshaw, Abigail, anyone at all, but he was already out the tent.

The ladies rushed in. Grimshaw immediately taking the situation in her control, giving orders like a seasoned general. She only acknowledged Arthur once. He had followed the ladies in and was floating near the tent flap. Wringing his hands so hard you'd think they'd fall right off.

"I am sorry Mr. Morgan but this is a battle you'll have to sit. Go on out with the rest of the men and let us women do the work."

That was the last you'd seen of him until the baby made its appearance.

You labored all day, from the early morning hours til dusk. It felt like it would never end, the heat, the pushing, the tears… and then it came. A small, high-pitched cry. That perfect, furious wail of a newborn taking their first breath. Then Grimshaw's voice came like a haze as she placed the babe on your chest.

"You have a baby girl."

Grimshaw continued working with that calm precision—no wasted motion, no unnecessary touch as she checked the baby. Wiping the tiny thing down, ensuring steady breaths, fingers and toes curling as they needed to. Then focus shifted on you as Grimshaw turned to deliver the afterbirth. But none of it mattered to you. You had your baby girl and all the rolling, wiping, and hands all over you did not matter one bit. You were so absorbed you barely heard Abigail ask if you were ready to call Arthur.

Honestly, for those last few minutes you had forgotten about Arthur entirely. Thinking of him now, you saw every which way he appeared in the little person in your arms. Without taking your eyes off her, you nodded, and off Abigail went.

With a quick flash of evening light, Arthur came into the tent. One look at him and tears flooded your eyes. And him? Well he looked like utter hell. He stepped forward slowly, just staring, like a man floating in a dream. He stopped at the edge of the cot and carefully sank to his knees next to you. His large frame suddenly appearing small in the grandeur of the moment. You shifted slightly so he could see her better.

"Meet our daughter," your voice trembled as you spoke. You use your free hand to reach for him, placing it on his face that was laced with a day's worth of stubble. And he smiled. Leaning forward to kiss you. Several quick pecks turned into a deep lingering kiss. You parted only to marvel at the tiny bundle in your arms. Arthur's calloused hand reached up to rub the little sprouts of chestnut hair on her head.

"I love you so much," he whispered.

What began as an unexpected consequence had tumbled into something you had both unexpectedly needed.

A/N: This is probably the last chapter! I toiled over this and wanted to get it out sooner but alas... I hope you enjoy it! I wanted to leave things a little more open-ended so your own imagination can run wild. If I have time, I have an idea for a pure smut bonus chapter, but I am about to embark on knitting the PHM fox cardigan so that'll take up most of my time. Thank you for all the love you have shown this!!

“a rodeo,” he repeated from the kitchen, one hand on the fridge door. “in this heat?”

you sat at the table, chin in your hand. “yes.”

“it’ll be loud.”

“probably.”

“full of folks.”

“that is usually how events work.”

arthur gave you a look and you smiled sweetly right back at him.

he sighed like he had suffered greatly. “parking’ll be a nightmare.”

“you have a truck.”

“so does every other fool in the county.”

“arthur.”

“what?”

“i want to go.”

that did it. you watched the argument leave him in real time, slow and reluctant, his jaw shifting like he was annoyed at how easily you had won.

“fine.”

you grinned. “fine?”

“don’t make me say it twice.”

“you want to take me to the rodeo.”

“i did not say that.”

“that’s arthur for ‘i’d love to.’”

he pointed at you. “watch yourself.”

you laughed, and despite himself, his mouth twitched.

by saturday, for someone who supposedly did not want to go, arthur had filled the truck, checked the tires, packed water, and thrown an old blanket in the back seat.

“you’re awfully prepared,” you said, watching him shut the tailgate.

“heatstroke ain’t cute.”

“you think i’m cute?”

he looked at you from beneath the brim of his hat. “that what you got from that?”

“mhm.”

he shook his head, but his eyes were warm. “get in the truck.”

he opened the passenger door for you, hand steady at your waist as you climbed in. you had changed twice before deciding on a white skirt, boots, and a soft top that had made him look at you for half a second too long when you came downstairs.

on the drive out, the windows were cracked, country music played low from the radio, and arthur’s hand rested warm on your thigh like it belonged there.

