#thundermartini

a/n: here is a little fic I’ve been plotting for months now, but I could only start to write it 5 days ago during my break (of course). I am still off tumblr for a while but I was too excited to wait for my return to share it so here it is. I got the og idea while admiring the wonderful work of @/veckati, this one, Arthur’s belongings. The details are just insane, probably one of my favorite Arthur fanart. Then things got out of hand when I wrote it and it's longer than I thought it would be but I am happy about it. This can be read as a stand alone, but in my head it's the same pairing as in All the man that I need, just a couple of years later. Once again, thank you so much to my baby @thedilfdiaries for being my drafts and helping me chose the moodboard (even though I didn't chose the one you prefered 😬), and for always taking the time to listen to me, I love you so so much forever 💗. And to @mezzaninebeetle55 (third username in less than a year I have to use to tag you wow 🫩😘), this fic was born thanks to one of our talks months ago so thank you for the inspiration and the support, love you always honey 🫶🏼.

Arthur wasn’t planning on stopping for so long on the side of the road. He has seen countless carriages ride past him during the last hours, folks greeting and asking him if he is lost, if his horse is injured, if he needs any kind of assistance. And he just mumbles something along the lines of “don’t talk to me” and “get out of here. go annoy someone else.” sitting underneath the same damn tree, cigarettes’ butts piling up on the ground right beside him. 

It infuriates him, really, the kindness strangers seem to show him in this part of the country… if only they knew who he is, who he used to be, they wouldn’t even glance his way. But somewhat they do, glance his way, offer their help, they even smile sometimes, reply joyfully “have a kind day sir” despite the hostility well discernible in his tone and his closed off stance.

He should be used to it by now. It’s been more than a couple of years now since he left his old life behind, and decided to save his family instead of falling into Dutch’s madness like a gullible devotee. Your pregnancy and the birth of your daughter is what pushed Arthur to act once and for all. The late night promises he made to you needed to become real. He couldn’t lie to himself no more, this place, this way of living wasn’t safe for you, for your child… It never had been. You deserved better. And you succeeded in convincing him that he deserved better too. 

Dutch’s promises were hollow, he could see it clearly back then, he could see that his future wasn’t in the jewel-covered hands of a liar who was slowly falling from his pedestal. This father figure who kept promising the world to him, buying his loyalty and admiration with falsities, was destroying everything he had the arrogance to grapple with the same jewel-covered hands he used to pat on Arthur's back to express his gratitude. Arthur could sense the way it felt like Dutch was slowly strangling him, killing any chance at redemption for him, destroying any attempt at a better life. It almost destroyed his marriage with you. It almost caused the loss of your child… He couldn’t let that happen.  

The escape was far from easy, and healing from these scars is taking too much time for Arthur’s liking. You often say to him that healing can’t happen until he forgives himself. 

“I forgave you Arthur” you whispered to him one night in your shared bed, your soft hands cupping his face, while you pressed yourself closer to him, attempting to quiet the voices of guilt echoing in his mind. 

He still wonders every single day why you did. How can you forgive him so easily? How can you choose him without a single doubt? Why do you keep standing by his side, after all these years, after all he put you through?

Why are you still smiling at him when he comes back from work, your nose brushing his stubbled cheek as you greet him?

Why is your hand gripping his firmly when you stand on your doorstep, watching your daughter chase butterflies in the garden?

Why are you offering your heart to him?

You who are so pure and kind and good, who have always been a woman that he would never truly deserve; a woman he promised to love and cherish and protect for eternity. 

A woman he thinks he’ll keep deceiving until his last day on earth. 

It’s tearing him apart right now, this hesitation between doing what he knows is the right thing, and bending to his soul’s lowest instincts.

Arthur crushes his cigarette on a patch of moss, watching the green dot turn into brown ashes. He grabs his satchel, and rummage through it, his heart thumping loudly as does.

It should be here, folded in four, hidden in an old box of matches. 

His ticket to heaven. 

Another shot at a better life. 

Something that shouldn’t be too dangerous, the guy at the saloon said, asking the bartender to pour his new friend a drink…

Arthur glanced at him, and saw the fire in his eyes. He smirked, wondering why God was still testing him this way…

“You look like the type of guy I am looking for” the stranger said.  An opportunity, presented by some kind of devil wearing a fancy hat… Really odd for the place, Arthur noted.

“Well I ain’t looking for anything, and It ain’t my type of business anyway” he simply said, sliding the glass of whiskey back to this generous stranger.

The other man waited for a bit, and observed Arthur’s hands staying firmly atop of the bar counter. 

“That’s not what I heard about you, Mister Morgan” He threw his way, not impressed by the former outlaw’s revolver shining in his holster.     

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, but he wasn’t going to let it show. He isn’t used to people knowing him for what he used to be. And he was starting to enjoy the peace that comes with living this retired life, away from the crimes, away from the fear that his name carries.

He pondered on his options for a second. He couldn’t start a fight here. The best thing he could do was to turn this idiot down… But the guy carried on with his offer. He got his attention. A couple of guards… No casualties. Just a good old fashioned robbery. Arthur’s mind started to race, memories of similar coups followed by days of well deserved tranquility ran through his mind, quickly replaced by the fear of the man before him revealing that Arthur Morgan is alive and well, and living a farmer’s life out in the west… Devastation and the tears of his daughter while he is hanging there, feet a few meters from the ground… Your voice screaming his name in terror, helplessly praying for some divine intervention … But it was already too late. 

Arthur gave in, and managed to tell himself that he was doing so to buy your family more peace, to make sure this guy would disappear afterwards. They’ll split the fruits of his hard labour and this stranger would be off to God knows where, and never come back in this town again. That was the deal. When he looked at it closely, it would cover the cost of the barn’s renovation, it would allow you some security, in case the winter was bad and the farms nearby couldn’t afford to hire folks like him…

He had been studying his plan for weeks, secretly, pretending to be out in the fields to make sure no predator was prowling around your property, using his trips to the sawmill in the closest town to collect intel, and gather ammo. 

He bought a new repeater. 

The kind of weapon he wasn’t supposed to hide in the house. 

He stashed some bullets too. 

The kind he promised he wouldn’t load in his guns anymore.

He met with that guy again, took the mission’s details, folded the paper in four and hid it in the empty box of matches never leaving his satchel. He put a gun to his head to make sure they got an agreement. The guy didn’t shake. He just smiled. It turned Arthur’s stomach upside down, to see how quickly his reflexes were coming back. He couldn’t sleep in your bed when he came home that night. You found him passed out, back against the front door when you woke up, boots and hat still on. You leaned down and pressed a kiss on his lips. He opened his eyes, and noticed the way you smiled, your arm resting on the outline of your round belly.

Arthur’s heart broke a little more knowing what he was about to do, and how disappointed you would be if only you knew. 

It kept tearing apart slowly every single day that was separating him from this stupid job. Every time he laid eyes on you, he could feel the weight of his betrayal settling deeper in his chest. He hates lying to you. But failing to protect his family would hurt him more. He convinced himself he was doing it for you, for your daughter, for your unborn child. He had a feeling this guy wouldn’t take no for an answer. So he did what he had to, and met with an old part of him he thought he killed many years ago. He was wrong. He instantly recognized this familiar thrill coursing through his body. A feeling he grew up with. It’s like he was made for this life. No matter how hard he tries to deny it, to change, he is a criminal, an outlaw.

Arthur spent the whole night despising himself for feeling so whole again. And there he was, early this morning, declining the breakfast you made, and kissing your forehead as a goodbye, without daring to look into your eyes, the bullets already warming up in the repeater loaded on the side of his saddle. He put his hat on top of his head, and stepped outside.

You called out from the kitchen window before he could jump on his horse. Arthur stopped and saw the front door opening, and your pregnant silhouette running as best as you could with his satchel in your hands.

“You shouldn’t be running darlin’ I would've come to you” He couldn’t help but say. 

“You never forget your satchel” You pointed out, scanning his face in search for an explanation for his sudden rush. You frowned when he looked away, noticing the way his jaw tensed suddenly. “Arthur” you tried, your hand finding his. He let you hold it but he didn’t squeezed it back nor looked at you like he always does. 

“Be careful out there” You simply said, hesitating to hand him the satchel for a second.  

Arthur didn’t say anything, he just rode away. 

It was almost like you knew something was going on. Arthur kept chasing the picture of your saddened face from his mind the whole ride, the ghost of your hand lovingly holding his way too painful.  

Kicking a patch of dirt with the heel of his boot, Arthur starts to wonder again if you did know something was going on…

Half the content of his satchel is spilled on the grass as he looks for his precious item thoroughly : some biscuits, his pencils and binoculars, a bunch of broken cigarettes, coffee grains, birds feathers, dried flowers, bullets, more bullets, oat cakes and tonic… No sign of the box of matches. You wouldn't search through his things.

Arthur sighs as he pulls out his journal, and looks through the pages, just in case he remembers wrong. Maybe he hid it there, in between sketches of a past he doesn’t know how to let go of, and the images of a future he doesn’t know how to appreciate enough… tiny little prints of your daughter’s hands… a couple of words he wrote when she got sick last winter. The ribbon you were wearing in your hair when you met marks the most recent pages. Arthur lets his pointer finger trail the silky fabric. He starts sweating, and nervously shuts his journal closed. The anxiety is getting to him. He sits back down, throwing his head against the trunk. He runs his hands through his hair, picks up the satchel again, and empties it entirely. He inspects the inside closely, and notices a shiny hairpin sticking out from the stitches at the bottom. He takes it out, playing with it for a moment as he thinks. 

There is no box of matches in there. There is no way he can find back the location of the convoy without it. He could ride around for a while, and try his best to track it. He could also pack up his things and go home. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe he shouldn't go through with this stupid plan.

Arthur curses, rolling the hairpin between his fingers. There is a little pearl at the top, the ivory color reminds him of the nightgown you usually wear in the summer… Now he wonders how that hairpin ended up in his satchel. Arthur scowls, and pats the side of his satchel with his hands again. He shakes it and hears a muffled sound. It’s not empty. 

He slides his hand inside, looking for the hidden pocket. There’s a seam embossed there, carefully sewed, held closed by a couple of wooden buttons. 

How could he miss that in the first place?  

He doesn’t remember asking Pearson to sew any kind of pocket for him back in the days and he can swear this wasn’t here a couple of weeks ago… 

He should have known you were hiding something when you ran to him this morning. You probably stayed up last night to do this, and that’s how that hairpin ended up in there. He complained the other day about having to put valuable objects and papers with food and flowers and all the mess he usually carries in his satchel. So you did this for him, you sewed him a goddamn pocket, with the fabric of one of your old skirts. 

Arthur sighs, your name escaping his lips in a smile, as he unhooks it to reveal the box of matches hidden inside. He slides the box open, anxious to find out if the intel paper is still there. Two beige squares neatly folded pop out. 

You definitely knew he was hiding something.

He opens the first square to find the exact same paper he put there, the scribbles written by the stranger he met at the bar still intact… He reads it again… Trying to memorize it, just in case.

