#hurt arthur morgan | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thatwriterchick222 · 26 days

Text

snakebite (arthur morgan x f/reader) oneshot

summary: you get bitten by a snake and arthur has to suck the venom out... what could go wrong?

----------------

“Shit…” You cursed under your breath, clutching at your thigh as you fought to push down the pain of the snake’s venom coursing through your veins. It was a deep bite, and you barely caught a glimpse of the thing before it slithered away. But the throbbing in your flesh was enough to know it was venomous.

Your horse had gotten spooked by the snake and bucked you off, fleeing for the treeline. The wind was knocked out of you as you hit the ground and unfortunately landed right on top of the reptile. Deciding it had had enough, it lunged and bit your thigh, rightfully so. Its fangs shot through the material of your skirt and bloomers, down into your muscle.

Thankfully, Arthur wasn’t too far behind.

“What the hell?” He asked as he pulled his horse to a stop, seemingly confused by your horse running off and finding you lying on your back in the grass.

You were lightheaded. Nauseous. “A damn snake bit me.” In an effort to sit up, you pressed down harder on your bite, hoping to at least slow the venom as it seeped further into you.

What an embarrassing way to go. Especially in front of Arthur, of all people.

“Christ.” He said, quickly stepping down from his horse. He made his way over to you as you managed to sit up against a tree, breaking out into a sweat.

“I don’t feel too good.”

Arthur knelt down to your level, his eyes scanning yours with a sudden urgency that made your throat close up. “Don’t look too good ‘neither.”

“Thanks.” You chuckled.

He reached forward and felt your forehead with the back of his hand, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Even on your deathbed, you could not suppress your lasting crush on Arthur Morgan. Pathetic.

“Where’d it getcha?” He asked, looking down to where your hand clutched your leg.

You lifted your hand, “My thigh.”

“Okay…” He thought for a quick moment, scooting closer to you. “Lift your skirt up.”

You froze, swallowing thickly with your dry mouth. “I- Alright.”

Trying to ignore his wording and the pit in your stomach, you did as he said, pulling your linen skirt up to expose the small patch of blood on your white bloomers.

Without a word, Arthur grabbed the fabric, pulling at the holes where the small fangs had broken through, and ripped them wide, exposing the wound.

“What are you doing?”

“Gettin’ the venom out.”

You blinked, feeling the warm pads of his fingers brush your skin. “How?”

His hand reached under your knee, pulling your leg up, and you nearly flinched. Not because you were scared, but because you didn’t want him to know how much you liked it.

His eyes darted up to yours. “I gotta suck it out.”

You took a sharp breath in, adjusting your body awkwardly. “Oh.”

Then, as quickly as he had ripped your bloomers apart, he bent down, gripping your thigh tightly as he brought his mouth to your bite.

And it stung like all hell. He created a suction and you felt as if you were being bitten all over again, a searing pain overcoming the area as you gasped.

But there was still something very erotic about all of this. And you scolded yourself for thinking it. If someone were to pass by, they would see a cowboy with his head buried in your lap, and that brought a blush to your cheeks as he pulled away, turning to the side and spitting the venom out into the grass.

When he went back in, it hurt even worse, the numbness from your adrenaline wearing off. He sucked especially hard, and you grit your teeth, instinctively reaching forward and grabbing his arm. “Arthur–”

He pulled away again, spitting into the grass. When he turned back, he looked at you, his eyes strangely dark and his brow furrowed in concentration. Why was his face so close to yours? Maybe it was the venom. It had gotten to your head. Your skin was heating up, and your heart pounded hard in your ribcage. His hands were on your thigh, your fingers digging into the arm of his shirt, and you only stared back at him.

He broke the eye contact and went back down, this time only sucking lightly. You assumed he had gotten what he could out of your body. But your belly was warm and you felt the overwhelming urge to get closer to him, your body pulsing with pain and… arousal.

You pressed your lips together in pain, and when he sucked one last time, a whimper fell from your lips. But he didn’t suck anything out of you like he did before. His lips were on your skin and then they weren’t, and then they were back, landing higher up your thigh. Your hand loosened on his bicep and you didn’t know why, but you started rubbing him with your thumb.

You couldn’t see his face under the brim of his hat, but you felt him move his mouth higher, his teeth grazing you and his beard scratching against your skin. It tickled. His fingers dug into your thigh, and you drew in a breath, a suspenseful silence overtaking you.

A sudden bravery took over your body. You scooted closer to him, and he moved even further up, his lips pressing lightly against your skin. Was he… kissing you?

You swallowed when his nose brushed your inner thigh. And then you spread your knees further apart.

Any pain you had was replaced with the burning ache for him to touch you.

“Arthur.” You finally got the willpower to croak out his name, but you didn’t know what else to say. You said his name like a question, but also like a request. A demand. Like you wanted him to stop, but you also never wanted him to stop.

He halted anyway, lifting his lips from your skin, the coolness of the breeze on it telling you that you were wet with his saliva. He didn’t look up. He kept his face hidden by the brim of his hat.

You could slice the tension in the air with your knife. But why would you want to? You had been waiting for a moment like this for the entire time you had known him.

He was always shy, and barely ever spoke about how he felt. You figured you would have to make some move or give him some hint… but now, at such an inopportune time… he seemed to want something from you too.

Were you drunk on adrenaline and snake venom? Probably. Was he taking advantage of you in a vulnerable state? Maybe.

You lifted your leg, shuffling even closer. You couldn’t speak. And neither could he. But somehow there was this silent agreement that you both wanted something. You lifted your skirt higher, and he finally looked up at you.

He almost looked like a different man. His jaw was clenched, his pupils large and his eyes burning into yours like a wolf hunting its prey. There was a smudge of your blood on his bottom lip.

You nodded. Please don’t stop.

With just as much urgency as he had when trying to potentially save your life, he quickly reached for the waist of your bloomers and pulled them down. If it had been any other man in any other scenario, you would have hidden yourself in embarrassment and covered your eyes so you didn’t have to see him see you.

But it was Arthur. And he was quickly lifting your legs, pulling your hips up and closer to him, and burying his face in between them. He didn’t have time to take it slow, and you didn’t care, your insides pulsing and your face going hot. Your bloomers were still around your ankles, and his hat was still hiding his face as his breath was on your cunt.

You lay back against the tree and he dove into you, his tongue exploring you aggressively, drinking you in with such passion you thought you might pass out. It suddenly occurred to you as you cried out that you were only meters away from the dirt road, barely hidden by the grass. Now, if someone passed by, it would look like you had a cowboy’s face in your lap because… you did.

Your hand flew to your mouth when he began to suck on you, those same lips that had just been sucking snake venom out of your leg moments prior. Your thighs clenched around his head, threatening to knock his hat off, but you kind of liked it on. He couldn’t see you, and you couldn’t see him. There was some level of anonymity to this act, like maybe for just a moment you could be different people and not have to deal with the aftermath of your actions.

But fuck, he was good. It made you question if he had been practicing on someone. Who had he been practicing on? He could practice on you for the rest of your life if he wanted.