“you’ve been to rodeos before, haven’t you?” you asked.

his eyes stayed on the road. “few.”

“few as in watched, or few as in rode?”

he was quiet for half a second too long.

you sat up straighter. “arthur.”

“what?”

“you rode?”

“long time ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?”

“never came up.”

“i’ve been talking about this rodeo all week.”

“you were excited. didn’t wanna interrupt.”

“with the fact that my boyfriend used to ride in rodeos?”

his mouth twitched.

you narrowed your eyes. “bull riding?”

his silence answered before he did.

“arthur morgan.”

“don’t start.”

“you rode bulls?”

“a few.”

“a few?”

“more than a few.”

you laughed, delighted, and his hand squeezed your thigh once before returning to the wheel.

“are you riding today?”

“hell no.”

“why not?”

“because i ain’t twenty-two and stupid anymore.”

“you’re still a little stupid.”

he glanced over. “sweetheart.”

by the time you reached the rodeo grounds, the sun had dropped low enough to turn everything gold. trucks lined the field, dust lifted beneath boots, and the air smelled like fried food, livestock, summer heat, and beer. music drifted from somewhere near the stalls, mixed with the announcer’s crackling voice and the low, restless sound of cattle behind the chutes.

arthur was right about the parking. naturally, he mentioned it.

“told you.”

“you did.”

“oughta listen to me more.”

“i listen to you plenty.”

“could stand to do it a little more.”

you rolled your eyes, but when he came around and opened your door, you still let him take your hand. inside, he kept close without making a show of it. his hand found your lower back when the crowd thickened. he bought you lemonade and complained about the price. he wiped dust from the bleacher before you sat down. every time someone passed too close, his body shifted subtly nearer to yours.

the rodeo started with roping, then barrel racing, then bronc riding. you cheered more than he did, but he watched everything with a quiet, assessing eye. now and then he leaned close to explain something over the noise, his voice low by your ear, his knee pressed against yours. you were having a good time. arthur noticed.

“you’re starin’,” you said, catching him looking at you instead of the arena.

“am not.”

“you are.”

“just makin’ sure you’re enjoyin’ yourself.”

“that’s staring.”

“that’s supervision.”

you laughed, and his expression softened before he could stop it.

then came the bull riding. the crowd changed for it, louder and sharper, hungry with anticipation. down by the chutes, a bull slammed hard into the rails, making the metal rattle. arthur’s posture changed beside you. his shoulders drew back. his gaze sharpened. his hand flexed once on his knee.

“you miss it?” you asked.

he did not look at you. “miss what?”

“that.”

he watched as the first rider settled onto the bull’s back.

“sometimes,” he said.

the answer surprised you. then the gate opened. the bull exploded out, twisting hard enough to throw the rider in a few seconds. the crowd shouted as men ran in to draw the animal away. arthur watched with a faint curve to his mouth.

“he leaned too far back,” he said.

you looked at him. “you’re judging?”

“observin’.”

“you are absolutely judging.”

“little bit.”

before you could answer, a man near the chutes spotted him and started grinning. arthur went still.

“do you know him?” you asked.

“unfortunately.”

the man made his way over, far too pleased with himself. “morgan?”

arthur sighed. “tom.”

“i knew that was you. damn, boy, you got old.”

“you got loud.”

tom laughed, then looked at you. “and who’s this?”

arthur’s arm shifted along the back of the bench behind you, casual but unmistakable.

“my girlfriend.”

your stomach fluttered at the simple certainty of it.

tom tipped his hat. “ma’am. you know this man used to ride?”

“i just found out.”

“shameful, keepin’ secrets like that.” tom looked back at arthur. “we’re short one rider for the exhibition round.”

arthur’s answer was immediate. “no.”

“i ain’t even asked.”

“i heard enough.”

you sat up a little and arthur noticed instantly.

“don’t,” he said.

you blinked innocently. “i didn’t say anything.”