Arthur opens the second piece of paper and his breath hitches in his throat. He hasn’t felt so stupid in his entire life. He can hear your voice in his head, repeating the lines he is reading, again and again. 

You’re the best man I know, Arthur. I trust you. Don’t throw away everything we have built because you are afraid. I am afraid too. But I know everything will be alright because we have each other. Please come home. I love you. 

Arthur’s hand falls beside him, your note firmly held in his palm. His real ticket to heaven. He is a goddamn idiot. Of course you knew. Of course you noticed the changes in his behavior. You’re his wife, you know him better than anyone else. He can try to hide from you all he wants, it’s like you have a sixth sense when it comes to him. It took a lot of years for you to read him this well… Today Arthur is so grateful for it. He was probably about to make the biggest mistake of his life. 

He folds your note and puts it back in the box, then slides it in the pocket, carefully buttoning it up. He collects all the items he carried in his satchel and puts them back in.

Arthur calls his horse, and feeds the animal an oat cake. He lights up a match and approaches the flame from the piece of paper he was so anxiously looking for. He holds it between his fingers as it burns and disappears in a cloud of grey smoke. 

Another carriage is coming his way. A family. They greet him kindly, and Arthur tips his hat at them, before jumping on the back of his horse and riding in the opposite direction. The fields and orchards and isolated farms pass by in a blur. He rides without stopping for what feels like hours, not even caring about the rain starting to drizzle on his face. 

He just needs to get home to you. 

The clouds started to darken the sky in the early hours of the afternoon, the smell of rain making you feel a bit sick and anxious. Old memories of countless nights spent soaked to the bone near a campfire comes back to your mind: the smell of moldy wood barely burning in the pit, the voices of your former companions telling each other’s life stories while drinking rum and whiskey to stay warm, Arthur’s blue coat wrapped around your shoulder to keep you from freezing as you waited for him to come back from whatever job Dutch sent him to. 

A past that still haunts you. You blink and the images you just invoked disappear, replaced by the sight of your little girl running around the flowerbeds near the front gate. The first drops stain the rocks beside you. A thrill runs through your whole body. The baby gives you a kick and you rest an arm on the side of your belly, whispering calming sounds for you, and your unborn child. 

You’ve been living in this house for years now but you can never escape this feeling when the weather suddenly changes. Especially since you almost lost your daughter after giving birth in such conditions. Especially since Arthur isn’t here to comfort you, just like he wasn't there that night. 

You call your daughter’s name, insisting that she should come play inside, quickly walking down the few steps with a basket in your hands to gather the laundry drying on the front yard. You pray for Arthur to come home before the storm hits, hoping that he had given up on his secret venture.

Your daughter brushes past you and smiles, her little hands full of mud and grass and pebbles she collected just a minute ago. You negotiate for a moment, asking her to leave her precious treasures on the doorstep. She drives a hard bargain, but the new purpose of making a drawing for her daddy seems to do the trick. She doesn’t miss to leave an imprint of her afternoon activities on the fabric of your skirt, and you sigh as you walk back in, an annoyed reaction tempered down by the sight of your little girl waiting by the sink, looking at you with her big bright eyes, and randomly asking if she can talk to the baby. This alone brings tears to your eyes, and you have to bite your cheek to avoid crying as you sit her up on the kitchen counter and proceed to wash her hands gently. She laughs and talks to your belly about the sky and the flowers, and her daddy’s horse. 

You put her down after drying a strand of her hair tainted by the mud, and lead her near the fireplace. She knows where the supplies are, she has done this with her father multiple times, she even has her own coloring book he bought her for her birthday, so you don’t say anything when she silently declines your offer for help, and sits down on the floor, spreading all the crayons at her feet. 

You sit on the sofa, resuming your laundry folding duties, and breathe quietly, the sounds of the thunder getting closer making you feel even more nervous. 

“Daddy is coming back?” She asks after a while, crawling to you with the crayon gripped in her hand. 

“Daddy is coming back. Yes.” you reply, piling up the clothes carefully. 

“He will like my horse?” she says, resting her head on your thigh, her hand pulling on the bottom of your skirt to catch your attention. 

“I am sure he will love it” You glance quickly behind her. Arthur has no objectivity when it comes to his daughter’s art anyway. She could draw a bunch of lines, he would act like it belongs in the gallery of a prestigious museum and carry it in his coat pocket forever. But you have to admit that she is pretty good, you weren’t drawing like that at her age. “That’s beautiful dearie” you exclaim, caressing the top of her head. 

“But it’s not finished,” she pouts, already crawling away.

“Well you still have time to finish it before he gets here right?”

She nods, mumbling cheerfully while she adds more color to her canvas. 

The next hour goes atrociously slow. Each tick of the clock reminds you that the night is near and that Arthur isn’t there. Your daughter is still drawing, and asking questions about everything and nothing: “why baby ducks are yellow?”, “will the baby be yellow too?”, “did her father like bisons?”, “can she have a kitten?”, “why mommy doesn’t like the rain?”. 

The last one hits you like a bullet. Kids must have some sort of intuition about these things. You take a deep breath and recount an old tale about the life you shared with her father before the house, before her. She seems very interested for the first couple of minutes, but then she turns her head to focus on her drawing again… You smile, looking at her tenderly, envying for a moment this careless attitude, a child’s innocence, the way she moves around so freely, enjoying the tiniest things, inventing stories, unbothered by life’s burdens. You hope that she won’t ever be touched by the horrors Arthur and you had to go through. 

Lightning cracks up the sky and you jump, deciding to get up to close the curtains. You stop with your hands on the window when you notice a black stallion riding your way through the pouring rain. You let out a relieved sigh and walk to the front door. You push it open, greeted by the wind and the sound of the rain hitting the soil.

It looked so peaceful this morning when you watched Arthur ride away, the golden fields laying endlessly before you, the purple night sky being replaced by a pale pink light, the birds singing softly.  Now the sky is dark, with red splashing beyond the tree lines, it looks like it’s bleeding, giving an apocalyptic atmosphere to the world. 

Arthur dismount his horse and notices you standing there. He holds his hat on his head with his hand firmly as he throws the guns on his back, and grabs his satchel. 

“You wait here boy, I’ll take you to a dry place in a minute” he says to his horse before walking to you. 

You watch your husband climb the few steps that separates him from you. You open your mouth to say something but his cold wet hands cup your face and he smashes his lips against yours. The force of his kiss makes you take two steps backwards. One of his hands slides down from your face to hold you by the waist, steadying you. Arthur keeps kissing you until you’re both out of breath, droplets of water sliding from his beard down your neck. 

“Did you…” You dare to ask once you part. You raise your hand to push a strand of wet hair out of his face, waiting for his reply.

Arthur’s hand slides down your arm to rest on your belly. He looks down at you, then nods. 

“I didn’t” He says, before pressing you against him to hug you tightly. “I am sorry” He whispers, kissing the top of your head. 

“It’s okay Arthur, we can talk about it later. Come on, let’s head inside, we don’t want to get sick.” You grab the collar of his coat and pull him towards you, kissing him again. 

Arthur can feel that you’re not completely relieved, he can hear the heaviness in your tone, and the crease between your eyebrow isn’t going to be smoothed out by a quick apology and a passionate kiss. You will need much more than that. You deserve the truth.  

“I’ll be right back” He replies before disappearing in the heavy rain.  

Arthur kicks off his boots by the front door, and gets rid of his soaked coat, hanging it beside the window. That old thing did a poor job at keeping him dry. 

He can hear your daughter telling you about horses, repeating the same things he taught her, with her very own lingo. He wants to rush to the other room but he is dripping water on the floor, every step he takes towards the kitchen leaves a puddle behind him. He notices the towels you left for him on the table, with a set of dry clothes. 

He appears in the leaving room a minute later, greeted by your daughter’s yells and the sound of her tiny footsteps hitting the wooden floor as she runs to him. He picks her up and makes her twirl in the air for a moment, before she wraps her little arms around his neck and whispers “I missed you daddy”. He kisses her forehead, tears blurring his green blue eyes, threatening to roll down his bearded cheeks.

You can’t contain yours as you watch them, seated on the other side of the room, a half folded baby cloth resting on your lap. Arthur’s gaze falls upon you, his heart soaring at the sight. 

“Let’s go see mama, I think she needs a hug too” He says as he walks to you with your daughter in his arms. 

You push the clothes to the side to let them sit right beside you. He holds your daughter in his arms as she leans over to hug you, then she drops on her father’s knees to kiss your belly.

The sounds of her footsteps echoes through the living room again as she runs to collect her drawing and present it to her father. She explains all the details she added and why she chose the colors. You watch Arthur while he listens to her intently, the way he looks so proud, how his smile mirrors hers. You grab his hand and hold it firmly, leaning your head on his shoulder. 

Once your daughter gets back to her crayons, Arthur gets up to add a couple of logs in the fireplace. He stays there for a minute, watching you, looking for the right words before speaking.  

“I am sorry. For hiding something so… dangerous from you. For lying, for leaving, for putting you in danger. I didn’t think this through, I just thought… Agh it doesn’t matter now. I’ve been acting like an idiot” He starts to explain, voice low as he walks back to you.

You just nod compassionately. You want to ask more questions, curious to know how he ended up in a situation he has been trying to avoid for the past few years, why he almost fell back in the sea of sins he swore to himself he would never let tarnish his soul again… But you know it will take a little bit of time to get him to reveal his thoughts. It’s the thing with Arthur, you need to give him the time and space to let him process his own patterns. He has to work it out by himself first. He already apologized, he needs to get to the bottom of it on his own before making amends to you. It always worked out this way between you two. 

“Arthur, I just need to know. Are you in any kind of trouble with the law?” You ask him, flashbacks of nights spent patching him up after his miserable encounters with the police coming to your mind. 

“No I don’t think I am.” He replies as he sits next to you again, eyes focusing on his hands. 

“And…Did you do anything that could make someone look for you?” You ask again, watching him nervously twist the wedding ring on his finger. 

Arthur just nods, then looks at you silently. He grabs your hands and holds them, the pad of his thumb brushing the inner side of your wrist. 

“Darlin’ you gotta understand… The only reason I didn’t go through with it…” It hurts for him to admit this to you, that he probably isn’t as good as you think he is. “It’s because of you... the words in your note....” He brings your hands to his lips, and presses a single kiss on your skin. “Thank you. For reminding me that…it ain’t the only thing that I am.” His voice cracks a little as he continues. 

“I wish you could see yourself as we see you Arthur. And I will always remind you of the kind of man that you are, always” You whisper, leaning forward to caress his face. “Thank you for coming back, for making the right choice” You add before kissing his lips. 

Arthur barely slept that night. He stayed up, gun in his hand, waiting in the kitchen in case someone would come to threaten him, to hurt you. You try to convince him that it was useless, that no one would come for him, but he was stubborn. You were too, insisting to stay up with him. When you fell asleep on the table, Arthur woke you up and led you back to your bed.