You bucked your hips into his mouth when he groaned into you, already finding yourself nearing your breaking point. His tongue was rough but rhythmic, and it was so quiet outside you could hear the squelching of your wetness against his mouth.

The feeling was building up inside you. You were floating, you were grinding yourself on his nose. Your eyes darted to your snake bite, red and swollen, and to your torn bloomers around your ankles, and to Arthur’s arms holding your legs as he bent over, doing something fucking incredible with his tongue.

You cried out as you came in his mouth, your hand finding his forearm, digging your nails into it. Your back arched and your hips bucked, shuddering with the feeling of it. He groaned into your core, seemingly just as pleased to feel you come as you were to come, and he slowly let you ride it out.

Catching your breath, you looked around, slowly coming back into yourself and realizing where you were. What you both had done.

Arthur’s grip on your legs slowly loosened, and when he pulled away from you, his eyes avoided yours. He lifted your leg and untangled himself from you and your bloomers. You wanted to rip his hat off and look at him. You wanted to kiss him. To taste yourself on his lips.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

You sat up, your bare ass scraping against the dirt. And you couldn’t help but laugh.

Sorry? He was apologizing? Like he didn’t know what came over him. Like he couldn’t help but make me come on his tongue. A simple mistake. Oops. You laughed harder, pulling your bloomers up. The pain of your bite suddenly came back to you, and you winced as the fabric rubbed against it.

He finally looked up at you from under the brim of his hat as you managed to get your bloomers back up. Then he let out a chuckle.

You wanted to return the favour. You sat up and were about to reach for him, grab him and touch him and maybe provide him with an ounce of the pleasure he just gave you, but suddenly a voice came from the road.

“What the–”

You and Arthur both quickly looked up, seeing a man on his horse staring at the two of you with confusion.

You were still flushed, and coated in a sheen of sweat, and your skirt was pulled up as Arthur knelt beside you. Oddly enough, it actually was exactly what it looked like.

“Snakebite.” You fought your smile, looking down at your leg as you spoke to the man.

Arthur nodded, “Had to… suck the venom out–” He stood up, and you noticed the bulge in his pants. Thankfully, he turned away from the man before he noticed.

“We should get you to a doctor,” Arthur said, reaching his hand out to you as if nothing had happened. You were still burning from your orgasm, but you pushed your skirt down and grabbed his hand, allowing him to pull you up.

“Well,” The man cleared his throat. “Good luck, then.”

###

You both rode back to camp in silence.

You wanted to pretend nothing happened, but you couldn’t help but watch Arthur keep adjusting himself in the saddle, clearly uncomfortable with how hard he was. To be honest, you had never experienced a man do something like that and not expect you to return the favour. But, you liked the idea of it, the taste of you in his mouth making him harder than ever. It clearly wasn’t going away, either, because he probably couldn’t stop thinking about it.

You smiled, kicking your horse to ride up next to him. “Need a little help there?” Your eyes flicked down his body, and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye. His cheeks were adorably red, and he looked away again.

“Let’s just get back to camp, first.” He reached down and moved his belt slightly, trying to ease the pressure. “Make sure you ain’t dyin’ on us.”

You smirked. “And what if I am?”

“Then we’ll need to work fast.” He shot you a look.

You felt your cheeks go just as red as his. “I can do fast.”

#arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan nsft #smut #rdr2 fanfic #oneshot #rdr2 smut #arthur morgan smut #hurt/comfort #literally so random #imagine

467 notes · View notes

cowboyfromh3ll · 6 months

Note

Henlo! If it's alright, could I request some headcanons for Arthur, Dutch, Hosea, Micah, and Kieran being told that their S/O has been killed by the O'Driscolls? But nobody can find their body because it turns out they survived and took care of the worst of their injuries before making it back a week or so later. I am a sucker for hurt/comfort content. Thank you for your time and hope you're doing well.

HC For VDL Boys Being Told Their S/O Was Killed By O'Driscolls Ft. Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Matthews, Micah Bell, Kieran Duffy

Ohhh nice and angsty

Warnings: Mentions of death, mentions of violence, angst

Arthur Morgan

He would be absolutely broken

I don't think he'd go as far as to go out and kill O'Driscolls for revenge

But a new cavity in his heart would open up, and his hatred of the O'Driscolls would intensify

He wouldn't be able to get out of bed, would be incapable of taking care of himself, needs people to remind him to eat

Constantly scribbling in his journal about you

Probably the first time anyone in camp has seen him cry in a long long time

Only thing he'd get up for was to go in searches for your body

Is incredibly anxious the entire time they're looking for you and tries to mentally prepare himself for the sight of your body in who knows what state of decomposition

Once you return he'd think you're an apparition

He would be absolutely over the moon and crying tears of joy and relief

Interrogates you about your time gone but doesn't push it if the memories are too painful, you can visit that later

Helps mend any of your remaining injuries

Incredibly protective of you now and refused to let you go off on your own for a while

Holds you so so closely in bed the following nights, absolutely blots out the rest of the world with his body because he's scared if he lets go you'll disappear again

Dutch Van Der Linde

Like Arthur, he'd be destroyed as well

His mourning would cause him to jump to the anger stage immediately

Colm has already taken one lover from him, and now he's done it again? Tensions between the two gangs would be higher than ever before

He'd use the presumed death as an excuse to target Colm and the O'Driscolls for the week

Used the search for your body as an opportunity to interrogate and torture O'Driscolls. For once, he tells Arthur to back off so he can get blood on his hands

Despite everyone else's warnings, he just keeps on going and killing more O'Driscolls

When you finally return, he feels like he's hallucinating you because of his grief, and anger

Allows everyone else a moment to check over you before ushering you over to the privacy of his tent

Allows Ms. Grimshaw to follow so she can clean you up while he talks to you

Holds your hand the entire time and looks into your eyes while reassuring you that he'll never allow that to happen again

Insists you don't lift a finger for weeks afterward

Does NOT tell you about what he did while you were gone and simply speaks of his grief and his now relief that you're back

Hosea Matthews

He'd be grieving, but silently

He wouldn't be MIA like Arthur, and he definitely wouldn't be blinded by rage like Dutch

But he'd be a lot quieter, understandably, and you'd be able to see the deep sadness in his eyes

He didn't expect to lose a second lover, and his heart is heavy with feelings of loss

Would spend a lot of time talking about you to anyone who'll listen, mostly good memories

Turns down any of Dutch's suggestions to go out and take revenge, sees right through his attempts to use your presumed death as an excuse to kill a bunch of O'Driscolls

When you return he is all over you and is overjoyed by your presence

Takes care of all your injuries on his own and holds you sooo close the entire time

Reminds you how much he loves you because he feels like he didn't do it enough before he thought he lost you

Spends so much more time around you. If he wasn't attached to you by the hip before, he definitely is now

I don't think he'd doubt your ability to handle yourself; in fact, it'd probably be enforced by the fact you kept yourself alive for a week. But there'd be a lingering anxiety every time you go out