“you got that look.”

“what look?”

“the one that gets me in trouble.”

tom laughed. “she wants to see it.”

“she does not.”

you tried to keep your face neutral. and you failed terribly arthur looked at you.

“no.”

“i didn’t ask.”

“you’re about to.”

“you don’t have to,” you said, which was true. then, less helpfully, “but i would like to see it.”

his jaw worked.

“course you would.”

“only if you want to.”

“that ain’t fair.”

“what?"

“sayin’ it sweet.”

in the end, arthur went. grumbling the whole way.

he stripped off his jacket near the chutes, accepted a vest and gloves from tom, and rolled his shoulders like his body remembered before his mind could complain. watching him down there changed something in the air. he looked different with his hat low and his jaw set, broad and calm among the noise, pulling on a glove with his teeth as if fear was something he had met before and never much liked.

your mouth went dry. oh. that was inconvenient.

arthur swung himself down into the chute, settling onto the bull’s back with a practiced ease that made the crowd around you murmur. the animal slammed against the gate beneath him. arthur adjusted his grip, head bowed, one hand tight around the rope.

then he looked up. his eyes found you. and smiled. not sweetly. not softly. a small, knowing curve of his mouth, like he knew exactly what this was doing to you.

the gate opened. the bull came out like a storm. everything happened at once. the roar of the crowd, the announcer shouting, dust kicking up beneath the arena lights. the bull twisted hard left, snapped right, dropped and surged with enough violence to make your stomach lurch.

arthur moved with it. one hand locked around the rope, the other lifted loose in the air, his thighs tight, his body snapping with the motion and finding its balance again. hat still on. jaw clenched. shoulders strong.

you forgot to cheer. you forgot to breathe.

the buzzer sounded.

arthur released and threw himself clear, hitting the dirt hard but rolling with it. the bull kicked past him, men running in to draw it away, and for one terrifying second you lost him in the dust. then he stood. the crowd went wild. arthur pushed his hat back, breathing hard, dirt streaked across his jeans and one sleeve. tom slapped him on the back. arthur shook his head like he was annoyed by the attention, but even from the stands you could see the grin he was failing to hide.

then he looked up at you. you were absolutely staring. he noticed. by the time he made his way back, you had not recovered. arthur climbed the bleacher steps slowly, dust on his boots, sleeves rolled to his forearms, shirt clinging slightly at the collar from sweat. there was dirt along his jaw and a faint flush high on his cheekbones.

“you alright?” he asked, his tone casual. his eyes were not.

“fine.”

“fine,” he repeated.

“yes.”

he rested one hand on the rail beside you and leaned closer. “you got real quiet.”

“i was watching.”

“yeah,” he said. “i noticed.”

heat rushed up your neck.

“you were good.”

arthur’s mouth twitched. “good?”

“very good.”

“that all?”

you looked back at him. that was a mistake. he was close enough now that the dust and sweat and adrenaline of the arena clung to him, sharpening every familiar thing about him into something almost unbearable.

“what do you want me to say?”

arthur’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.

“nothin’.”

that was a lie. you stood because sitting still had become impossible.

“you’re being smug.”

“am i?”

“yes.”

“maybe i just like knowin’ my girl enjoyed the show.”

my girl. your stomach dipped and arthur saw it happen. his expression shifted, not into a grin exactly, but something quieter and far more dangerous.

“you did, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “maybe.”

“maybe,” he repeated, unimpressed.

his hand moved to your waist, thumb pressing once, slow, against the fabric of your top.

“you wanna walk?” it sounded innocent.

the two of you ended up wandering the edge of the grounds, where the crowd thinned and the lights glowed warm against the evening sky. you tried to look at stalls. belt buckles. leather bracelets. anything that was not arthur.

“you been awful quiet since the ride.”

“i’m tired.”

“liar.”

he stepped closer behind you, chest nearly brushing your shoulder. “you mad i rode?”

you almost laughed. “mad?”

“you look bothered.”

“i am bothered.”

his hand settled at your hip, guiding you out of the path of people passing behind you.