He wasn’t serene for weeks after this event, and kept blaming himself for jumping headfirst into that devil’s trap. It was late in the spring when he finally got the sign he was praying for.

Arthur was waiting for you outside of the doctor’s office. The baby has been kicking a lot lately, the pain started to get stronger. You knew it meant you were going to give birth soon, but Arthur wasn’t going to take any risks this time, insisting that a useless trip to the doctor was better than an anxious wait at home. He nervously paced around the street, the sounds of shopkeepers arguing and the wheels rolling on the pavement nearly driving him mad.

He leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette as he watched the newsie shouting and waving his hat to the bystanders. Arthur crossed the street, cigarette stuck in his mouth, and threw a coin in the kid’s hat. 

“Thank you sir” The young boy said, handing him a paper and resuming his yelling right after. 

“If I give you five dollars will you go and yell a bit further down the street?” Arthur asked, sticking the paper underneath his arms as he emptied his pocket looking for the money. 

The kid’s eyes widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. He thanked Arthur’s generosity and grabbed the bills and his stuff, then ran down the busy street.

Arthur walked back to his spot near the entrance, enjoying the peace he just bought himself. You should be out already, why weren’t you coming out?

He exhaled the smoke of his cigarette in small clouds, anxiously opening and closing the journal, when his eyes spotted the headlines. 

“Outlaws aren’t welcome in town. A successful series of arrests: the sheriff's men put an end to the attacks perpetrated by a network of robbers. Three dead and six wounded. Page 3.”

Arthur read the sidebar again and again, clumsily turning the pages to get to the article. 

“Ah shit” He cursed when half the journal ripped up. He kept reading for a while, not believing what was written before him: the details of the arrests, the location… It should have been him in that jailcell.

His heart started beating faster when he realized that the stranger he met at the bar either figured amongst the casualties, or the men sentenced to death… It could have been him. 

The door suddenly opens beside him. Arthur crumples the newspaper as soon as he hears your cheerful tone bid the doctor goodbye. He passes his hands on his face quickly, trying to collect himself. 

“I thought you’d walk out with the baby” He says awkwardly, offering his arm to walk you to the wagon. 

“I wish it was that easy” You laugh, using your free hand to hide your face from the blinding sun. 

“What took you so long?” Arthur says with a sniff, scanning the street to find a place to throw the paper ball. 

“Just a lot of questions… And the doctor is very… meticulous. But everything is fine don’t worry” You reply, patting his chest gently. “What’s with the journal? Any good news?” You ask, trying to grab it from his hands.

“Nothin’... just… a bunch of crap” Arthur's tone is elusive. He moves the ball out of reach and coughs to get rid of his sudden discomfort.

“Why did you buy it?” You glance at him suspiciously

“I was curious. And I needed a way to make that kid go sing elsewhere” He states, firmly.  

You nod, noticing the red nervously creeping up his cheeks. You say nothing, and stop in front of the wagon, waiting for Arthur to help you up. 

“You good up there? I gotta get something real quick” He says and you don't even have the time to answer before he disappears in an alley, leaving the piece of paper at your feet.

You take the chance to unfold the journal as best as you can. You don’t need to read the article, you already know what this is about. Arthur is a terrible liar, at least he doesn’t know how to lie to you. 

“Excuse me? Maam?” you call out and an old lady approaches. “Could you throw this paper to the trash for me? I forgot to do it before hopping in the wagon and… In my state it’s not very safe to get down again” You explain politely, making sure she isn’t missing the hugeness of your belly. She agrees and you thank her, waving as she walks away. 

Arthur jumps beside you a couple of minutes after, placing a pastel blue box between you. 

“What’s that?” You ask, trying to open it. Arthur puts his hand on top of the box to stop you.

“It’s a surprise” He says as you back off, taking the reins in his hands and urging the horses to move. 

“I won’t pry then.” 

It takes a while for you to reach the edge of town, the street far too busy for Arthur’s patience. Once you’re back on open roads, Arthur flinches beside you. 

“Where’s the journal I left there?” He asks, looking at your feet and slowing down the horses. 

“Oh I asked a lady to throw it away” You smile.

Arthur stares at you, mouth agape. 

“It was a piece of crap, wasn’t that what you said?” You reply, knowingly. 

Arthur scoffs. “Yeah… just… trash” He says, shaking his head. “I can’t hide anything from you now woman, can I?” He adds after a couple of seconds.

“No… you definitely can’t” You answer, putting the box on your knees and smiling. “It’s a cake, right?” You poke him in the shoulder. 

“Come on you said you wouldn’t pry…” Arthur throws his head backwards, faking annoyance “No it ain’t” He lies, giving you a side eye. 

“Yes it is” You reply smiling brightly. “Strawberry?” You add. 

Arthur shrugs, guiding the horses to the left to let a bunch of farmers pass by. 

“Your daughter is going to be so happy” You reply cheerfully, pressing a kiss on his cheek. 

“That’s all I was hoping for” Arthur replies, driving the two of you home in the afternoon sun.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3 also I can’t wait to get back from my break and catch up on all the stories I missed 🥰

a/n: This user (me) got possessed by the smut spirit after seeing this picture of Charles... so idk, i wanted to write some simpler smut again. And we can never get enough of Charles Smith smut sooo yay! I hope it's good and you all enjoy! Thank you to my magical baby @thedilfdiaries for being my draft once again, and for helping with the moodboard choice, I love you so very much 💙❤️✨. And to my pretty @mezzaninebeetle55 thank you for hearing my horny thoughts about this man and for your support, love youuu honey🫂🫶🏼

The rain of bullets keeps echoing through Charles’ mind as Taima leads him back to camp, clouds of red dirt rising around them. He left the battlefield more than an hour ago, parting ways with Arthur as soon as they were far enough from the makeshift army sent by the Braithwaites. The adrenaline rush from today’s events hasn’t settled yet. Charles’ whole body is tensed as a bowstring.

It was a close call for them, especially for Arthur. If it wasn’t for Charles’ composure and swiftness, the other outlaw would be laying dead in a corn field.

Arthur wanted to pay Charles a drink, as a thank you for saving his life today, but Charles politely declined. He only needed to say your name out loud for Arthur to understand. He gave Charles a knowing smile before taking the south road to Saint Denis. You’d be worrying sick if neither of them was back before the nightfall, their absence would definitely mean that something went wrong. And Charles needs you. After this failed encounter with death, you’ve been plaguing his mind, rendering him restless.

Charles tightens his grip on Taima’s reins, only noticing the state of his hands. The blood shines on his split and bruised knuckles from the beat up they inflicted those bounty hunters earlier. His brown vest has turned a shade darker, burgundy dots spilled all over the fabric. His shirt isn’t in a much better condition. You’re probably gonna be mad for all the scrubbing that it will take to make his clothes look clean again.

His mind is suddenly filled with images of you crouched over the basin, a pile of wet clothes seated next to you. You slowly rolled your sleeves up your forearms, smiling at the warm sun pouring down your silhouette. You didn’t see him sitting there that day, cleaning his shotgun away from all the agitation that comes with having to cook lunch for so many people. Charles completely forgot about the oil and the rag resting on his lap. The buttons of your shirt were opened, far too low for a fine lady like you, the lines of your breasts taunting Charles like never before. Every time you moved your hands down the washboard, pushing up your chest, he tried to look away, heat seizing his entire being. Reality blurred and suddenly he was tracing a path of kisses along your exposed cleavage, torturously slow, losing his mind at the way you were panting, your chest rising as you took a jerky breath every time his lips parted from your skin. “Charles” Your soft voice moaned as Charles' face nuzzled further down your open shirt, his nose brushing the side of your perked nipple. “Charles…” The metallic sound of his shotgun hitting the ground made him jump. Charles' eyes focused on you again. You were still doing laundry by the water, smiling at him and beckoning for him to come closer. Charles stood up and walked to you, trying hard not to trip on his own feet. You looked up at him, asking questions about his shirt and the deep cut you found in it, and if he wanted you to mend it for him. He nodded, feeling his heart soaring at the way your lips stretched into a soft smile every time your eyes set on him. He knew right there and then that you probably cast a spell on him. The kind that makes a strong man like him weak in the knees every time he gets the chance to sit close to you, to talk to you, to touch you. You became his every thought, and the sole vision of you made his heart race, a feeling he had never been familiar with.

It’s the reason why he races back to you. He caresses Taima’s mane, slowing down as the path leading to camp appears in front of them.

Javier’s shadow becomes neater as Charles rides through the bushes.

“Who’s there?” Javier asks gruffly.

“It's me, Charles” Taima comes to a halt beside him.

“Where’s Arthur?”

Charles dismounts his mare, replying in a rush while leading the animal to the hitching post. Javier was about to ask the other man a second question, but Charles was already gone when he turned around. He flicks his rifle back on his shoulder and focuses on his guard duty once again.

Charles doesn’t have the time. He needs to find you. He strides through camp, boots thumping heavily on the dirty soil, quickly scanning the place; eyes never stopping long enough on the people surrounding him, afraid that an extended stare would become an invitation for a late afternoon small talk. He doesn’t have the time for this. He could ask them where you are, but Charles doesn’t need people prying. He walks to the tent you share with the girls. No books in sight, no sewing kit either, that means you’re probably in his shared tent with Bill and Hosea. You’ve taken the habit of taking naps there, pretending that it was a better spot, something about the soil… and the peace. Mary-Beth, Karen and Tilly are spending most of their time yapping in the women’s tent, which can be inconvenient when you’re trying to catch up with your sleep. They gave you an earbashing the first time they caught you there, but quickly suspected something was going on between you and Charles… But you aren’t there either, only a pile of clean clothes belonging to him.

Noise of agitation reaches Charles' ears. It’s Trelawny finally coming back. Everyone runs towards him, ready to help him with his injuries.

Charles takes advantage of the sudden commotion to walk down the path leading to the lake without being noticed, hoping to find you somewhere along the shore.

A gust of wind brushes the side of your face, a fallen strand of hair tickling your skin. You pause, trying to tuck it behind your ear as best as you can, when you suddenly feel a familiar warmth enveloping your body. You smile, leaning back into the man you just spent your entire day thinking about.

Charles fell into steps behind you quietly a couple of minutes ago, and he thought you didn’t notice. You looked so carefree, hair flowing with the wind, skirt swifting as you walked, a single white flower held between your fingers. He admired your beauty for a moment, debating if he should disturb your peace or not, but he couldn’t help but to walk to you, the mere sight of your silhouette awakening the hunger he carries for you deep inside of him.

Charles’ hands hold your hips firmly, stopping you from turning to face him. He pushes your hair to the side, revealing your bare neck to his lips. You shiver when he kisses you.

“I was afraid to scare you, sneaking up on you like that” Charles murmurs, before he closes his mouth on your soft skin again.

“I knew you were following me”

“How come?”

“The wind told me” You reply softly, and Charles laughs against the column of your throat, leaving open mouth kisses there. “Charles…” You breathe out, turning your head in an attempt to kiss him. But he doesn’t let you, leading you to the woods instead.