Micah Bell

Similar to Dutch, he'd go out and kill a shit ton of O'Driscolls

His grief translates to anger, and because I can't see him as a very sentimental person besides in terms of anger, that's the only way he'd express it

Probably wouldn't cry or show moments of vulnerability, but he'd be a lot more brutal in his killings

He'd spend a lot of time away from camp with Dutch probably looking for your body

Wouldn't return to camp for days

So you'd probably return to camp while he's gone, so everyone else tends to you before Micah can

When he returns he insists everyone else get away from you so he can take his own look at you

I wanna say you wouldn't receive a big welcome back gesture from Micah besides a rare shred of vulnerability where he tells you how happy he is to see you back

Don't get too mushy over it or else he'll backtrack

Kieran Duffy

He'd be HYSTERICAL

On his knees crying and wailing in the middle of camp while people try to comfort him

Would be the same level as MIA as Arthur and wouldn't talk to ANYONE

Spends all his time around the horses and doesn't talk to anyone

If anyone does try to talk to him he just stares off silently in the opposite direction

The gang could probably hear him sobbing silently at night while trying to sleep

Drinks himself half dead because he doesn't know how else to cope

Drinks so often that when you come back he doesn't think you're real for a few minutes

It's a huge moment of vulnerability between the two of you where you see each other at your lowest

But it would definitely bring the two of you closer! After the two of you have cleaned yourselves up and taken care of yourselves, you'd have long, deep conversations about what you went through and how happy you are to be back

Lots of reaffirming his love for you, never leaves your side

Insists he comes with you every time you go out. Thinks he wouldn't be able to do much in terms of protecting you, but the sentiment is so so sweet

Becomes more of a way of comforting himself and quelling his own anxiety

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #writing #red dead fanfiction #van der linde gang x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #dutch van der linde #dutch van der linde x reader #kieran duffy #kieran duffy x reader #micah bell #micah bell x reader #hosea matthews #hosea matthews x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

626 notes · View notes

strrwbrrryjam · 7 months

Text

arthur prioritising charles burnt hand over his brother getting mauled by wolves is both so cute and so funny

#as he should ✨✨✨#got his priorities right #nah im just kidding lol but it is so funny. though I'm glad john wasn't near for that cause he might be hurt? though I'm not too sure idk #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 arthur morgan #arthur morgan #rdr2 charles smith #charles smith #rdr2 john marston #john marston #rdr2 charthur #charthur #strawberry speaks

495 notes · View notes

arthursfuckinghat · 2 months

Text

"I was gonna say you're like a son to me.. but you're more than that."

"It ain't that complicated!"

How quickly that shoulder pat of comfort turned into a condescending one.

#he makes me feel so emo #this life was never meant for you but your fate was forced #the way dutch (and hosea) talks to arthur like he's stupid will never sit right with me #like they've been by his side over 20 years they KNOW he isn't stupid because if he was he would have been gone a long time ago #not only is arthur incredibly emotionally smart but he's a trained conman vault breaker gunslinger horse rider you name it #the fact that his own adoptive parents break him down like that hurts #it's a manipulation tactic on dutch's end - break your victims self esteem to make them chase your praise and approval #hosea I believe has just gone along with that kind of attitude but in a different way he just likes to jest lightheartedly #arthur doesn't see the difference though and it's understandable but he takes it to heart #the worst part is that hosea sees through his tough guy act and has called arthur out on it #his act is a defence mechanism to protect himself from being too vulnerable - in arthur's mind #and it isn't a sudden thing it's very likely something that has built over the years given the life he has lived #and hosea notices he knows this #but they still jab at arthur #oh it hurts #is he your son dutch? or is he your guard dog? your personal workhorse?#playing through the second time is opening my eyes more and more #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #mick squeaks #mick rants #mick gifs #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #liveblogging #you guys gotta understand - arthur seeks and longs for dutch's approval he'll never say it but it's the key motive behind his loyalty #and arthur *rejects* dutch's comfort #he doesn't *want* dutch to pat him on the shoulder because he knows dutch is digging them an even deeper hole #he doesn't want that touch he craves #it's so insanely monumental for such a small scene because it shows us how arthur feels without telling us

233 notes · View notes

amariram · 1 month

Text

"Why can't you be my destiny if I can be yours?"

Fun fact: i ran into this fanart the other day and my head just snapped and i immediately imagined an entire plot for a hurt/comfort fanfic that ends with this kiss and i automatically wrote it in like 2 hours.

You can find it here.

Am i insane? Probably. But can you pls help me finding the author of this fanart? I wanna thank them for the inspiration and for the wonderful masterpiece they created!! Ty

#merthur #merlin #bbc merlin #merlin fandom #arthur pendragon #bradley james #colin morgan #the once and future fandom #hurt/comfort #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #quotes

184 notes · View notes

wolfiery · 8 months

Text

— richard siken, detail of the woods

269 notes · View notes

moeitsu · 2 months

Text

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Hi everyone! I have a new Arthur x female!OC fic I've been working on that's posted up on Ao3, so I figured I would share it here as well. Please let me know what you think! This story is currently still on-going :)

Ao3 Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Ch.10

Summary: Kate McCanon, a young widow from the north, meets outlaw Arthur Morgan. When the two cross paths she discovers a complex man wrestling with his own sense of right and wrong. As their unlikely bond deepens, Kate becomes determined to guide Arthur towards a brighter path, even as tensions rise within his gang led by the enigmatic Dutch van der Linde. With danger lurking at every turn, Kate must navigate treacherous territory to protect those she holds dear, all while finding love in the most unexpected of places. Tags: Arthur Morgan/Original Female Character, Widowed, Original Character, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Friends to Lovers, Child Loss, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Arthur Morgan Does Not Have Tuberculosis, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Chubby Arthur Morgan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence

Chapter 1 - The Frost Gleams Where The Flowers Have Been

1890

Kate had never fancied herself a skilled woodworker. While she had lent a hand to her husband in constructing a barn, her role mostly entailed passing him tools and bringing him his lunch. But as she stood amidst the sawdust, tears streaking down her cheeks, she grappled with the daunting task ahead. She lacked both the sufficient wood and the patience to craft two coffins. Thus, the inevitable decision emerged: they would be laid to rest together.

The Reverend's suggestion to cremate the bodies, emphasizing the need to eradicate the disease completely, fell upon deaf ears. The mere thought of reducing her beloved husband and precious baby girl to ashes felt abhorrent to Kate. Instead, she harbored a tender hope that one day, perhaps, they would blossom into a magnificent Willow tree.

Amidst the melancholy chore, the vibrant symphony of birdsong provided a bittersweet backdrop, reminiscent of the lullabies she once crooned to her infant daughter. With a sorrowful melody humming in her heart, Kate toiled diligently, her hands blackened with grime, each wipe across her tear-stained cheeks a testament to her grief. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting their modest farm in a golden hue, Kate's work pressed on.

Night descended swiftly, cloaking the world in shadows that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Kate, perched upon her porch swing, found no solace in slumber. Her vigil was solemn, her gaze never wavering from the rough-hewn coffins that cradled her entire world within their confines.

