ᴍᴜʟᴛɪғᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴇ | ᴏʟᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴇᴡ ғɪᴄs ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛᴇs

Right Where I Wanna Be (Arthur Morgan x male reader)

Summary: a cuddle would be nice

Warning: MY MAN. love, cute, apology fic, fluff, no angst heueheuhe

based on this request, tq!

As usual, I'm sorry if there are any wrong sentences or typos or grammatical mistakes, please forgive me and again English is not my first language, so I try to improve my language and writing in this way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Camp was quiet by the time you rode in.

The sun had already dipped below the trees, and a soft orange glow clung to the horizon. Crickets chirped. The fire crackled low, and most of the gang were either eating or already asleep in their tents.

You were coated in dust and dried sweat, saddle-sore and pissed off, with a fresh tear in your shirt, two bruises blooming on your ribs, and a cold knot of frustration between your shoulders.

A full day of hunting turned into tracking a damn wounded buck across miles of swamp. Then the Dutch sent you on a run to intercept a "friendly" arms contact who turned out to be neither friendly nor armed. And just for the cherry on top, your horse threw a shoe, and you had to walk the last quarter mile into camp.

And now?

You just wanted him.

You didn't even bother hitching the horse properly. Just gave it a half-assed pat and trudged through the mud, jaw clenched, looking around camp.

"Arthur," you called out gruffly. “Arthur!”

Javier looked up from the fire, eyebrow raised. "Ain't seen him since dinner. Try by the horses."

You muttered a thank you and made your way down towards the makeshift stable. Sure enough, there he was — sitting on a barrel with his hat pulled low, calmly cleaning his revolver by lantern-light like he didn't have a care in the goddamn world.

He glanced up when you stomped over.

Then paused. Blink once.

"...Somethin' wrong?"

"Yes," you said flatly.

He stood slowly, brushing dust from his knees. "You get bits?"

"No."

"Shot?"

"No."

"...Dutch talk your ear off again?"

You gave him a withering look. "No, but I swear to God if anyone asks me to do one more thing tonight—"

"Alright, alright," he said gently, stepping forward.

Your shoulders slumped. You sighed hard. "...I need you."

Arthur's brow softened. "I'm here."

"I need you to stop asking questions," you added, stepping closer. "I need you to let me crawl into your lap like a damn housecat. I need you to put those arms to good use. And I need you to tell me the whole world is gonna be okay even if it's a damn lie."

Arthur let out a quiet chuckle. "You done?"

You folded your arms. "Maybe."

He gave you a slow once-over, then opened his arms wide.

"Well, c'mere then."

You didn't hesitate.

Walked straight into his chest, wrapped your arms around his middle, and let him fold around you like a shield. His coat was still warm from the fire, and his chin settled against the top of your head like it belonged there.

Your whole body sagged against him, tension finally cracking and melting away like ice.

"Damn, you're warm," you muttered.

"You're cold," Arthur said, rubbing his hands up and down your back. "What'd you do, wrestle a bear in the river?"

"Tracked a deer through half of Lemoyne."

He huffed. "Should have taken me."

"You were busy."

"I'm never too busy for you."

That shut you up.

You buried your face into his shoulder and held him tighter.

"...You smell like gun oil."

"You smell like a swamp."

You both laughed — low and soft — the kind of laugh you only share with someone who knows every line on your hands and every weight on your shoulders.

After a while, Arthur nudged you towards the bedroll set near his tent.

"C'mon. Camp's quiet. Fire's low. Let's make use of it."

You let him lead you over. Kicked off your boots, threw your coat into a heap, and collapsed onto the blanket like you'd been shot. Arthur followed, lying beside you and gathering you up like it was nothing.

He was always so gentle with you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, one hand tucking under your shirt to rub circles on your back. The other found your hand and laced your fingers together.

"Y'okay now?" he murmured against your neck.

You exhaled slowly, the warmth of his breath making you shiver in a good way. "Gettin' there."

He kissed your jaw.

"I got you."

The crickets.

The fire cracked once, settling low.

Arthur's heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your cheek.

You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the moment. The warmth. The quiet. The smell of leather and pine on his coat. The comfort of knowing, without a doubt, that he wasn't going anywhere.

"...Nothin' bad's gonna happen to us, right?" you asked quietly.

Arthur was silent for a moment.

Then he squeezed your hand.

"Not tonight," he said softly. "Not tomorrow, neither. Long as I'm breathin', I ain't lettin' a damn thing take you."

You didn't say anything.

Didn't need to.

Because you believed him.

Because in his arms, the world was okay.

And as sleep pulled you under, curled up in the only place that ever felt like home, you knew one thing for certain:

This?

This was forever.