“Where are we going?” You giggle as you walk clumsily, Charles arms wrapped around your shoulders. You try to turn around, desperate to see him, but he stops you, pressing your ass against his crotch, the hardened shape of his cock poking you through the fabric. You gasp when you feel him, heat seizing your face.

Fallen leaves crunch underneath your feet as you walk deeper into the clearing. The birds are singing their praises to the evening light. Charles flips you around and kisses your lips, slowly caging you against the first tree he sees.

You’re breathless, adjusting against the rough bark of the tree, trying to touch Charles’ chest, needing to feel him underneath your fingertips.

You try to help him out of his vest but stops when Charles suddenly hisses against your lips.

Your eyes snap open, looking at him, retreating your hand from his bicep carefully. You hold your fingers in front of you, noticing the blood stain on your skin.

“Charles that’s… you’re bleeding” You warn him, hands unbuttoning his shirt quickly to take a better look at the damages.

“Just a graze, nothing to worry about” He retorts, pushing you back against the tree. He wraps a hand around your neck, letting his thumb brush your pulse point, and kisses you deeply again, tongue battling with yours as you continue getting rid of his shirt.

“Let me see” You protest when he parts from your mouth to catch his breath.

When he leans over you to kiss your neck instead, his hands fiddling with the buttons of your shirt, you cup his face and pull him away.

“Charles. I am serious.” Your tone has lost its lightness this time, and Charles has no choice but to concede.

“Fine” He sighs, annoyed, but you can see that it doesn’t turn off the lust in his eyes though, and you have a hard time staying still while watching him take off his shirt right in front of you, his chest heaving from earlier kisses. He looks glorious, skin shining lightly from the sweat and the evening sun.

But it’s only now that you realize the bloodied state he is in.

“Charles. We need to take care of this” You frown in concern, scanning his whole body in search of other injuries.

“This is not my blood” He replies smugly, seizing your hand in his.

“Well this….is very much yours” You press your finger into his wound again, deliberately this time, and rien raise your hand in front of him. Charles almost whines from the pain, but doesn’t say anything.

“We should go back to camp, I’ll patch you up” You step aside, glancing at his naked arm, already visualizing how you are going to stitch him up.

Charles’ hand grabs yours, stopping you from walking away. He pulls you to him, and silences your protests with another bruising kiss. This time he leaves you disoriented.

“This can wait… But I…I need you now. Please” Charles says in between kisses, his hands finishing to unbutton your shirt.

Your heart is pounding in its cage, and a wave of desire forces you to surrender. The sight of him so desperate to have you here now, the feeling of his lips, his hands on your skin… You would be a crazy woman to deny the both of you such a pleasure.

“Okay… But then you’ll let me…”

Charles silences you, his lips swallowing the last words of this sentence.

Your back hits the tree once again, and this time Charles hands are exploring more of your skin. He fondles your breasts while kissing your neck, and you hurriedly free him from the confines of his pants. His hard cock springs free and you start to stroke him languidly as Charles’ mouth suckles at your nipples.

You moan his name when it starts to feel too much, the need to feel him touch your pussy burning low in your stomach. You quicken your pace, stroking his cock a little faster, and Charles smashes his lips against yours.

“My darling… you should stop or I won’t last” He says, almost quivering. You let go of his length, gathering your skirt around your waist, and sliding down your bloomers with one hand. Charles’ cock twitches at the vision of you, flushed and desperate against that tree, lips parted as you pant little pleas. Charles’ hand cups your cunt. He smears the wetness on his fingers before inserting two of them inside of you.

“You’re so warm, so wet for me…I wish I had the time to put my mouth on you” He whispers in your ear, quickening his pace.

“Next time… Whenever you want but right now I am close, Charles…so close” You whine, out of breath.

Charles grants your wish, drawing circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb. You come undone on his hand, and Charles doesn't let you catch your breath nor come back to your senses. He turns you around, and you find yourself face against the tree, forced to put your hand underneath your cheek to avoid getting any scratches.

Your scent, the sounds you are making for him, the feeling of your warm cunt, everything about you is driving Charles crazy right now, and he can’t take it anymore.

He spits in his hand covered in your wetness and strokes his cock with it, asking you to hold your skirt a little higher. You do as he says and arch your back, the hot air blowing on the naked skin of your thighs. Charles’ cock brushes your ass as he grips your hips firmly, his hand caressing your lower back. You are soaked, cunt pulsing in anticipation of having him filling you up. One of his fingers trails down the back of your thigh, and you shiver, bucking your hips backwards.

“I thought you needed me…” You start saying, but the sentence turns into a high pitched moan as Charles eases his cock inside of your pussy, slowly.

"I’ve been thinking about this for the whole ride back, trust me" He says, amazed by the way you are stretching around him. His hold on your waist is firm, and he takes his time to push as much of his length as he can.

You cry out, definitely not prepared enough to take him fully. Charles shushes you, ordering for you to breathe and relax, and enjoying the contraction of your cunt around his member as you do. He could come right here, just by being inside of you. But he wants to drag it out, just for the sake of hearing you beg for him to fuck you harder.

You wiggle your ass a little, silently waiting for Charles to move, waves of pleasure flooding your lower stomach again. Charles pulls back a little, before slamming his hips back into you. You moan again, with each thrusts of Charles cock deep inside of you.

“Oh Charles it’s too much…” You whine, peering at him over your shoulder.

“You gotta relax for me” He replies as he trusts into you again, getting close to bottoming out in your cunt. He lets one of his hands caress your sides, before groping your breast, pinching at your nipple. You throw your head back against the tree, nodding and repeating how good it feels, close to frenzy.

It’s dizzying, and shutting your eyes does nothing to temper down the overwhelming feeling of being fucked roughly by him.

“Charles… Take what you need and fuck me harder, please” You moan, lifting your head from the tree, holding yourself with two hands against the bark as you back up into him.

“I got you, I got you, I am just… Oh gosh you just feel so good” A deep moan escapes his throat as he adjusts his position to hold you more firmly, and makes you rear bounce on his cock.

The grip of his fingers on your soft skin is hurting you deliciously, and the pain combined with the weight of his cock twitching inside of you is going to make you come again.

You slide one of your hands down your skirt, and touch your clit as Charles bucks his hips into yours mercilessly, each thrust making your tits bounce, completely spilling out of your shirt.

There is nothing else in this world but the smell of sweat, blood and cum, the sounds of your whines and Charles’ pants, the feel of his skin against yours, as you bring each other to the edge.

You clench around him as you come, coating his cock in your wetness. Charles twitches inside of you and pulls out slowly before it’s too late. You keep chanting his name as you catch your breath, a little disappointed not to feel him spill deep inside of you. Charles can’t hold it anymore when he watches you, leaned against the tree, completely disheveled. He moans your name and shoots his cum on your ass, soothing the freshly bruised skin of your hips with the tip of his fingers.

You’re still struggling to keep your balance, catching your breath, when you feel Charles cleaning you up with his discarded shirt, and putting your bloomers and skirt back into place.

You slowly stretch back into a normal position, not in any rush to readjust your shirt and button it up. You smile as Charles pulls you towards him and kisses you.

“That was… what happened to you?” You giggle against his lips.

“Just… I missed you a lot I guess” He replies, bashfully. “Thank you” He adds as you press a kiss on his cheek.

“Let’s get cleaned up and we will take care of this new injury, I will try to turn it into a nice scar” You cup his face in your hands and caress his scar with the pad of your finger.

Charles takes your hand in his and leads you to the lake, stopping to pick up the flower you let fall when he led you away earlier.

“Come here” He motions for you to stop and tucks it under a strand of hair, before cupping your chin and tilting your head up to kiss you deeply.

a/n: thank u so much for reading! Consider leaving a reblog or a comment, they are always making my day 🥰

Plopping down on the chair you used to access the ceiling, you exhale a deep sigh, patting your head in search of any sign of blood, or swelling. You find none. Just the dreadful feeling of almost knocking yourself out persisting at the pit of your stomach. You feel dizzy though. And nauseous. And your heart rate doesn’t want to slow down. Maybe you should get downstairs, get a glass of water, and lay on the bed for a minute or two. You’ll get enough time to clean and put everything back in its place before Arthur comes home. 

The freshly polished wooden floor creaks underneath your bare feet, the warmth of the fireplace invading the first floor. You take the stairs, left hand firmly gripping the railing. The last thing you want is to fall down the stairs now and let’s be honest you definitely could when you are in such a state of fatigue. It always brings more clumsiness. 

But you seriously don’t know how to rest and it has always been a problem for you. You always have to keep yourself busy, a new project to avoid letting your anxiety take control of your brain. It has been sewing, cooking, reading, gardening, cleaning, making endless jars of jam with summer fruits. And now renovating the house you and Arthur bought a couple years ago, after you finally got free from the gang, after Arthur found the strength to cut the ties that were binding him to a certain death. 

He promised he would come and find you, the day he dropped you at the train station, a handful of scrunched up dollar bills and a few coins held firmly in the palm of your hands. You pleaded for him to come with you, to give up on this silly plan to try to turn things around, to make Dutch realize his mistake, to save this family. Arthur got off the train before you had the time to get an answer out of him, the feeling of his lips pressing against yours a memory that lived with you until you were able to breathe again, months later, getting out of your job as a saleswoman in a new kind of department store, based on the same ones they got in Paris. You wrote and wrote and left letters across the country for him to find. But without any answer you started to lose hope. Until that evening when he appeared, right in front of you, standing on the pavement, golden hair shiny under the flickering street lamp, the smell of the first autumn rain filling your nose. You forgot about your umbrella and ran to him, your muddy boots floating in the air as Arthur took you in his arms before pressing a kiss to your lips. “What are you doing here?” You mumbled, tears falling from your eyes. “I promised I would come and find you, didn’t I?” He replied, a smirk on the corner of his mouth as you hugged him tighter, afraid to let him go for even a second, closing your eyes and praying for it to finally be real, and not another dream you always had during these long months. This time it was true. 

“What are you doing here?” The words you said in disbelief all those years ago echo through the room as you watch your husband standing in the doorway, brushing the dirt off the sole of his boots and throwing a huge sack of potatoes on the kitchen floor. 

“Thought I’ll finish earlier so I could help you with the bedroom darlin’” Arthur says as he brushes past you, kissing the top of your head, right on the spot where the curtain rack hit you. You wince, dodging your head down. 

Arthur frowns behind you, wondering if he was too rough. 

“What’s the matter with you?” He blurts out, rounding the table’s corner to get a good look at your face. The way he stares at you cuts off all attempts at a lie. 

“Hit my head with the curtain thing…” you reply, a defeated exhale escaping your mouth. 

Arthur throws his head backwards, as if he was expecting it. 

“I know” you simply say, watching him coming back behind you to inspect any damage to your head. He gently pushes the strands away before gesturing for you to untie your hair down. 