With the break of dawn, the Reverend returned, his disapproval evident, yet tempered by resignation. Together, in a somber silence, they labored to fashion a final resting place. By mid-afternoon, the grave stood ready, a solemn abyss awaiting its occupants. With the Reverend's assistance, Kate tenderly lowered her cherished husband and daughter into the earth's cold embrace.

As dusk settled, the Reverend offered prayers and parting words before taking his leave. Left alone in her sorrow, Kate felt the weight of despair bearing down upon her. In a world forged by men and seemingly devoid of solace for a solitary widow, she found herself with no recourse but to depart.

Beneath the twilight sky, the epitaph etched upon their shared gravestone bore silent witness to her profound loss:

Here Lies My Beloved Noah, And Our Beautiful Daughter, Lorena.

May God Keep Their Souls.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

1899

As the sun rose over the horizon, casting its golden rays across the sprawling expanse of Emerald Ranch, Kate found herself amidst the ebb and flow of another day's labor. Nine years had slipped by since the tragic loss of her husband and daughter, a span of time marked by wandering footsteps and the pursuit of odd jobs on her journey westward.

She had once heard her father say they had family in California, he had many sisters but only kept in touch with one. Kate wrote to her after the death of her husband, seeking asylum with a relative with nowhere else to go. Her Aunt wrote her back and gave her condolences, she said Kate would be welcome with open arms.

However, the last she heard of her Aunt was 7 years ago. But still, she continued west. She had come too far and been through too much to stop now. What she hoped to find in the valleys of California, she did not know anymore. Over the years she became more cowboy and less of a woman, her once soft hands now calloused by years of labor. The untamed plains and cold hard ground had become both her refuge and her bed.

She came to Emerald Ranch only a week ago, her boss; Seamus, was reluctant to hire a stranger, let alone a woman, to help on the ranch. Kate assured him she was cheap labor and was only looking for shelter and a place to rest until she was on the move again. Kate was no stranger to odd jobs, she took any work she could get and saved as much as she could. But she was no criminal.

She heard Seamus talking to two men as she filled the troughs with clean water. The gentlemen said they were new in town and looking for a partnership, one in which they could both make money.

“Look I ain't no idiot, and I don't trust folks outta the blue. If you want to work together then you're gonna have to prove to me you’re worth my time.” Her boss's voice raised above the usual noise of the barn animals.

“Of course! We’re only interested in a partnership, just looking to make a little extra money.” Carried the voice of an older gentleman.

“No doubt. I do interesting very well. It's trusting that I don't do so well.” her boss answered, still not convinced by the two strangers.

“Look at us, we’re honest as the day is long,” said the other man with cheer.

“You really want us to prove ourselves to this clown Hosea?” said the other voice, sounding much younger than his partner.

Seamus scoffed, “good day to you, Hosea.”

“N-now wait a minute Seamus. Arthur can be rough, and quick with his tongue, but I swear you can trust him, you can trust me.” Hosea pleaded, following Seamus to the side of the barn. Kate now had a clear view of the new “business partners”.

Kate didn't know Seamus very well, but she could tell he was an honest enough man. Wise for his years, and liked to keep his nose out of trouble. “I’m an old man Hosea,” he began, “and you know why I ain’t dead yet?”

“Because you don't trust idiots,” Hosea finished.

“Exactly.”

“We’re not idiots, Seamus. Let us prove it to you.” Hosea had an air of confidence, he wasn't some runaway bum looking to make a quick buck. He was serious about a partnership. Although Kate wouldn't say the same for his partner, who loomed behind them like a panther ready to pounce.

“Okay…I’ll tell you what, old Bob Crawford and his boys just bought a beautiful stolen stagecoach from up north. It’s in their barn. Now you go get that,” he looked around for anyone who might be listening to his scheming, “then we can work together.” He said quietly, placing a hand on Hosea’s shoulder.

“Who’s Old Bob Crawford?” inquired Hosea.

“An acquaintance of mine…well, not just an acquaintance. He’s my cousin, by marriage.” Seamus explained.

“Oh so now we’re meddlin’ in your family business?” Arthur boasted with skepticism.

Hosea waved him off and continued speaking, “Where is he located?”

“Now hang on a moment, you boys could very easily take this coach and sell it yourselves for a pretty penny,” Seamus began.

“So you comin’ with us? I thought you didn't want to be involved in shady business?” Arthur spoke up again.

“Heavens no, if my cousin saw me it would be my death. I'm sending someone with you, as collateral.” Seamus turned around and saw Kate already watching them, he waved her over.

Arthur shook his head disapprovingly, “nah, I don't do babysitters Seamus.”

Kate was just as skeptical about her part in this, she told Seamus she was looking for honest work, and robbing his cousin certainly falls out of that line.

“She’s not babysitting . She’ll take you to my cousin's farm and let you do the robbing. Kate has been working for me for a few days now and she’s tougher than she looks.” Seamus said turning to Kate, “I want you to make sure that stage coach gets back to me. You don't need to take part in the robbery.”

“You’re fine with them robbing your cousin?” She spoke in a hushed tone so only Seamus could hear.

“By marriage,” he added, “and yes, I would love it. The man’s been a thorn in my ass for years.” He said amused.

She nodded in acknowledgement and turned to get a good look at the two strangers. One was indeed much older than the other, with cropped white hair peeking out from under his hat. The other gentleman was tall and burly, and he hid his eyes under the brim of his hat. He seemed wary of strangers and kept both hands resting on his gun belt.

“Let me get my horse saddled and I’ll meet you boys at the intersection leading out of town.” She spoke, Hosea nodded and was already making his way to his horse. Arthur stood for a moment eyeing the woman, no doubt playing the intimidation tactic. But Kate had seen far scarier men than him in her days. “Y'know the quicker we get this done the quicker you fellas get paid.” She noted.

Arthur scoffed and finally followed Hosea to his horse, “don't need no damn babysitter,” he grumbled kicking dust.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate made quick work of saddling her black Hungarian roan, she calls Lorena. After her infant daughter. In a moments pass she was on the dirt road leading out of Emerald Ranch and toward Carmody Dell. She waved for the two men to follow her, they stayed behind her a short distance and made no effort for small conversation.

However, she overheard snippets of their own conversation as they went, “I thought you wanted me to be the strong arm? That's usually how it goes,” Arthur spoke.

“Yes but..” Hosea hesitated, lowering his tone a little, “you know how this works.”

“Cmon Hosea that fellers a joke, he don't even trust us enough to handle it ourselves. Now we got a chaperone.” Arthur complained loudly, at least he’s not calling me a babysitter , Kate thought.

“All the better, he won't cause us any problems. And I cant blame the guy for sending the girl. Two strangers looking for quick money? Hell, I’d want assurance too.” Hosea answered, “besides, if he’s sending protection that means there’s big money to be made. Seamus wants his cut.”

Kate came to the same conclusion, up until now Seamus had given her the usual ranch-hand tasks. Feeding and cleaning mostly. This was very different, there must be good money for this stage coach.

“I guess you’re right,” Arthur muttered.