“bad bothered?”

you turned your head and found his face much closer than expected. the teasing slipped back just enough for something gentler to show through.

“no,” you said softly. “not bad.”

his gaze lowered to your mouth.

“good.”

eventually, you stole his hat. mostly because he bent to pick up the straw you’d dropped from your lemonade, and temptation presented itself. when he straightened and saw it sitting on your head, he went very still.

you smiled. “what?”

his eyes moved over you slowly. the hat. your face beneath it. your mouth trying not to smile. the rest of you in jeans and boots and soft evening light.

“give it back.”

“no.”

“that’s my hat.”

“i know.”

“you got your own.”

“i like yours.”

his jaw shifted. you had meant to tease him. you had not expected that look. arthur stepped closer, the crowd noise fading around you until there was only him.

“you like testin’ me tonight?”

your pulse jumped.

“maybe.”

there was that word again. his eyes darkened.

“careful.”

“or what?”

arthur looked at you for a long moment. then he took your hand and started walking.

“arthur,” you said, trying not to laugh. “where are we going?”

“truck.”

“why?”

he glanced back at you once, expression unreadable beneath the lights, his hand warm and firm around yours.

“because you’re wearin’ my hat and lookin’ at me like that.”

your mouth went dry.

“like what?”

he gave a low laugh.

“don’t play innocent now.”

the rodeo grew softer behind you as he led you through the rows of parked trucks. the sky had darkened fully, stars faint above the field, dust lifting beneath your boots. arthur’s truck sat near the back, half-shadowed beneath a tree. he opened the passenger door for you out of habit, but when you turned to climb in, he did not step back. instead, he stayed close.

one hand on the open door, the other on the truck beside your waist, not touching you yet but boxing you in just enough to make your breath catch. you looked up at him from beneath the brim of his hat. his eyes dropped to it again.

“you know what that does to me?”

your voice came out softer than intended. “the hat?”

“you in it.”

your stomach flipped. arthur lifted a hand and adjusted the brim, pushing it back just enough to see your face properly. his fingers lingered there, then traced lightly down to your cheek. there was still a streak of dirt near his jaw from the arena, and you reached up before thinking, brushing your thumb over it.

“you’re still dirty,” you murmured.

his mouth curved. “you complainin’?”

“no.”

“good.”

his hand slid to your waist then, warm and certain, drawing you closer.

“you were showing off,” you said.

“little bit.”

“for me?”

his gaze held yours.

“who else would i be showin’ off for?”

your hands found the front of his shirt, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.

“you looked good,” you admitted.

“yeah?”

“you know you did.”

he leaned in slightly, his nose brushing yours.

“wanted to hear you say it.”

you inhaled, but it caught somewhere in your chest. arthur kissed you before you could answer. it started slow, almost controlled. that was the dangerous thing about him. even when he wanted, he held himself back like restraint was built into his bones. his mouth moved against yours with a heat that built gradually, his hand tightening at your waist as you leaned into him. then your fingers slid up into his hair, knocking the hat slightly back. arthur made a quiet sound against your mouth.

after that, the restraint thinned. he pressed you back against the side of the truck, one hand braced near your head, the other firm at your waist. the metal was still warm from the day. he was warmer. you could taste lemonade on him, dust, summer, something unmistakably arthur. when he broke the kiss, he did not move far.

his forehead rested against yours. both of you were breathing harder than before.

“we should go,” he said.

you opened your eyes. “home?”

his thumb moved slowly at your waist.

“unless you wanna go back and watch more bull ridin’.”

you laughed breathlessly. arthur’s eyes warmed, but the heat in them did not leave. you touched the brim of his hat, still on your head.

“can i keep this on?”

his expression changed so quickly you almost felt powerful. arthur opened the passenger door wider.

“get in the truck.”

you grinned. “bossy.”

he leaned close, mouth brushing your ear.