“Ain’t bleeding. Maybe you should put some ice on it. You could have waited for the first snow” he jokes, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek. “I think you’ll be alright darlin’ but you need to slow down”

“I know… I just…I guess I am not used to… just… lay around and wait for you all day”

“Well…Cant’really blame ya for that, I reckon I’ve never been good at laying around either but… you deserve some rest. I ain’t saying you have to stay seated and be bored all day but you need to take it easy. I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.” Arthur’s eyes scan your face in worry, his thumb brushing your cheek down to your chin. 

“Okay. I’ll try to get more rest.” You offer with a soft smile.

“Good” Arthur leans forward to press a kiss on your lips. 

“Now come on let’s get it over with this bedroom” you say as you lean away, interrupting his attempt at deepening his kiss with a loud clap of your hands.

“I think you ain’t hearing me out” Arthur sighs, following you closely, his hands seizing you by the waist before you can climb upstairs. 

“Arthur!” you protest as he leads you through the dining room, stopping right before the fireplace where your old mattress is set on the floor, the dark orange carpet protruding from under your temporary bed. 

“Let’s just… sit down for a moment” Arthur lowers himself down on the floor, and lays on the mattress, taking you by the hand and forcing you to sit next to him. 

“We’ve been sitting down enough” you reply as you try to get up. 

“Don’t” His arm circles your waist and he pulls you back to his chest. 

“It’s not fair Arthur!” You giggle as you feel yourself falling down. Your head rests against his right shoulder, and you nuzzle your face in his neck, pressing a kiss on his stubbled jaw as you settle against him. 

“See? It ain’t’ so bad” Arthur sighs, feeling his back relaxing after a hard day of labor. 

“Yeah… It ain’t so bad if you lay down next to me” you concede, closing your eyes, lulled by the sound of you and your husband breathing in sync. 

You jolt awake an hour later, the sun disappearing silently on the horizon, your body still wrapped in Arthur’s arms, the warm tartan blanket covering you both. You nudge Arthur’s side with your elbow and he slowly stirs awake under you, scratching his beard and stretching his arms above his head. 

“I think you should stop running around and exhaust yourself mister Morgan” you joke, your smile mirroring Arthur’s as you vainly attempt to rearrange his hair. 

“Yeah… yeah… at least I ain’t clumsy when I am tired”

“No, just grumpy” you retort.

“But this…It won’t get me killed”

“Oooh I beg to differ my dear” 

“It ain’t the first time I find you on the verge of passing out after you refuse to take it easy”

“Oh yeah?”

Arthur hums, laying back down as you reposition yourself on the bed, head lying at the center of his chest. 

“Remember that day I saved you from being crushed by Pearson’s crates?” He asks, looking down at you with a cocky smirk. 

You smile fondly, the memory coming back to your mind as he finishes his sentence. 

You had been on cooking duty for a week straight, Pearson having cut his thumb while skinning a deer. He kept barking orders around and you were the only one calm enough to take it on the chin and carry on with your task, that’s why Miss Grimshaw asked you to help him out. Balanced on the side of the wagon, arms up in the air to catch the bag of supplies you were aiming for, you didn’t notice the crate that was about to fall until it hit you right on top of your head, the blow way less intense than expected thanks to Arthur’s arm holding up most of its weight. You remember the embarrassment you felt as you tried your hardest not to cry in front of him, immediately turning around to hide your face from his scrutinizing eyes. You brushed it off, feeling the pain reverberating through your skull, losing balance on your way to your own tent. Arthur was right behind you, arm linked with yours as he guided you through his tent instead and forced you to sit on his cot, and take a deep breath. You let the tears fall freely as he left you to get some ice, and placed it in a cloth, holding it out for you to put on the painful spot. He traded tasks with you for the rest of the day, finishing chopping meat for dinner as you fell asleep in his tent, definitely overworked. You came and found him after you woke up, thanking him with a smile, your hand gently squeezing his, your heart beating loudly in your chest as you realized you were infatuated with the man for a while now, and this new found affection for him would only grow stronger with each passing day. Arthur’s blush would have betrayed him if it wasn’t for the darkness surrounding you both. The next morning, he was surprised to find his clothes neatly folded and the fresh scent of soap filled his nose as he put them on. The type of soap only a fine lady like yourself would use to wash her clothes even in such a wild environment. He said nothing about it but the gesture made his heart melt, and from that moment he knew that he would only be more grateful for your kindness as the two of you started to get closer. 

You listen to Arthur recall the same memory from his point of view with a bright smile on your face, chiming in to correct the little exaggerations he adds to get a reaction out of you. 

“He had a lot of stuff to carry around for a cook that always did the same sickening recipe” you conclude as you sit up, Arthur moving to do the same behind you. 

“I am glad we don’t have to suffer from his cooking skills anymore” 

You nod and he helps you up, the two of you standing in the middle of the room staring at the mattress lying unceremoniously on the wooden floor. 

“You know what darlin’? Let’s put that mattress back where it belongs” Arthur crouches down to pick up the inert thing and carries it around without any difficulty. 

“Wait! Let me help you” you offer, following him upstairs. You have to admit you wouldn't be of any assistance but you had to try; just to see him showing off a little more, his arms muscles bulging through his shirt as he lifts it effortlessly and throws it on the iron wrought bed. You enter the room silently, admiring your husband putting the bed at the center of the wall again, then pushing the dresser back where it is supposed to be. 

“There we go” Arthur finally says as he unrolls the carpet at the bottom of the bed and dusts off his hands. 

“Perfect” you smile, heart beating faster as you watch him push his hair off his forehead, already moving on to the last task.  

“I thought I told you to wait for me” Arthur mumbles, a nail stuck between his lips as he lifts the curtain rack with one hand and puts it back in his place. 4 little hammer hits on the nail’s head later, and the curtains are sliding along the racks without any trouble. 

“I wanted it to look all nice and ready for when you’d finish your work” You stand up from the chair and walk to him, your hand sliding along his back as you get on the tip of your toes to kiss his cheek. 

“You are even more stubborn than me, woman” he huffs.

“As if it isn’t exactly why you are married to me?” You tease him, fingers dancing on his chest as you start unbuttoning his shirt.

“I gotta confess that’s exactly what makes me crazy about you”. Arthur murmurs before tilting your head up and kissing you passionately. 

a/n: thanks so much for reading. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated 🫶🏼

Arthur’s old tent is too small for that. He promised he’ll find a bigger one, kinda like the one Dutch put his hands on during their last run… Something sturdier too, less keen to let the wind in, where he is planning to put a small crib for the baby. Arthur promised he would see what he can do for you, and immediately went to find Charles, plotting together about where to get furniture like this. 

It’s not like you are in a rush anyway. There’s still some time left, you’d say the baby isn’t due before the next two full moons. At least. You wish you could get it out sooner though. 

“You gotta be patient now madam, and stay away from any type of physical tasks, the more rest you’ll get the easier it will be to keep your baby safe” the doctor told you when you asked Arthur to take you to town a couple of weeks ago. Heavy tiredness and vivid pain shooting through your body pushed you to ask for some reinsurance. You hadn’t seen the doctor since you find out you were pregnant after all, and when you heard that everything was fine with the baby, you felt relieved.

But it isn’t easy to navigate this pregnancy. You saw yourself for the first time in the mirror during that appointment. Floor length glass isn’t something you encounter often during your travels and it left you shattered. You knew having a baby meant your body had to change but you never realized at what point until you got to experience it.

You cried the whole way back to camp, Arthur not really knowing what to tell you, the “it’s normal to change, you’re growing a human being inside of your body” explanation doing nothing to calm you down. You didn’t want to be rational. You wanted to be emotional. Anger was the language you wanted to speak, and it took a lot of persuasion from Arthur to make you slow down. You went into this little phase of wanting to prove the doctor wrong, to show everyone that your body was capable of doing the same things he did before you got pregnant. It was reckless, maybe a little stupid, but this is what you needed to accept it. Arthur found you crying by the horses when you tried to hop on your saddle and couldn’t even lift your leg above your knee. He took you back to your tent, while you dried your tears with his black bandana, promising to take care of your horse, urging you to get some rest and stop torturing yourself.  

Now you are stuck inside that tent, especially since the weather is so gloomy, spending your days crocheting, reading, sulking… It gets boring after a while. And when you add worry and overthinking to the mix… It gets even worse.

You miss riding the most, but also shooting bottles with the girls after dinner to practice, and going on hunting trips with Arthur… Now he is going with Charles, after you insisted, too frightened at the idea of something happening to him. You made a deal. You won’t do anything stupid or push yourself too far if he does the same. And he promised he would lay low, take the safest jobs only, until the baby is here, making sure to stay close, in case you need him.

And you actually need him now, standing in front of the small mirror he uses to trim his beard, hairbrush in one hand, the other resting on the barrel to support you. Your back is sore, every single joint hurts. It feels like a wagon rolled over your body. You can’t reach the back of your head without pain and it’s getting frustrating. Your clothes are sticking to your skin, the humidity is infiltrating your bones, and a thrill courses through you at the thought of getting sick. A bad flu could be terrible for you and for the baby.

You sigh, and turn around, contemplating throwing the hairbrush out of the tent, directly into the puddle of mud acting as a welcoming mat at the doorstep of your tent. When the flaps of the canvas are pushed open and Arthur appears in front of you, his brown coat dark with water, you’re glad you didn’t because you could have broken his nose again.

Arthur takes off his hat and his coat, brushing the sides to get rid of the water, and hangs it on the hook nailed on the side of the wagon.

“What are you doing up so late, I thought you’d be sleeping already” he asks, stepping in.

“I was waiting for you” you reply a bit dryly, dragging around the tent.

“Yeah? You don’t look very happy to see me darling” he says as he walks to you, his hand finding your waist to pull you in an embrace. 

You try to hug him back tightly, hoping to make him feel how much you missed him instead of letting him think he is being a nuisance. Your bump makes it impossible for you to press yourself against him the way you want, and you try to find a technique to hug him from the side, but it doesn’t appease you the way it should. You sigh heavily, feeling silly for being so annoyed at the first minor inconvenience.

“What is going on?” Arthur mumbles as he kisses the top of your head, pushing the unruly strands of hair behind your shoulders.

“I can’t brush my own hair Arthur! I can’t stand long enough, and I feel dizzy and my shoulders are so sore from sleeping on the side and I just…” you start to explain, out of breath, tears blurring your vision.

He doesn’t say anything, just places his hands on your shoulders and leads you to the edge of his bed. He frowns when his fingers touch the wet cotton of your dress.

“You need something dry to sleep, darlin’ you’re gonna get sick wearing this” he says looking at you, already processing to unbutton the garment.

The noise of the rain falling on the canvas accentuates your irritation. A cruel reminder of the predicament you’re finding yourself in. You stop him, batting his hand away, guilt immediately eating you alive when you see the hurt expression on his face.

“I know that but… I don’t have anything left to wear and the clothes aren’t drying and they stink…” You start crying, turning away from his gaze when the first tears slide down your cheeks.