Hosea mumbled something back to Arthur about “hanging up their hats” if they couldn't finish a job as easy as this. They laughed and began chatting about their travels in Emerald ranch, Kate tuned them out and began humming a song to her horse.

Her singing always pleased her horse and calmed the girl’s nerves. She was a strong and fierce steed, but jumpy and needy like a baby sometimes. Kate thought naming her horse after her daughter would bring her closure, instead, she was almost convinced that her daughter's spirit lived on in Lorena somehow. In all ways except biological, her horse was her baby.

Carmody Dell was a short distance north past the train tracks and Fort Wallace, Kate had passed it once before. They rode at a steady pace, the men behind her never coming too close. She wondered for a moment what their story was, and why they needed money so bad. Perhaps they were travelers like her, maybe they even had a caravan. She entertained the thought of traveling with a group again, but shuddered at the memories. Her previous caravan adventures had not ended well.

Once the ranch was in view she slowed and allowed the boys to catch up on either side of her. She led them to a grassy clearing off the road.

“You should continue on foot from here, I’ll stay behind with your horses.” She said dismounting. The two of them nodded and dismounted their horses, Kate was almost surprised to hear no objections from Arthur.

“C'mon son, let's see what we’re dealing with here.” Hosea commented walking towards a large rock in front of the house.

“Son”, so they are family . She mentally noted. Arthur gave his horse a pat, “be a good girl for the lady” he said, tipping his hat towards Kate. She was slightly taken aback by the sudden politeness.

She busied herself with the horses for a bit while the men laid out their plan, she gave Hosea and Arthurs horse a treat and was about to start brushing his horse when he approached her again. Startled, she backed away from his mare, she didn't want him to think she was snooping in his saddle bags.

“You can keep brushin’ her, she loves attention,” he half smiled reaching up and petting her snout. “I just came to tell ya’ we’re gonna wait till it gets dark. Less chance of getting caught that way.”

“Smart,” she replied, for whatever reason she suddenly felt very shy in his presence.

He stood a few feet away from her and she could see more of his features. He was around her age. He had short dirty blond hair under his leather hat, and bright blue/green eyes. Her eyes lingered over his body. He was big too, more than a foot taller than her and well fed and muscular. His bicep had to be the size of her head alone, and she could tell by the fabric of his button down he had a bit of a belly hidden behind his gun belt.

“What’s her name?” His voice broke through her awkward silence.

“Who?” She asked and looked back at him.

He chortled, “the black beauty you got over there,” he nodded to her horse.

Oh, duh! “Her name is Lorena, she also loves attention but she’s nervous around new people.” Kate answered, still a bit lost in her thoughts.

Arthur made a clicking sound with his tongue, reaching out a hand and slowly walking toward her horse. “It’s alright girl,” he cooed while she sniffed his palm. He pulled out a peppermint and gave it to her, which Lorena happily accepted.

Kate smiled at the interaction, “you introduce yourself to my horse before me?” she teased.

“My apologies ma’am,” he turned to face her, “names Arthur Morgan.”

“Nice to meet you Mr. Morgan, I’m Kate McCanon.” She reached out her hand and he shook it. His grip was firm but polite.

“Likewise, Miss.McCanon. That’s Belle your brushin’, and that’s Silver Dollar.” He pointed at Hosea’s horse. “I saw this beauty when we first rode into Emerald ranch, had no idea she was yours tho.” He was talking about her horse again, “told myself I’d inquire about buying her if she was available.”

Kate smiled at the affection he was showing for her horse, she knew Lorena was a beautiful mare. She often received compliments on the road, and many have offered to pay for her purebred.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but she’s not for sale.”

“Well I can certainly see that,” he laughed, “she seems happy though. You must take real good care of her.” He said, his attention still on her mare as he scratched under her chin.

“You some kind of horse breeder Mr. Morgan?” Kate asked.

Arthur laughed, “no no. Nothing like that, though sometimes I wish I was.” He smiled as he said it but Kate noticed there was a sadness in his tone. “I just think they’re neat is all.”

They had only just met, and while Arthur was not initially the most pleasant, she found it incredibly cute how enraptured he was by her horse.

“I should probably also apologize for my rudeness earlier, it’s been a rough couple weeks for us and we uh- don’t always take too kindly to strangers.” Arthur took off his hat as he spoke and held it to his chest, a sincere gesture.

Kate was shocked, the man she met at Emerald ranch not even an hour ago seemed like a completely different person than the man before her. His cold demeanor was gone, or at least reined in at the moment.

“No apology needed Mr. Morgan. I understand,” She answered. “Although I wouldn’t call it rude, you were just skeptical. Rightfully so, can I ask what brings you to Emerald Ranch?”

Arthur looked away from her as he spoke, choosing to focus on her horse. “We’re just stayin’ in the area for a few weeks. Passin’ through and tryna make money.”

“By robbing stagecoaches?” Kate said in an amused tone, “you a bunch of outlaws or something?” She continued, half-joking.

Arthur looked at her with surprise, “What? No, we uh- got laid off from the railway. Up-north. Just looking for money so we can find a place to settle down again. That’s all.” He looked away again, avoiding her gaze.

“I’ll say it again, by robbing stagecoaches?” She kept her tone playful, but wasn’t entirely convinced by his story. But it felt good to be the intimidator.

“Wasn’t our idea, Seamus asked us to rob his cousin!” His voice rose slightly with anger.

“By marriage,” Kate retorted.

Arthur was about to speak again but only stared at her.

“I’m just pulling your leg Mr. Morgan.” Kate laughed. “It’s no business of mine. I’m only passing through here, same as you. What you do here and how you earn your money is your business. As is mine.”

Arthur scoffed, suddenly amused, did this woman just tease me?

He went to speak again before another voice interrupted them, “Arthur! Get over here!” Called Hosea. He pointed a finger at Kate as to say this isn’t over and walked away.

Amused with herself, Kate grabbed an apple and sat down against a tree. Watching the sun set as she waited for the cover of night so the two men could pull off their heist.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate woke suddenly to the sound of horses moving. She quickly got up and looked in the direction of the ranch. Sure enough the stage coach was steadily moving down the path away from its place in the barn. She quickly mounted her horse and trotted over to them.

“Nice work! Follow me back to Emerald Ranch and try to keep it in one piece.” She called up to Hosea who was driving the coach. With that she clicked her tongue and took off ahead of the coach at a steady but quick pace. Not wanting to get themselves caught.

Before Hosea could crack the reins he looked to Arthur as he was about to get in the coach, “you ride ahead with her. I got this.”

Arthur looked confused, “why wouldn’t I ride with you? The horses will follow.”

Now Hosea was giving him an amused look, “I heard you with her earlier.”

“And?” The cowboy replied slightly annoyed.

“You’ve never fumbled our cover story so bad!” He quipped, “it was like listening to a child tell it!”

Arthur shook his head, “now you’re playin’ match maker old man?” He teased, trying to hide his smile.

“I’m just saying it wouldn’t kill you to go talk to her son."

Without another word Arthur nodded and dismounted the coach, getting into the saddle and riding off to catch up to Kate.