“sweetheart,” he murmured, low enough to send a shiver through you, “you ain’t seen bossy.”

then he stepped back and helped you into the truck like a gentleman, as if he had not just kissed you senseless against the passenger door. because that was arthur.

half tenderness. half trouble. all yours.

the truck had barely cleared the rodeo parking lot before arthur’s hand tightened on the wheel. you noticed.

“arthur?”

he glanced over, eyes dropping once more to the hat still sitting low on your head. then he looked back at the road and exhaled through his nose, almost like he was trying to behave and losing the fight.

“you keep lookin’ at me like that,” he said, voice low, “we ain’t makin’ it home.”

your stomach dipped.

“like what?”

arthur gave a quiet, rough laugh and pulled the truck onto the shoulder, dust lifting in the headlights as he brought it to a stop.

“there you go again,” he murmured, killing the engine. “playin’ innocent.”

before you could breathe, his hand shot across the console, gripping your waist and hauling you over the center console. you gasped, your legs sprawling across the leather as you landed straddling his lap. the hat tipped forward, nearly covering your eyes, but you didn't move to fix it. you liked the way he looked at you from under that brim.

arthur’s large hands clamped onto your hips, bruisingly tight, pinning you against him. he could feel you soaking through your clothes, and a low, guttural sound escaped his throat.

“look at you,” he murmured against your throat. “been teasin’ me all damn night and actin’ like you don’t know it.”

"“that ride get you all worked up, sweetheart?” he asked, mouth brushing your ear. “or was it the hat?”

he reached down, fumbling with his belt and zipper with an urgency that bordered on desperation. when he freed his cock, it was thick and pulsing, straining against the air. he gripped the base of his shaft, guiding the head to your entrance, and then, with one powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you.

you screamed into the crook of his neck, your fingers digging into the dusty fabric of his shirt. the fit was tight, stretching you open, filling every inch of you.

"fuck," arthur groaned, his head falling back against the headrest. "you're so tight... like a vice."

you began to move, lifting your hips and sliding down onto him in a slow, grinding rhythm. every time you sank down, the brim of the hat wobbled, but it stayed firmly on your head, a constant reminder of who you belonged to in this moment.

arthur’s hands moved from your hips to your breasts, squeezing them hard through the fabric, his thumbs rubbing your nipples into hard peaks. he started talking dirty, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against your chest.

"ride it, sweetheart. just like a pro," he teased, his hips bucking upward to meet your descent. "take it all. I want you to feel every inch of me stretching you out. you like being my little rodeo girl, don't you? taking this big cock while we're right here in the dirt?"

the pace quickened. the truck rocked on its suspension, the rhythmic thud-thud of the chassis matching the wet, slapping sound of your bodies colliding. you were breathless, your vision swimming, the scent of leather, dust, and raw sex filling the air.

"i'm gonna... i'm gonna fill you up," arthur gasped, his grip on your waist tightening until his knuckles were white. he began to thrust upward with violent intensity, driving himself into you with a force that threatened to break you. "i'm gonna cum so deep inside you that you'll feel it for a week. you're mine. every fucking bit of you."

the friction became unbearable, a white-hot tension building in your core. you felt your walls clench around him, milking him, and that was the breaking point. with one final, devastating surge, arthur let out a loud, guttural roar, his body stiffening as he blasted hot ropes deep into your womb.

you collapsed against him, sobbing for air, your chest heaving. arthur held you there for a long time, his heart hammering against your ribs, his breath ragged. he reached up, gently tipping the brim of the hat back so he could see your flushed, ruined face. he kissed you deeply, tasting the salt and the heat, before whispering against your lips.

before he started the truck again, arthur reached across and fixed your shirt with a gentleness that made your chest feel strange after the heat of him. then he adjusted the brim of his hat on your head, thumb brushing your cheek.

“you alright?” he asked, quieter now.

you nodded. his eyes searched yours for another second before he leaned in and kissed you once, slow and soft.

“good,” he murmured. “let’s get you home.”

you leaned back in the seat, still wearing his hat. he noticed every time

thank u all for reading! i hope you enjoy some tasty modern!arthur! i enjoyed writing this one and exploring this! all feedback is welcome🥺💕