Arthur sighs, and crouches down in front of his old trunk. This old thing used to be overflowing with his shirts and jeans. Now it’s all tidy and half full of baby clothes. He still has a hard time believing it’s real, that you are going to have a baby. He is scared of course, terrified to be a failure as a parent. But he knows that you are by his side and you will help him through every step of this journey. He knew since the moment you came on shaky legs to tell him you were pregnant with his child, that you would be an amazing mother, and that having this baby with you was the biggest blessing he could have asked for.

“You take that one” He grabs his light blue shirt, the only clean one left, and hands it to you.

“But… you won’t…”

“I’ll be fine, can survive a day without a clean shirt. Besides, I’ll bring the clothes rack to Dutch’s tent when it will calm down outside. I ain’t letting you wearing humid clothes for the rest of the week”

“Okay” You look up at him, drying your tears with the sleeves of your dress.

“Wait” He stops, the shirt hanging in the air between you. “Why do you need my shirt if you can’t even button it up? What's the point?” Arthur asks, instantly regretting the way the words came out, praying to God up there that you won’t take it the wrong way…

You give him a side eye before he can open his mouth again. “Who says I can’t button it up Arthur?”

“Not me. I ain’t said anything” He replies, abashed for running his big mouth again, hand scratching at the back of his neck.

“Sure…If you must know, it's just in case I am cold and you take all the cover and leave me alone on my side of the bed.” You retort, voice laced with repressed anger.

“The bed isn't even large enough for you to have a side...” He mumbles, and you have to restrain yourself from pointing out the fact that you should have a bigger bed indeed, and a real roof above your head. It’s already hanging there, heavy between you, just like the blue shirt you still haven’t put on. And now with the way Arthur is staying silent, looking like a puppy about to be kicked, you figure he is aware of this already. He doesn’t need the reminder.

“Alright.” He concedes, opting for the safest option : dodging the bullet you were about to shoot at him. “Now come here and let me help you out of this thing” Arthur holds out his arm, and you raise to your feet. “You want me to do it?” He asks, fingers stopping on the first buttons of your dress.

You nod and Arthur opens them one by one, frowning again when he realizes how tight this dress is…considering the advanced stage of your pregnancy… You don’t need him to say anything, you see the way his eyes widen when the top of your dress gets stuck around your belly instead of falling to your feet. You make a face before glaring at him. 

“I didn’t say anything” he mutters, holding up his hands in front of him, feeling betrayed by his own face.

“Great because I don’t want to hear it” You pick up your dress from the floor, and readjust the band of your bloomers.

“Darling…” Arthur starts apologetically. 

“I know what you’re thinking. I can hear your thoughts.” You look at your belly, unable to see your own feet from here. You grimace, shaking your head as you cross your arms on your chest, hiding your breasts.

“Oh can you?” Arthur says playfully, his hand cupping your face to force you to look at him. His thumb brushes your jaw, and he waits patiently for your explanation.

“Yes… I know I am not... the way I used to be before… It must be a disappointment for you…” you answer, words getting stuck in your throat as you feel the shame rising inside of your chest.

“A disappointment?” He asks, cocking an eyebrow, feeling an overwhelming sadness invading him when he realizes why you are acting this way.

“That I am not the woman you married months ago anymore… That I am just… this.. And… I am sorry Arthur” you burst into tears, finally voicing out what you’ve been hiding for weeks, tearing your own heart apart, your mind juggling with feelings of relief and humiliation. 

Arthur sighs deeply, and says your name, looking for the right words to reassure you this time, instead of making you cry…

“Give me this” you take the shirt from his hand, roughly putting your arms in the sleeves and covering your body with the dry fabric. You try to button up the shirt but… Even in Arthur’s big clothes, it’s a waste of time. 

“I can’t even… Yeah you were right, I can’t button it up. I bet that makes you very happy” you snap at him, plopping back down on the mattress. 

“Sure, it always makes me happy to make my wife cry” He replies sarcastically. But when he hears you sobbing again, he realizes that this isn’t going to help. “This is not what I meant darling don’t… I am sorry” he says flatly, coming closer to pull you against his chest.  

“Don’t look at me” you cry out, pushing his arms away, hiding yourself behind your hands. You wish you could cover your whole body with something big enough, so you don’t have to get a painful reminder of how much you changed when you look into Arthur’s eyes. Maybe you should even leave camp until the baby is here, and hide from everyone, including him. You can’t take any more of your husband’s pity.

“Darling… Stop. Listen to me. Please, you know I ain’t good with words… But I swear this wasn’t what I was trying to say. You have no idea what I was thinking about”

You put your hands back on your knees, sniffing loudly, your heart breaking at the sight of Arthur in total distress. It’s like he is trying to avoid mines on a battlefield…

“At least you aren’t wearin’ any corset…That’s what I was thinkin’… ‘Cause a corset would make you feel.. y’know… more…uncomfortable.” He kneels before you, his hand finding yours, the pad of his fingers brushing your palm lightly as he talks.

“I can’t even put it around my chest…they’re too big” you laugh bitterly as you cry.

“Yeah…that I noticed.” Arthur confirms with a blush, staring at your barely covered chest, your breasts spilling from out of the fabric of his shirt, scarcely holding on with the three buttons you managed to tie.

“Arthur!” You bring the shirt closer to your chest, uncovering more of your belly in the process.

“You wanna know what else I was thinkin’?” He questions in a soft voice, smirking at the way you are pouting. But he notices the way your chest heaves, the tension slowly leaving your body, and how hard you are trying to fight a smile. 

You can feel him staring at you again, and you realize there is not an ounce of pity behind his eyes, only the usual fondness you are lucky enough to witness, no matter how rough his day has been. You don’t ask him to continue, but he does it anyway .

“I was thinking that you were beautiful in my too large shirt…”

“Arthur… stop” you giggle, turning away.

“Don’t you dare hiding from me.” His face flushes again, and it makes your heart race.

“You can’t be serious right now…maybe you caught a flu, come here” You motion for him to get closer, extending your hand to take his temperature. He stops you, holding your hand in his.

“I ain’t got no flu. And I am very serious darlin’. You look perfect. And I don’t want you to think that I am disappointed or whatever you were trying to say earlier.” He grabs your face with his hands and kisses you, your mouth melting against his. “You’re my wife. You’re carrying our child. And I love you.” He murmurs before closing the gap between you. When the salty taste of your tears touches his lips, Arthur thinks for a second that he did something wrong again, but you kiss him deeper, pull him closer to you.

“So much for a mind reader hm?” he teases as he parts from you, caressing your face gently.

“It ain’t an exact science Mister Morgan… Sometimes there are some…interferences” You explain smugly. “Besides… I am sure you haven’t told me everything…”

“Sure… I’ll tell you the last thing I was thinking about. I need to buy you more clothes… to make you and the baby feel at ease” he concludes, pressing a kiss on the back of your hand.

“But you don’t even know what I want” you mumble, holding his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Well I’ll take you with me then. Once the weather is better…” Arthur offers, and you look at him, a hopeful expression painted on your face.

“You’ll take me to town?”

“I’ll take you to town.”

“But I can’t ride”

“I’ll ask for a wagon, and we will go together, very slowly. See what we can find.” His mind is already coming up with some plan to make the travel less shaky for you, maybe he’ll take you out of camp for the night too, so you can have a real dinner, and a full night sleep on a comfortable bed… He can spend some money for you, he just needs to work hard for a day or two.

“You’ll do that for me?” Your eyes are still shining with tears but at least now you are smiling.

“Of course I’ll do that for you… what…”

You silence Arthur with a kiss, whispering thank you a dozen times as you nuzzle against his chest.  

“Don’t thank me yet, you’ll have to suffer through a whole day with me” He jokes, and you laugh, shaking your head in disagreement, wondering why he thinks it is such a terrible experience. Spending your time with him is the only thing you think about all day while being stuck here in this damn tent…

“Now what else was bothering you when I first got here?” Arthur asks, standing up and scanning the room in search of the culprit of your misery. You watch him as he takes the silver hairbrush and comes back to settle behind you.

“Arthur you don’t…”

He gathers your hair as best as he can, careful not to pull too hard on it by accident, and starts brushing slow, holding his breath the whole time..

“Let me know if I am being too rough alright? Ain’t used to brush my hair like this” He tells you and you hum as a reply, satisfied when you feel the brush finally sliding down your back without any resistance. The gentleness he shows as he moves onto the other side of your hair, his fingers caressing the back of your neck softly as he gathers more strands in his hands, makes you exhale a shaky sigh.

“It’s perfect Arthur, thank you for doing this for me… I asked Karen to wash my hair today but we didn’t have time to brush it and I just… I couldn’t stand to see them all tangled like that”

“Ain’t gotta thank me darling, I wanna help you, in any way I can, especially right now.”

You’re about to say thank you again but you bite your tongue instead. You stay silent for a while, enjoying the feeling of his fingertips massaging your scalp gently, sliding down the slope of your neck, curling the strands slowly.

“I am sorry Arthur, for being so… overly emotional.”

“Ya don’t need to apologize to me…”

“I do. I am being impossible with you but…I don’t know what is happening to me, one moment I am happy and then all of a sudden something happens and I am either angry or sad or both and … I don’t know what to do, I think it’s your baby driving me crazy…” You say once he is done tying your hair with a white ribbon.

Arthur chuckles behind you, careful not to show too much amusement in the situation. The last thing he wants is to give you a reason to be mad at him again. It’s going well so far but he has heard stories about men less lucky that he is with their wife wanting to rip their head off their shoulders… To be fair he always wondered if these men weren’t being selfish and neglecting their pregnant wives. Sure he ain’t the most…skillful when it comes to talking to you about your feelings and emotions. But he is really trying to understand and help you out as best as he can. Offering you some comfort and relief in these troubling times is the only thing he can do.

“It’s okay darlin’, as long as you aren’t blaming me for this” he says as his left hand finds your belly. He places it on the lower side, the cold metal of his ring contrasting with the warmth of your skin, his thumb brushing gently alongside the opened fabric of his shirt.

“I am waiting for the perfect occasion to blame you for this. Don’t worry” you reply, placing your hand on top of his.

“I am sure you'll enjoy this a lot… yelling at me, pinching my arm, kicking my ribs by accident…” he laughs.

“I don’t get a lot of chances to be furious with you because you are being so good to me…” you choke up on the last words, emotions getting the best of you again.

There is a silence settling behind you. Something heavy, urging you to look up at your husband. He is staring into the void, lost in his thoughts, avoiding your gaze. 

“Arthur” You nudge his shoulder to snap him out of it. 

“I could be a better man for you, a better husband… I could put a real roof above our heads, I could find a better bed for you to rest, build a better life for our child, away from this” Arthur starts, the fear of never being able to offer you the life you deserve gnawing at him. It keeps him up at night, more often than what he lets you in on.

“Hey… hey Arthur, look at me” you ask, tilting your head up and resting your hand on his jaw, his beard rough underneath your fingertips. When his blue eyes meet yours, you recognize the guilt like clouds above the ocean. He wants to look away, but you keep him firmly here.