74 notes · View notes

rivetingrosie4 · 1 month

Text

Sweet Love (Morgan & Family: A Fluff Dump, Pt. 3)

credit to @foundynnel i believe for the edit above

𑁦𐂂𑁦

Summary: Part of a modern au (and post gang) fluff dump work. Arthur & reader visit the doctor’s office to see their baby for the first time. Some thoughtless rudeness threatens to derail their happy day. a/n: It’s just imaginary. It’s not real.

Tags: fluff without plot, fluff & angst, romantic fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Arthur, parenthood, mentions of sex, romantic teasing

Word count: 4,250

The paper underneath you rustles as you swing and bounce both feet at the edge of the exam bed by your ankles; but you can’t help it. Never in your wildest dreams did you actually think you’d ever get here.

Yet here you are, with Arthur by your side, filled past the brim with the most effervescent sparkles of nerves and anticipation. To actually see your baby. Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. No one else’s. The product of your deep and steadfast love. After so very many, many years of so deeply pining, watching almost everyone around you know the precious gifts of their own children and parenthood, it’s finally your turn. Finally. It’s almost too much to hope for and be grateful for, all at once. You never thought you’d ever get here.

Where you lie waiting in the sterile obstetrics room, you glance to look at Arthur. He’s clad in a blue and green plaid lumberjack’s soft flannel. And he’s filled with just as high a mound of bubbly nerves as you—some of the same, but some of a different kind. Anxiety and excitement, longing and terror, all stirred to the beautiful hue of Arthur Morgan’s heart, the only one you know so well. You can tell by the way he labors to silently breathe in, holds it a beat, and purses his lips to produce protruding cheeks as he silently releases, so you might not hear it. By the way he shoves his fingers back through his honey-chestnut locks. By the way he taps the sole of his black leather boot—the pair with the classic western flourish above the toe that you love so much—against the floor’s shining white tile.

You bite your lip against a growing grin and reach to slip your fingers into the natural pocket created by the web of his relaxed hand.

At the contact, he glances to you, and his face immediately relaxes into a knowing smile, eased by familiarity, love, and the renewed comfort you gift to him. His large hand clasps around yours, and his thumb brushes your skin. You join him in a growing smile as you hold onto him right back.

Suddenly there's a knock on the exam room door, and as it opens, all at once the resting butterflies in your belly are spurred to fluttery life again.

You look to the door and sit upright, taking a shallow breath and gently holding it as the doctor walks in. He’s a somewhat older gentleman with graying brown hair.

“Here we are. Good m—” He tilts his wrist and glances at his silver watch. “Well I guess it’s not morning anymore. Sorry to keep you folks waiting.” He sits on a round stool with a black cushion, and its wheels sound out across the tile as he rolls it closer. “I’m Doctor Kellerman. Good to meet you.” He takes your hand by only the fingers and shakes it, then shakes Arthur’s. In the next moment, he’s glancing down to the paperwork on his clipboard. “How we feeling today?”

It takes you a split moment to put into practice the knowledge that you’re the reason everyone in the room is here.

“Oh! I’m feeling fine,” you smile at his downcast face, since he hasn’t looked up from your chart. Your hand instinctively slides forward to rest on your belly, though it doesn’t look much bigger than usual, with the flab you store there. “Fit as I’ve ever been,” you airily chuckle. Looking to Arthur at your side, you smirk. “We’ve been staying as active as we ever were, or maybe even more so.”

“Yeah, it’s been more,” Arthur quietly mumbles with a chuckle in confirmation.

“Getting outside, and eating all the leafy greens, and…takin’ naps when I need to,” you chuckle as if you’ve made a fine joke. “I even got him to do stretches with me every morning!”

The doctor glances up with a genuine smile. “That’s great to hear.” Just as soon, his eyes return to your chart. “I see your last period was…”

“January thirty-first,” you finish for him.

“Ahhh… Valentine’s baby, eh?”

You fight not to warm as you steal a glance at Arthur with a pinched smile. “Guess so.”

“You’ve been trying many years?”

“Just about a year and a half.”

“Thirteen weeks…” he says as he flips a page back and forth, then looks up at you. “You’re in a little later than we usually like.”

As he glances back down, you clarify, “Yes, this was the very soonest they could get us in for our first appointment.”

“I see…” he mumbles.

“But we cleared our schedules for whatever they could give us, the very soonest,” you add, looking to Arthur for a nod, then back to the doctor. “We’re takin’ this baby very seriously. Doin’ everything we can to keep ‘em healthy and happy.”

“That’s great,” he responds with a smile as he finally claps the chart closed and returns it to the counter. “Seems like you’ve got the right mentality,” he says as he turns to wash his hands at the sink. “Keeping yourself as healthy as you can be is a great place to start.”

“Oh yes,” you smile. “I’ve been reading up on everything I can, researching, even watching YouTube videos.” You suddenly gasp a little in excitement. “I saw this one lady on there, she’s always been an avid hiker—and, well, we love to hike too,” you glance to Arthur, whose smirk gradually grows to a grin in conjunction with your eager babbling, though it’s unknown to you after you’ve returned your gaze to the doctor. “And she captures these beautiful videos of her hikes. And now she’s seven months pregnant and still hiking! I could hardly believe it. Of course, she doesn’t manage the big, tasking hikes. And she never ever goes alone!” you assure the doctor. “But because she’s been taking it slow and steady, she’s still hiking! At seven months!”

You grin as you finish your story, though the doctor’s back is still turned to you. “I just think it’s so wonderful. I’d love to be able to do that. Do you think I’ll be able to do that, doctor? Take gentle hikes at seven months?”

“Uh… Maybe ten years ago. But with a geriatric first-time pregnancy?” He tips his head as he switches on the ultrasound machine. “Probably not.”

Just like that, you feel as icy as the vast and empty planes of snow you had experienced with the gang in Colter, some years ago now. The high, craggy ridgelines you’d squinted at from above your wool-lined collar, their peaks untouched by anything but the flakes that fell and gathered in the tors and the winds that yowled and whistled.

Your smile from moments ago softly falters, and your brows slowly pinch up tight. But you fight hard to keep your staggered smile as the tears rush to your eyes.

What was there you could have ever done? How had it ever been a circumstance you’d had any power over, whatsoever? How had it ever been a gift you could manufacture from nothing? If it had been, you would have seized it years ago. How many years had you ached, your hope dwindling as your age grew? And did all those years now mean nothing? How often, how continuously, how deeply had you longed for love of your very own with a partner and children of your own; had longed for just one chance to jump at? Just one single chance? But hadn’t life kept it all far away from you, so far, for so very long?

It was life, nothing but life—this thing that has always simultaneously coursed through you and encased you in its cruel, clamp-like vise. Like a vital coffin.

As Arthur watches you, he recognizes the graciousness and understanding of your trying to maintain a smile through your depth of feeling and hurt, not wanting to be as fragile as you think yourself to be. He knows you to be strong.

It’s why he has to reel back his fury for a few moments, containing it to the single, elongated exhale from his nostrils as he leans toward you across the armrest of your exam bed and gently takes your hands.

Reaching for a box of gloves on the wall, the doctor asks, “You don’t have any allergies to latex or any cosmetic ingredients that you know of, do you?”

You quietly splutter and gulp as you shake your head and muster a calm, normally-toned, “No.”

Another knock on the door.

“Come on in,” the doctor says.

The nurse who brought you back to the room enters.

“They’re wanting to know if or when they need to set her up with an appointment for a future ultrasound,” she says directly to the doctor.

“Oh sure,” the doctor says, beginning to flip a big calendar on his desk as he waves the nurse closer. He murmurs to her in very quiet tones: “It’s advanced maternal age with high risk, elderly primigravida, so we’re gonna wanna do another in about three months.”

You have no recourse but to silently, slowly breathe through an open mouth and swallow repeatedly past the lump in your throat, as your smile finally disappears in full. But Arthur couldn’t be more spellbound or enchanted as he watches the tears remain clung to your eyes, not one trickling down your beautiful cheeks.

“Possibly one additional,” the doctor continues his discussion with the nurse, completely oblivious to the inner struggle to prevail that he’s spurred in you, that no one but Arthur knows you’re conquering. “But we’ll wait to see how the next ultrasound goes, and if both are healthy, she won’t need another.” He points to a square on the calendar. “Barring other appointments, why don’t we do this day?”

The nurse nods and retreats through the door, closing it behind her.

“We’ll have to do abdominal, rather than vaginal, since you’re further along than usual for the first ultrasound,” the doctor says. “All right,” he sighs as he turns to you with a grin. “Ready to get started?”

He’s greeted with your puffy, red eyes that look everywhere else and Arthur’s white-hot, enraged glare, trained dead-center on his forehead. And his smile slides off his face.

The legs of Arthur’s chair squeak against the tile as he abruptly stands. He can’t even be bothered to attempt a kindly mask to hide his fury.

“Doc,” he begins, managing an easy and lighthearted tone for the address that somehow seems more menacing when combined with his fatal expression as he turns him and walks him toward the door. “Why don’t you and I have a little chat.” The terse word is tart and clipped on his tongue. “Out in the hall.”

You watch Arthur’s tall, broad form disappear when he pulls the door closed behind him.

You sit alone in the exam room, waiting.

A few unintelligible words, low and quiet—Arthur’s voice, muffled.

Then the wall is hit hard with something and rattles. Before it can finish shaking, there’s a new acerbic sharpness in Arthur’s raised, growly tone.

You must’ve gasped and jumped a little, and your damp eyelashes still blink with the sudden shock. You might’ve even made out the sound of a panicked, huffed grunt in the midst of whatever happened on the other side of the wall.

After a moment, the image comes to you, very vividly: Arthur suddenly taking the doctor by the collar of his white coat and ramming him up against the wall with a few deadly words, a stern snarl to his lip, and a feral look in his eye.

A prickly, chilled mingling of emotions washes over you—amazement, disbelief, even a bit of near-horrified abashment, and worry that Arthur will receive unfavorable legal repercussions. But there are a few emotions that stand above the others, though you’d initially struggled to decipher their shape and quality. The wondrous stirrings of the deepest love. The warm and enveloping sensations of being protected and cared for. Even desire.

The tiniest twitch of a smile flicks onto one corner of your mouth.

There are several minutes more of quiet—during which your thoughts start to return to the horrendous notion that Arthur could be apprehended for assaulting the doctor—before the door finally reopens and Arthur reappears.

His caustic expression from minutes ago is wiped away. His smile is easy. Relaxed, even. Void of a hint of tenseness or concern.

“Hey, babe,” he says. “Sorry we took a while.”

At the sight of him, and knowing at least part of what he’s done, your mouth quirks and tightens into the kind of little smile you know you shouldn’t be wearing.

As he walks towards you, a slight lean to the side gives you the vantage point to see none other than a completely different, female doctor towing behind him.

Her grin is bright, buoyant, and—somehow, given the circumstances—even completely authentic and natural. Uncoerced.

As Arthur settles in close beside you again, you mumble very quietly from the side of your mouth, “I sincerely hope there won’t be any arrests today…?”

“Nothin’ to worry about, just take it easy and look at the screen,” he mumbles between his teeth in a light, wry tone.

You stifle a chortle behind your nose, imagining what possible kinds of threats Arthur could’ve employed, how dreadfully terrified to his core the doctor must’ve been to not only allow a switch of caregivers, but to willingly and practically forget the whole incident.

“Good afternoon, I’m Doctor Mahajan,” she says warmly, extending a hand. Her handshake is full and comforting in its grasp. “I’ll be conducting your ultrasound today. And before we get started, I want to let you know that, should you remain healthy and well into your third trimester, and should you feel up to it, there’s no reason you couldn’t enjoy healthy activities such as gentle outdoor hikes.”

Like a kid who’s just opened up a new toy, your grin widens as you look at Arthur. His knowing grin is better than a snuggly blanket as he gazes at you and nods once with a wink.

“Always accompanied, of course,” the doctor smiles with a gesture towards Arthur. When she looks back to you, your gaze is pulled to hers in an effort to give polite attention. “You’ve got a good one here, Mrs. Morgan.”

You immediately turn back to Arthur with a warm, enamored, affectionate smile.

Noting the enraptured, desirous way you both gaze at each other right there in the middle of the exam room, the doctor is reminded of something.

“Oh, and um,” she begins, bringing a finger to her lips as if in thought, “another healthy activity during pregnancy is lovemaking.”

You immediately turn to look at her with and inward breath, your smile momentarily wiped away. As an airy laugh comes to you, the others are given reign to chuckle. Chancing a glance at Arthur, you try to hide the smile appearing on your mouth by curling your lips inward and pinching down on them tightly with your teeth.

Arthur is leaned back casually in his chair, his forearm resting over his thigh. When you catch sight of the look on his face—a subtle mixture of gratification and mischievousness all veiled by an attempt at nonchalance—a thought crosses your mind. But it’s too silly to be real.

Then when he meets your eye and fails to prevent the rising smirk at the corner of his lips, you outright gasp.

“You didn’t tell her to say that.”

When he wheezes, you swat him, and he sits up with a snicker.

The doctor chuckles pleasantly. “He may’ve asked me to remind you, but it doesn’t change the truth of it.” While you’re busy continuing to playfully swat him and listening to his snickering that you adore, the doctor continues, “It increases blood flow, stimulates activity inside the womb, lowers blood pressure…” she rattles off, “and keeps you two close, which’ll be very important during such a big life change.”

“There now. Did you hear the good doctor?” Arthur says, trying to force the mirth on his face to smooth. “I’ve got a bonafide prescription to sex you up.”

Though you can’t help but giggle, you keep it murmured low and quiet, like simmering, scratch-made strawberry jam in the base of your throat. “Shh-shh,” you try to quietly scold him.

“I’ve reviewed your chart, so let’s get started, shall we?”

“Oh yes, please!” you return your attention to the doctor.

After gloving up, Doctor Mahajan flips on the ultrasound computer to your right. She asks you to lift your blouse and unbutton your jeans, and she squirts a chilly gel to your belly. You watch as she gently presses the transducer into the gel on your belly, turning and rolling it over your skin.

Your and Arthur’s gazes are transfixed to the screen as fuzzy, meaningless blotches of black and white suddenly play across it. You both simultaneously scramble to reach for each other’s hands, clasping tightly to each other as Arthur takes a full breath and slowly releases it.

The moment you have been waiting for your whole life. Now somehow finally, suddenly here.

The smudgy noise on the screen clears, and there’s your baby. Curled and caressed inside you. Precious and brilliant and beautiful.

Your breath is whisked away. Speechless and taken completely by incredulousness, you turn to look at Arthur with drawn brows. He tries to chuckle to play off his awe, but his breath is caught too.

“There we are,” the doctor quietly says. “Baby Morgan.”

Your gaze is arrested by your baby on the screen. The swooping slope of the curve of their head, ending in a little button for a nose. Arms and legs and feet.

“This fluttery bit here,” the doctor gestures to a point flapping swiftly in the midst of their chest, visually different from everything else. “Baby’s heart.”

Your bottom lip drapes wistfully open, and your eyes are glued as you take in every moment.

“Oh, see, they’re turning on their side, turning back,” the doctor smiles as baby’s limbs disappear for a moment and reappear. “It’s a little too early to tell the baby’s sex, but we should be able to see at your next appointment.”

She takes multiple measurements from head to rump on the screen, to verify your baby’s age and due date.

When the baby appears to give a few little kicks, the three of you quietly chuckle.

“Baby’s brain and sensory input are developing, so this is just a way for them to become more aware of their own body and their environment,” she explains. “It’s a little early now, but you’ll be feeling that before you know it.”

Reaching for a button on the keypad, she says with a reassuring nod, “I’m going to give you about ten seconds of audible heart rate, just to limit the amount of waves baby’s exposed to this early.”

When you both nod, she presses the button. A loud, quick wub-wub fills the room.

You take a breath and whisper, “Oh my God,” looking to Arthur with a faint smile.

Arthur is mystified. A single breathy laugh escapes him, but his expression is totally awestruck.

“Baby’s heart is very robust and healthy,” the doctor smiles.

And yet, Arthur’s is weak. Trembling with trepidation like stalks of overgrown sweet grass swept by ferociously rolling fetches. They have their anchor of earth to cling to. What does he have?

He gazes at the screen, into his baby’s current world of warm womb and peaceful, pocketed embrace. He watches his baby wiggle and kick, each movement so vibrantly charged. He lets his gaze trace his baby’s perfectly precious outline, the slope of their forehead and nose, the flutter of their strong heart. And he is a goner.

It doesn’t matter that he’s petrified his baby could be torn from him again. It doesn’t matter that he’s nervous he’ll screw everything up. He’ll go to the ends of the earth to make sure neither happens. He’ll do whatever needs to be done. He’s ready to dive headfirst into the risk of pain and heartache. Because in an instant, he’s been filled—overwhelmed and overtaken—with enrapturing love. Too big to grasp, too deep and beautiful and mysterious to have edges. A love that calls to attention and demands eager and ardent self-sacrifice. A love that somehow carries with it equal measures of unbridled, airy giddiness and heavy weight. A love that somehow nails to the beams of a parent’s life both an assured unworthiness and a boundless, indescribable gratefulness.

Because he is already so desperately, limitlessly in love with his child. Your child. Together.

You turn to the screen again and watch your baby move and bow and kick.

Your baby. Yours and Arthur’s. You’re not watching a video of someone else’s baby. You’re not dreaming and imagining. This is your baby. Your. Baby.

In these few instants that seem like hours, the face of your whole world and life and being have eclipsed and shifted. You’re completely overwhelmed. With love and joy—not at all more than what you have for Arthur, but different. It fills and quickens and overtakes you. So much that it almost hurts. So deep and resounding that it propels a new purpose and a new drive within you. So sweet and so precious that if you’d been standing, it undoubtedly would’ve brought you all the way to your knees.

“Baby.” You breathe it as you reach out and touch the flat surface of the screen, swiping your fingertips over the outlines and substance of your child’s precious form.

The culmination of your life’s dearest, deepest hopes and dreams and desperate longings. The manifestation of your and Arthur’s love. There, on the screen. But not on the screen.

“Oh-” You chuckle at yourself and sniffle as you bring your hand to your belly, above where the transducer meets your skin. For the screen only shows you what you can’t see inside.

Inside you.

Of all people, you. Finally you. Finally, your very own baby.

Arthur can almost read your thoughts as he watches your eyes redden and your face crumple like newspaper, sift like sand. And now, there are your tears. Overflowing and pouring down your cheeks in flooded streams. Not one allowed for the asinine doctor; whole oceans given for your child.

God, how he loves you. Didn’t think he could possibly love you any more, and yet, here it is. You are his anchor. He doesn’t need any other. And he is yours.

Wordless, you gasp and sputter and hiccup as the tears flow down both sides of your face in rivulets, dripping one after the other from your jaw.

Arthur thumbs the back of your hand, not offering you a tissue or requiring you to stop or hide your tears. He understands.

It’s another few minutes of enjoying your baby’s tumbling movements on the screen, before your tears finally slow and dry.

When you approach the jeep in the parking lot, you’re still awed and glowing with it, and almost wracked to fatigue by its powerfully engulfing wave—this love.

As you slip your hand into the jeep’s door handle, your thoughts turn to the man you love just as much, if not more. You couldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow your heart has expanded to accommodate all this added and immeasurable love.

Arthur bought the hunter green jeep as soon as he’d found out you were pregnant. ‘More of a family car,’ he’d said. Of course, that was nine weeks ago, and the jeep has already seen plenty of proper use—the splashes of dark mud above its tires from rugged, off-road terrain a clear sign of that.

You both climb up into your seats and fall into a natural rhythm of quiet breath after the jingle of the keys when Arthur leaves them in the ignition.

He looks over at you and watches your stunning face as you gaze forward, contentedly and placidly lost in your thoughts. To him, you’re made even more pricelessly, sweetly beautiful by the person you are.

“‘M proud of you,” he quietly muses.

You look back at him and start to smile. Out of all the things he could say first, that’s what he’s chosen.

“That was our baby,” he says, the low gravel in his voice now silken. “Just…”

“Amazing,” you say together.

You nod with a misty smile and gaze down at your belly before gazing forward through the windshield again.

He reaches for your hand and brings it to his mouth. “I’m gonna take you home and make sweet,” he presses a kiss to the segments of your fingers, “sweet,” another kiss to your fingers, “sweet love to you.” With that, he kisses the back of your hand. “Mama.”

You simply turn to look at him with a growing, winsome smile. His eyes flit up to yours in the midst of a kiss. It’s the very first time in your life anyone has ever called you that.

“All day and all night. And you best just get used to it.” He gently returns your hand to the seat and starts the car.

Your smile brightens to radiant.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he says with the glint of a wink. “Doctor’s orders.”