“Arthur”

“Hm…”

“I got everything I need. The baby is healthy, I got you by my side. This is all I need to be happy. Okay?”

“Okay...”

You close the gap between your lips, and kiss him tenderly.

“I promise I’ll find a way for us to get out of here” he whispers, kissing the palm of your hand as you let it slide down his face.

“We will. All three of us” you place your hands on your belly again, smiling when you feel the little kicks of your baby moving.

“So… that means you don’t really need that fancy rocking chair you talked about?” Arthur asks teasingly.

“You found one?” you gasp, amazed.

“Yeah…Charles and I went to loot an abandoned farm near emerald ranch. Found one… The thing is a bit shabby but I can make it look good again”

You place your head on his chest, hugging him as best as you can from this position.

“I’ll drop it off tomorrow… Didn’t want to travel with this in the heavy rain” He says as he gets up to get rid of his clothes.

You settle yourself on the bed, waiting for him to join you. Arthur kisses your temple as you lean back against him, his arms circling your belly and lifting it a little. You exhale slowly while he does, feeling instantly lighter, the muscles of your back finally aching less. You wish he could carry you around like this all the time.

“Feeling better?” he asks after a moment, rocking you a little as he holds you close.

“Yes” you whisper, closing your eyes. “So much better I might fall asleep” you yawn, replacing Arthur’s warm hand a little higher on your stomach. “Here… do you feel that?” you ask, eyes still closed, smiling.

“Yeah… I think that our baby doesn’t want you to sleep yet”

“She usually kicks harder than this. I think she likes you holding me like that, you might have to do this every night now”

“Anything for my girls” Arthur says as he presses a kiss on your forehead, his heart jumping in his chest at the feel of your baby’s feet moving under the skin of your belly.

You quickly fall asleep against Arthur’s chest, feeling loved and protected in his embrace. Arthur follows soon after, without even noticing, the rain still falling quietly outside of the tent.

a/n: thank you so much for reading. Comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated 🫶🏼

a/n : This note is now a year old or something, but i've decided to keep it as i wrote it back then because... i am a nostalgic girly. SO: «Just some self-indulgent fluffy-angst after finishing chapter 3. What a turn of events it was... I did all the critical missions almost in a row and i am just... Devastated. This can be read as a stand alone or as a third part to my 2 previous one shots set in Clemens Point : Kiss me like you never did before and Come to me. Once again, the biggest thank you to my baby @thedilfdiaries for helping me with this, i love you 💙❤️✨ And to the sweet pretty @dilf-luvr-4evr (now 🪲✨ @mezzaninebeetle55) for the Arthur talks that lead to this, love you honey 🫶🏼🫶🏼 Hope you will enjoy this little fic!

Beads of sweat slide down your bare chest, a sudden coolness shocking your burning skin. It snaps your body awake, violently, your breath stuck in your throat as you sit up, exhaling, slowly, the damp fabric of your chemise and the sheets sticking to your skin.  

You shake them off abruptly, hoping that the movement will clear the thoughts off your mind. Images of Arthur riding back to camp, unable to stand straight on his mare, bloodied and barely breathing have been haunting you for weeks now. The muffled thump following his fall from the horse, the worried faces scanning his injuries, taking too much time to act, to pick him up, to take him to his cot and tend to his injuries. They’re standing above him, not moving an inch, and you try to get close to him, hurrying to find a way to heal him. His heart ceased to beat before you could even reach his body. Two piercing blue eyes are staring at your face amongst the crowd, and you don’t even find the strength to support your legs anymore, falling on your knees in front of the man you love. A scream pierces the silent night, and you slowly come back to your senses, realizing that the sound was real and comes from this world. 

This recurring dream haunts you since Arthur came back, suffocating you and tearing you out of your sleep in the most violent way possible. It always takes a lot of time for you to calm down. You know you can’t do it if you stay here, you need to see him. You need to make sure it was just a dream, that Arthur is alive. 

You slowly slip out of your bed, hand at the base of your neck, taking small shaken breath. Most of the gang is still asleep, except for Susan and Uncle chatting underneath the oak tree. You put on your boots, and walk to Arthur’s tent, glancing around to make sure nobody noticed you. Arthur’s snores welcome you as you step inside, standing against the flaps. His long hair is falling over his face, but you can see the corner of his mouth twitching slightly as he exhales. You shouldn’t stand here for too long, creeping up on him. Just a minute longer, just until he turns on his back, or scratches his beard, unconscious, but still breathing, still healing. He hasn’t had a fever in weeks, his shoulder has been patched up, and he doesn’t need bandages anymore… there is no reason for you to stand here and watch over him and yet… you can’t help yourself. You walk up to his bed, and lean over, pressing a faint kiss on his forehead, leaving your lips on his skin for a second longer, clutching to the feeling, in hope that it can stifle the remaining anxiety seeping through your heart.

Arthur’s hand flexes above his head and you move away from his cot, flinching. His face scrunches up and he groans in discomfort, slowly turning on his side. You walk backwards silently, until you find yourself outside of the tent, the flaps falling back in place before you. 

“Oh… Careful here dear, are you looking for the path leading to your chambers?” Dutch’s irritating voice sings in your ear as you clumsily bump into him, back pressed against his chest. 

You take a deep breath before turning around slowly, plastering a fake smile on your lips. 

“Sorry Dutch. I had a bad night, you see…I might still be a little confused… ” You lie, stepping back. 

Dutch scans your face insistantly for a long minute. “You should probably go and rest for a few more hours, Miss Grimshaw needs you fresh and focused to deal with the chores today” He replies with his phony concerned tone, the one you learnt to hate the past few weeks. You just nod and walk away, feeling his eyes following you until you disappear inside your tent. 

It takes you less than an hour to finish your cooking duties. By the time you’re done, your back is already sore from the hunching down and scrubbing you did earlier by the river. Jack has been sick for the past couple of days, and Abigail spends most of her time by his side, waiting for the fever to calm down. It is a hard thing to manage in this place, with the sun burning so hot all day long. You said you would cover for her and deal with their load of laundry, which took you twice the usual time, but you got help from Tilly at least. Karen has been hiding at the edge of camp lately, enjoying the peacefulness of guard duties and the opportunity to just drink all day without being scrutinized by other gang members. It’s easy for you to understand this need to escape the constant nagging and inspections of the folks you live with. You’ve been trying to do the same thing, using every chance you get to spend some time alone with Arthur without others sticking their nose in your affairs. The last thing you need is for them to discover the true nature of your relationship, even though it’s been harder to mask your concern as coming from a place of genuine friendship and not something else. The wrong persons are already suspicious that something more is happening between you two, despite the discretion you tried to keep. Arthur insisted that it would only lead to more complications, for you and for him. He doesn’t want you to be treated differently because of it. The way Molly is rejected by everyone is proof enough that he is probably right about that. So you try hard not to overreact when you hear or see some things involving him that makes your blood boil. 

You dry your hands with your apron and take it off, watching Pearson carrying the pot to the fire. Now that you are free for a little while, you decide to get a cup of coffee for Arthur. You know he isn’t up yet, since you glanced towards his tent for the most part of the morning. Plus, people are busy enough by now not to notice you. 

You crouch to grab the coffee pot and pour some in your tin mug, the strong smell of the barely boiling stew covering up the hot brew’s fragrance. You grimace, and quickly step back, not ready for the strong odor of meat so early in the morning. 

Holding the cup firmly with both hands, you smile at the idea of being the first to greet Arthur this morning, letting your mind wander to places you haven’t seen yet, with him by your side. No more chores, no more blood stained shirts to mend, no more scars or fear of death carrying you both off each time you dare to breathe and hope for a better life. 

Susan’s voice howling your name brings you back to reality.  

You jolt, almost dropping the cup of coffee on your dress as you turn around to face her. She glares at you, squinting your eyes when she notices what you're holding. She doesn’t need seconds to piece everything together, with Arthur’s tent right behind you. 

“And where exactly do you think you’re going Miss?” Her jaw barely moves as she speaks through gritted teeth, disapproval written all over her face. 

You don’t dare to sigh, or show any signs of exasperation, knowing fair well it would put you in a risky position. Susan isn’t the kind of woman you want to provoke or put in a bad mood. Her wrath is unpredictable and something you know you wouldn’t be able to endure without causing a whole scene. 

“Well… I am done with my morning chores and I was up way earlier than anybody else and I…” You start to explain, making sure to keep your tone light and kind.

“This isn't about the chores young lady. Mister Morgan needs to rest. And he sure won't be able to rest if you keep annoying him with your relentless prattle” She snarls, her voice accentuating every word with an unbearable whistle. 

“I am not… I am just making sure he is okay I just…” You whisper now, careful not to attract other people in the area. You don’t want Dutch to overhear this little argument and get into the mix.

“I can see right through that little game you’re playing and I don’t like this”. 

You freeze, feeling your heartbeat quickening. “That’s… I am not playing any games” You try to explain, but Susan’s voice cuts yours sharply. 

“I don’t think you understand that this life isn’t suited for romance…. So save yourself the trouble of a heartbreak. Mister Morgan has more important things to deal with, and you too. I knew I should have thrown Mary Beth’ stupid books to the trash and…” She goes on, moving her hands scornfully. 

“This isn't what this is about… I promise” you protest, cheeks burning with shame. This last attempt at saving what’s left of your dignity is interrupted by Arthur’s deep voice. 

“Leave the poor girl alone Miss Grimshaw, she ain't deserving of such a scolding so early in the morning” Arthur says, standing right behind you, one hand holding the left flap of his tent open. 

Susan's face falls down, the red coloring her cheekbones deepening. “ Mind you that it is already noon, Mister Morgan… But I guess that in your particular state… You deserved the rest. I just wanted to make sure nobody would disturb you” She concludes, unabashedly glaring at you. You don’t need to look up to feel it, and cross your arms on your chest defensively, stepping closer to Arthur, ready to defend your case. 

His hand comes resting on your shoulder, reassuring you. He doesn’t let you explain anything more, stepping in front of Susan, shielding you with his strong frame.  

“She ain't disturbing me Miss Grimshaw. In fact I was going to take a walk and I need her assistance if you can spare her services for the rest of the day. Ain't a problem, ain't it?” Arthur throws at her with a little smirk. You grab his arm gently, smiling at his request.

Susan’s irritation is hard to miss, her head held high, lips pinched, as she tries to intimidate you with a look again. But Arthur’s chest is doing a pretty good job at hiding you

“I guess it isn't. As long as she's back before dinner.”

“She sure will,” Arthur replies, nodding respectfully. 

You would be kicking your feet if you weren’t trying hard not to show how happy you are to get a free afternoon with Arthur. 

Susan sighs and gives you one last snarky look as she turns around and heads to her side of camp. 

“Thank you Arthur…” You would jump in his arms if it wasn’t a little risky for his injuries. “I don't know what's wrong with her today…and every day really” You snort, linking your arm with Arthur’s. 

“The sun is scorching, it’s probably getting to her head, she should spend some time in the shade of a tree”

You chuckle at that, leaning closer to him. 

“Come on darling,” Arthur says, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and leading you away from the camp. 

The brush of Arthur’s pencil on the pages of his journal lulls you in and out of sleep. You’re seated right next to him, your face resting peacefully on his uninjured shoulder, back against a mossy log. The clear foam of the lake gently falls onto the pebbles resting in the sun along the shore.

You detach yourself from his warmth, stretching your arms above your head. Arthur’s writing catches your eye for a moment. 

The first time he felt comfortable writing in front of you will be forever engraved in your memory. A bad storm forced you to book a room in a shady hotel on your way back to the south. Arthur wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of staying there, but riding was becoming painful, and the lack of enthusiasm on your face when he suggested to continue was good enough to dissuade him. He couldn’t sleep that night. You remember the timid touch of his fingers in your hair while he tried to push them to the side so he could lay next to you. You had fallen asleep spread on the mattress when he went out for a smoke. He was too scared to wake you, and ended up sitting on the floor, against the side of the bed, writing all night. He kept writing long after you woke up, your slow breathing indicating that you were back to this world. You watched him until the sun was up high in the sky, playing with the soft curls at the back of his head. And he let you. He let you peer over his shoulder, he let you ask about where he learnt how to write, to draw, what’s the favorite thing he ever captured in his journal, what was the most complicated. He answered, voice thrumming low in his chest. When he closed his notebook and pushed it aside, you pressed a delicate kiss on his cheek, and got ready to leave. Arthur sat there for a while, thinking for a moment how sweet his days became when he shared them with you, away from any kind of troubles and agitation. 

“It’s healing well” You say as you stand up before him, blocking the evening sun. Arthur isn’t really one to talk about his pain and struggles. But it’s different now, between you two. You stayed by his side day and night for weeks, making sure no infection was spreading through his limbs. You saw him weak and panting, struggling to move or breathe. You wiped his sweaty forehead with the sleeves of your shirt, cleaned the wound threatening to kill him. 

“Soon I’ll be able to shoot again” He states proudly, putting his notebook in his satchel. 

“And ride too” You confirm, smiling at him. 

“That’s what I missed the most.” He stares at the shore, pensively. 

“We could go out together, to the creek, if you want” You offer, heart speeding in your chest as you wait for his answer. You did that together a dozen times, but it still makes you feel giddy to plan something with him. 

“Sure. We could get out of here for a bit.” He watches your face light up from where he sits, his own smile covered by the shadow of his hat. 

“I am starting to get sick of the people around here anyway” You say as you hold out your hand, expecting him to use it to stand up more steadily. Arthur scoffs. He noticed how hard it is for you lately to maintain appearances. You’re throwing daggers at everyone you cross paths with, even if you always try to keep your tone friendly, Arthur notices the coldness behind your eyes. The sense of betrayal has settled deep in your stomach. There is no going back now. 

“Darling’” Arthur says, pulling lightly on your arm to catch your attention. “Thank you. For staying by my side. For taking care of me” His eyes only leave yours as he stands, until he faces you. 

“Arthur…” you roll your eyes, wondering why he is becoming so ceremonial. “I am not the only one who helped you” You start protesting, your cheeks heating up under his gaze

He gives you a glare, a silent plea for you to let him say what he has to say. 

“Yeah I know but… that’s not the same thing. Ain’t nobody else waking up at night to make sure I am breathing” He smirks, and you look away timidly, feeling like you got caught red handed. His free hand cups your face and forces you to look at him again. 

“Arthur…” You giggle. 

“I ain’t done yet. Ain’t nobody else who stayed and slept on the floor to make sure I was alright the way you did… Ain’t nobody else taking me out for walks, bringing me food and making sure I eat something. Ain’t nobody else taking care of my horse the way I would, cleaning my guns, folding my clothes, while dealing with your own chores or dealing with  backtalks and gossips and handling it with grace the way you do. Defending my honor the way you do. Ain’t nobody else worrying about me, taking care of me the way you do” Arthur’s hand is cupping your cheek now, the pad of his thumb brushing the side of your jaw. 

“I am just doing what feels right… there is nothing to thank me for Arthur” You tilt your head down nervously, incapable of maintaining eye contact with Arthur’s blue green eyes. They are making you feel unstable, a thrill parcouring your body. You don’t know what else to reply to that. “And I think you’re selling them all short Arthur… They would all die and kill for you. They care about you.” You finally say after a deep breath, not even pretending to believe in your own lies. 

Arthur knows it’s a lie too. There is nobody who came out there looking for him when he was held captive like an animal. They let him like a prey to his cruel fate, one he reluctantly agreed to follow. They all started questioning his loyalty. But not you. Not for a single moment. He doesn’t share his concerns with you. He knows you are smart enough to see the truth anyway. He knows you aren’t blinded by Dutch’s grand ambitions either. You are free. But you still chose to take care of him. 

Arthur leans down to press a chaste kiss on your lips. You close your eyes, savoring the moment. He tries to do it too, capturing the way he can feel your heart skipping a beat when he moves his hand to the back of your head, tilting your face up to deepen the kiss, the way you smile, right after he parts from you, the way your hand slides in his as you walk back to camp. Just for a couple of steps, until the familiar faces of the gang members aren’t blurry anymore. 

You walked to dinner separately later that night, and didn't talk for the rest of the evening. 

After checking on Abigail and Jack, you joined the other girls, and chatted a bit while playing cards. Karen broke her whiskey bottle on the side of the tree when she lost again, blaming the food and the weather and Tilly’s constant cackling. The girls bursting out of laughter at her antics almost made you miss the scene happening in the background. Dutch’s claw grasping the back of Arthur’s healing shoulder. Their voices merging into one. Your heart jumped in your throat as you saw the Van Der Linde’s gang leader getting closer, whispering something in Arthur’s ear. His golden rings reflected the white moonlight. The sky was overwhelmed with red hues, reminding you of the blood pooling underneath Arthur’s feet, staining everyone’s hands. But the outlaw didn’t flinch. You focused back on the game, a sour taste left in your mouth, incapable of feigning a smile. 

The howls of a coyote running at the edge of the camp keeps the men on guard duty awake, motionless statues watching the silent growth of the forest with their guns held firmly against their shoulders. 

Another nightmare. This time, you’re quick to push it away, waking up with your chest damp with sweat right before the bloodied corpse of the man you love could appear in front of your sorrowful eyes. You sit on the edge of your bed, plunging the dried rag into the cold water, and pressing the damp fabric against your burning skin. The bottom of your chemise moves, uncovering the fresh scar on your thigh. Arthur did a great job at patching you up. It’s not as ugly as you were expecting. Definitely cleaner than the result you would have had if you stitched it by yourself. The skin is still tight, tender. But it doesn’t itch anymore. You caress the sensitive flesh with the tip of your finger, heart aching at the idea of not telling Arthur how you truly feel. You sigh, throwing the rag back in the bucket, and stand up, your chemise falling back down your naked legs. 

You slip silently out in the night, welcomed by the reflection of the moon on the lake. You could find Arthur’s tent with your eyes closed now. You push the flaps to the side, the familiar scent of leather and tobacco invading your nose. It used to smell like blood, sweat and that atrocious and useless mixture of alcohol and gentian Susan brought him from town. It used to smell like death. 

For the first time the free space right behind Arthur’s back calls on to you. You take off your boots, setting them on the carpet where you used to sleep, and settle into bed right behind him, careful not to wake him up. His bare back dotted with freckles and scars rests mere inches from your chest. You stop breathing when you feel Arthur’s leg moving slightly. A deep exhale coming out of his mouth encourages you to be bolder. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your chest against his body, the dizzying feeling of his skin on yours, barely covered, making you feel warm, comforted. You long to press a delicate kiss to the hollow of his neck, but you hold back, your heart pounding too hard in your chest. You’re afraid its rhythm will wake Arthur.

Now that you're here, nestled against him, you feel like you can breathe more easily. Maybe tonight you'll finally be able to sleep. You close your eyes, letting the peacefulness get over you, savouring the calm longer than you should have. 

Arthur’s breathing starts to quicken, and you feel him moving slightly. You were about to retreat, suddenly worrying about crossing boundaries. Your hands brushed against his chest as you moved, and Arthur stiffened, then froze entirely. His mind still clouded, just  registered your presence by his side. 

“I am sorry I was about to…” You mutter, already throwing one of your legs out of the bed. 

Arthur settled deeper in the old mattress, one of his rough hands closing around your right wrist, to prevent you from moving. 

“You don't have to leave darling” He murmurs in the darkness of the tent. 

You’re still hesitating, breath caught in your throat. You didn’t think he would catch you in this position, you didn’t think he would ask you to stay. He lets his thumb caress the inside of your wrist, and pulls your arm closer to his chest. 

“Okay. I'll stay. I am sorry. I thought that you were sleeping. And I…” You explain, laying back right behind him, a little closer this time. 

“I heard you. The nightmares. You shouldn't torture yourself over an ugly bastard like me” Arthur whispers. You frown, pressing your hand above his heart. 

“You're not. And I should. Because l…” You stop, taking a moment to collect your thoughts. You can feel Arthur’s heart pounding against your palm. The mist starts covering your eyes, and you don’t have the will to fight these tears anymore. “Because I care about you Arthur and... I got so scared... I thought…” You confess, pressing your face at the nape of his neck. 

Arthur wonders if he should turn around. He doesn’t move. “It's okay. You're okay darling. I am here now and l am fine. Nothing is going to happen to me alright? Ain't my time to leave this world just yet... okay?” 

It’s better if you can’t see his face right now. He has no business making such promises he knows he won’t be able to keep. 

He lets you hold him, silently, orders you to breathe in and out until something that resembles an “I am okay” escapes your mouth. The kiss you finally press on his naked shoulder acts as the confirmation he was waiting for. Arthur mirrors you, raising your hands to his lips, to leave a tender kiss on your knuckles.

“Now come on, let's get some rest before Miss Grimshaw wakes us up yelling your name and asking everybody where you are…” He jokes, peppering small kisses on the inner side of your wrists. 

“I am afraid this time she'll know where to find me…” You sigh annoyed. Arthur’s chuckles reverberate through his body, making you shake lightly. You feel him smile against your skin, before he lets go of your hands.

You reposition yourself against him, ready to get some sleep. You wait until his breathing becomes heavier to break the silence again.

“Sometimes I wish we could leave this place, together. I know you feel different about it but... Dutch… He isn’t good for you. He isn’t good for anyone. And you deserve something good Arthur.” 

Arthur’s silence weighs heavy between you two. His eyes have been wide open the whole time, and you probably know it. 

An exhausted sigh concludes your foolish hope, a wish he probably will never grant you. The faint touch of your fingers along his shoulder makes him shiver as you untangle yourself from his body, turning on your left side to face the flaps of the tent. 

a/n: thank you so much for reading ! comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated <3