#angelo bronte's party

[garneneva]

Just impulsively pulled out the craziest dutch cosplay, and now I really don't know what to do with myself...

I had to edit my hair black because I am a blonde girl but what!???

[photo1030]

Heyyy I have a suggestion to make it’s kinda stupid whatever so it takes place at the mayor’s party where Arthur Morgan and Dutch is meeting mr Bronte and reader come running to Mr Bronte for some random reason and sense she’s wearing a corset she can’t get all the air in her lungs AND SHE PAST OUT so Arthur or Dutch (I LUV THEM BOTH teehee) gotta RIPS her out the corset.. that’s all I got LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWW MWAH! ❤️❤️❤️

Hi there @lizzie2980 So sorry this has taken me forever. Thank you for being so kind and patient (and hopefully still interested?) This was a great prompt, had a lot of fun with this one.

This is a bit out of the canon story, hopefully that is OK. This is a little bit of flirty and protective Arthur, with a smidge of charming Dutch in there...lovely combo, if you ask me....which you did...(This is not part of my existing fic, Leather and Lace, btw)

(The images used here were found on a lovely blog that is apparently designed to help fanworks. Check it out! Thank you to whoever put that together. https://reddeadreference.tumblr.com/post/679731317406072832/the-gilded-cage )

*Special thanks to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my sounding board.

DON’T MAKE A SCENE 

Summary:  You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Your hands clamp down tighter as the plump elderly matron apologetically yanks the strings of the restrictive corset. Nails of already shaky fingers dig into the wooden bedpost that you use to support yourself with as you stand on wavering feet. You wince on the verge of painful tears as Bridget stands behind you and pulls the threads of the already too tight garment even tighter still, testing the limits of its stitching and causing a gasp to quickly get sucked into your folded-up lungs with each pull.

Sunset has already begun, the brilliant orange disc settling itself softly behind the horizon line for the day, and your room slowly dims to a pastel dusk as you get ready, the wall sconces glowing against the ivory painted walls of your lavish private quarters inside Angelo Bronte’s mansion. The garden party below will be starting any minute, and the shadows that dance along the walls inside the house mask the dread inside your chest. It is as if your hope and spirit are diminishing with the quickly-fading sun. You are hoping that Bridget doesn’t see the trepidation creeping into your expression as she flits about you, but the older woman is too shrewd for that. 

“You know...Mr. Bronte…he isn’t going to wait much longer for you”, she murmurs as her weathered fingers begin to run over your frame, smoothing out the fabric of your dress, picking at errant threads. “He will eventually want what he feels he is due.”

The obvious statement hits your gut like a prize-fighter’s punch. “I know,” you utter with a dejected sigh, your voice almost a whimper in the air.

The thought of the man’s pock-marked, oily skin against your own makes you sick to your stomach. It would be like a vile lizard rubbing up against you. 

But Bridget is not unsympathetic to your situation. She is definitely a woman of experienced years, as the graying hair of her loosely tied-up bun gives testament to. And she knows a thing or two from her twenty-some years in service to upper-society households. 

“You know, sometimes when you’re a woman, you just have to do what you have to do. Close your eyes and let your mind go somewhere else when it’s happening.” She waves her hand dismissively in the air as if speaking about the most matter-of-fact thing in the world. “Just tune it all out, let the man have his way, and then it will all be over quickly. In fact, it’s usually over quicker than you think.” She gives you a whimsical wink as a sharp cackle snaps out of her throat at her own joke. Whether Bridget is speaking specifically about Bronte, or any man for that matter, you are not sure, as this seems to have the feel of a rehearsed speech she has given many times over.

When Bridget sees the distaste of such a thing clearly coating your face as you silently stand there with your hands fidgeting over themselves, she continues.

“If you’re clever enough, you could let him have what he wants, but then have something for yourself on the side, you know.” 

Your eyes immediately shoot up to hers to find that knowing twinkle in her eye. The thought causes a humorless huff from your lips. 

“I can barely manage to look after myself, Bridget. I couldn’t manage that cat-and-mouse game.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugs and continues to primp and preen your outfit. 

Despite the odd advice, you are grateful for Bridget’s counsel. She is the only friend you have here in Angelo Bronte’s mansion. You are not a hostage per se, but he has made his opinions very clear on how he feels about a woman, especially one indebted to him, leaving the premises to socialize without him as your escort and chaperone; so improper, so ungrateful. 

It is especially warm tonight on the evening of the garden party that Mr. Bronte has been planning for weeks now. The whole household buzzes with excitement and anticipation for the fancy event, despite the sweltering weather. St. Denis is dreadfully hot and muggy, making it difficult to breathe on a good day. You’re not used to such heat. You come from the northern state of Massachusetts, which is much cooler. The heat here is bad enough, but the humidity clings to the air like a wet blanket. 

And this damn dress doesn’t help in the slightest. 

The dress that Angelo Bronte hand-picked for you to wear tonight is way too tight, making you lightheaded already. You watch in the full-length mirror as the constricting fabric pulls your body into shape under Bridget’s strong, able fingers, transforming your voluptuous figure into an hourglass. A deep midnight blue hued fabric that shimmers in the light is cut to hug and accent your physique, leaving little to the imagination of the observer. 

If the origins of the dress weren’t so distasteful, you may have very well liked the beautiful gown that currently clings to your form and drapes over your hips in a cascade of silk. But you know Bronte did not provide this gown to please you. No, he did it for his own inflated ego. Bronte will parade you around tonight like a prized horse out of his stable, showing you off to all in tonight’s attendance. And he’ll treat you as such too - like something he’s purchased and owns outright.

You curse yourself for letting yourself get into this situation. You hate that you have to rely on this man for a place to live. You arrived new to St. Denis a month ago and were promptly robbed upon arrival, leaving you with nothing. So much for civilization. 

Bronte noticed you at the train station, frazzled and lost, and totally beside yourself as to what you would do now. You came here with no relatives, no contacts, just the promise of jobs and new adventure out West from an ad you saw in the newspaper back home. The man quickly made your acquaintance, preying like a vulture on your vulnerable situation. He was charming with a note of authority, like he knew exactly what to do and where to go. But it quickly became apparent that he offered you his home as a sanctuary in hopes to win your affections. You’ve managed to play coy for awhile, however, agreeing to be on his arm and accompany him to various social functions in town in exchange for residency in his home. But you have denied the man what he wants most - you in his bed. 

An involuntary sigh passes your cherry lips as Bridget takes your hand in hers, patting it in the same way a grandmother comforts her troubled grandchild, and leads you to the vanity along the opposite wall so she can set your hair. Your body mindlessly drifts to the tapestry-padded stool, like a lost flower petal in the wind, void of any energy or enthusiasm. 

Bridget’s nimble fingers curl your hair and pin it back to showcase your pretty face, adding in beautiful crystal clips for decoration and she even weaves a few flower buds from the garden into your locks. You sit silently in front of the vanity mirror with a blank stare, a melancholy overtaking your soul as you watch her prepare you to be the perfect accessory to the rich man’s life. The motherly woman’s presence comforts you, but she is also serving you up to the master of the house like a slice of beef on a silver platter for him to devour. 

“There, now. Don’t you just look breathtaking?” she breaths in awe. The deep-set lines around Bridget’s hazel-colored eyes crinkle as she admires her masterpiece. Your eyes refocus to catch the old woman’s proud gaze in the mirror, and then back over your own reflection.

“Yes, Bridget,” you whisper with a sad smile, your lower lip quivering just slightly. “You did a fine job. Thank you for your help tonight.” She catches the reluctance in your fluttering eyes and can only nod in agreement. She lovingly pats your arm in an attempt to comfort your growing uneasiness. 

“Well, I had better get downstairs and tend to the kitchen, then. Don’t hide up here too long, miss.” And she wipes her hands on her apron as her wide hips carry her to the bedroom door before she slips out and you are alone with your thoughts once again. 

With a deep sigh, you haul yourself up to stand. You swish the heavy fabric of your dress-skirts to the side to allow you to amble over to the balcony doors of your private room. Pulling the double-doors open wide with both hands, you step out onto the freshly painted wood as a rush of humid air hits you like a wall, causing you to take a brief pause to try to catch your breath. Your hands eventually find their place upon the smooth railing as you step up to the edge to look out over the balcony at the garden party below. 

Jovial music floats up to your ears from the string quartet that is playing on the patio beneath you. String lights delicately criss-cross over the open garden area, resembling a net that has caught a thousand fire-flies. Bronte’s guests have already started to arrive and their chatter fills the air, alternating with the clinks of champagne flutes. You casually observe as greedy fingers grab at the delectable food and free alcohol that is meticulously displayed along elegant tables that dot across the property, the delicious aromas wafting through the evening air. 

The scene laid out before you is like a page out of the society section of the newspapers. Always over-the-top, always impressive, Angelo Bronte spares no expense in his functions. Decadent food, expensive wines, extravagant decor. Always to impress the upper echelon of society. And yet, you have no desire to mingle with the high-society of St. Denis. From what you’ve seen, it’s hardly impressive to you. 

You watch with disinterest over the crowd, observing from the elevated vantage point as people collect in small groups, then turn to whisper to each other like conniving socal piranhas the moment one of the fold turns to leave to join another circle. With a scornful roll of your eyes, you have no idea how you are going to make it through this evening unscathed. 

And then, a collection of unknown men catch your eye. You’ve never seen them in Bronte’s circle before. And they clearly don’t belong. Under closer observation, this is an assembly of rugged looking gentlemen, a sharp contrast to the other guests in attendance tonight. Though they may have donned fancy tuxedos and hats, the way they carry themselves indicates they are not used to wearing such garb. Their eyes nervously shift all around instead of at whoever is addressing them as if more interested in what is happening around them rather than trying to assert social connections. Your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth as your curious gaze lingers on them, trying to determine if they were invited or snuck in with the crowd.

As if he can feel your eye on him with the sixth sense of a trained outlaw, Arthur instinctively looks away from the men he is standing with and looks up towards the balcony of the great house and notices you. He doesn’t smile or even move for that matter, other than a single eyebrow lift as if in confusion. Your breath catches a bit at being caught staring. But yet you cannot bring yourself to break eye contact with the startling blue eyes gazing back at you from across the garden. And you can’t help the soft smile that blooms across your blushing cheeks at the ruggedly handsome man. 

When the mystery man eventually turns his attention back to his companions, you shake your head back to reality and decide you’ve stalled long enough. It’s time to begin to make your way down to the garden party and get this over with. You leisurely stroll along the length of the wrap-around balcony of the house to the stairs that will carry you down to the patio. Your hand has to grip the railing of the staircase as you walk, as your dress is so tight that descending the stairs makes you out of breath. The boning of the corset digs painfully into your ribs and hipbones as you move. Such a dreadful, masochistic thing, you wonder why on earth women put themselves through such torture for the sake of fashion. Once at the bottom, you attempt to take a deep breath, bringing your fingertips to your temples before bracing yourself to join the guests. 

First order of business, you scan the crowd to locate your host. It takes a few minutes, but you eventually lock-in on him when you hear his boisterous, condescending laugh echoing over the throng of people. Angelo Bronte really is a toad of a man. And despite his money and power, he is rather socially inept. Maybe it’s the fact that he's not from this country. Or maybe society is held differently in Italy. But either way, the elite here in St. Denis have mixed feelings about the wealthy man. Mixed as in, they like his wealth but do not care for the man. And that is where you come in. 

Bronte’s idea is that having a beautiful, refined and charming woman on his arm will make him appear more distinguished. Your role in this little arrangement with him is to be the doting young paramore, helping him to navigate the social circles. No one needs to be the wiser that the two of you sleep in separate rooms on completely different ends of the house. But for appearances sake, Angelo Bronte has acquired himself quite the crown jewel with your presence. 

As you meander through the crowd, you keep getting intercepted by random party guests, each one handing you a new glass of champagne. Your eye catches Bronte’s a few times as you mingle, as he checks to make sure you are performing as expected. Of course, the witty jokes, effervescent laughing and demure little smiles that emanate from you work according to plan. You can see Bronte pointing you out to guests from across the garden, a crude grin of approval splitting across the faces of the men he leans into, all chattering with hushed tones and hungry eyes. It’s enough to make your corset-restricted stomach turn. 

After about forty five minutes of false chuckles and empty smiles, you are desperate for fresh air and peace and quiet, so you discreetly head to the rose garden which is off to the right side of the party, hoping to find less people there.

Wandering aimlessly through the maze of hedges and rose bushes, you manage to find a quiet little corner away from prattling visitors and raise your tired eyes to the heavens above. The smog of St. Denis covers the night sky and it leaves you with a heavy feeling of disappointment that even the vast galaxy of stars is being kept from you in this dreadful place. With a dispirited sigh, your tear-misted eyes slowly roll shut, attempting to find some sort of solitude from this hell on earth. 

“Is this a safe place to hide?”

The sound of a deep, gravelly voice suddenly cuts into your mind, causing your eyes to snap open as you spin to see who is speaking to you. 

And there he is. The handsome fellow who you were staring at from the balcony. He stands quietly, a slight smirk of amusement on his face. It takes you a few moments to realize that he is indeed real, no fantasy apparition to come to stand before you. Confused blinks skitter across your face as you take in the sight of him. Now that you are up close to him, you can see just how tall and broad-shouldered he is. 

“Sorry, miss, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he offers when you hesitate to answer, his simple apology carrying little fanfare or bravado. Just a simple statement with no malice, no ill-content and no agenda towards you. 

“Oh…no…you didn’t startle me,” you manage to stammer as you try to regain your composure.

The stranger’s ocean-blue eyes float across your frame, head to toe, assessing you with a slight tilt of his head.  “You sure about that?” he jokes as he gives you a deeper smirk now.

Picking up on his genuine humor, you release the breath that you didn’t realize you were holding. “No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I just needed a minute, is all. I didn’t expect anyone to be back here.” 

When you lob a smile back at him in return, Arthur takes a gamble and begins to move slightly closer to you, specifically intent on maintaining this conversation. “Hmm, needing to get away from the herd? Is that it?”

The term causes a chuckle to erupt out of your throat. “Yeah, something like that.” You begin to step towards him as well, both of you moving slowly yet purposefully towards the other to close the gap between you until you are about three feet from each other. The air surrounding the garden is like that before a thunderstorm, exhilarating because it could be both beautiful and dangerous at the same time. The two of you stand quietly, simply staring at the other like a couple of clumsy teenagers not knowing what to say. 

“No offense, but you don’t seem like you belong here,” you finally break the amorous spell with a raised eyebrow. As your words hover like a butterfly in his ears, you note the faded scars along the man’s chin, embedded into his tanned skin and nestled beneath his rugged beard that you can see was probably hastily groomed for this evening.

He doesn’t deny it, but counters almost playfully with “I could say the same for you.”

You flirtatiously narrow your eyes at him. “What makes you say that?”

He waves his large finger towards you. “You carry the same disdain for this place on your face that I do.”

Well, you have to admit, he’s got you there and all you can do is nod in agreement. “That obvious, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he chuckles, bringing his hand up to pinch his fingers together to accent his point. “It's ok, though. Glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t want to be here.” And he tosses a perturbed glace back over his shoulder towards the noise of the party. 

“I guess that makes us two peas in a pod, then, doesn’t it?” you muse with a glittering smile that makes his chest tight.

A grin pulls at the corner of the stranger’s plump lips, causing his scarred chin to wrinkle. “I guess it does, doesn’t it?” 

“My name is Y/F&LN”. You extend your hand out and his large hand completely engulfs yours, dwarfing your delicate fingers with his own. You immediately notice how his skin is rough, yet warm to the touch, his hand strong in a comfortingly protective way. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

And the two of you hold each other’s gaze like a spark of electricity pulsing through the air to connect you. You can feel your fingertips go numb as your heart beats faster within your perfume-dusted chest. And Arthur hopes that you do not notice how he thickly swallows, flexing his now-sweaty hands before awkwardly kneading his thumb into the opposite palm. 

But your beautiful little moment together is short-lived when you hear your name being called out into the night, snapping you back to the real world. And before you know it, a very anxious-looking Bridget appears from around the hedges, her eyes darting around, her lips pressed tightly together in worry. 

“Miss Y/N, there you are! Mr. Bronte is asking for you.” She gives you a sharp wave in her direction before her eyes quickly slip to the burly gentleman to your right.

An embarrassed school-girl blush dusts your cheeks as you clear your throat. “Yes, of course, Bridget, thank you. I’ll be right there.” You turn back to Arthur. “Well, Mr. Morgan, it was very nice to meet you. If you will excuse me, please.”

“‘Course.” Arthur dips his head with a respectful nod as you float past him, your fingertips nervously tucking a few tendrils of hair behind your ear. 

Bridget gives Arthur a good look up and down before she turns and follows behind you back towards the music of the garden party with a sly, smug smile drawn on her lips. “Maybe you’re more clever than you think,” she whispers impishly in your ear. You shoot her a cautionary look as you smooth your hands over the fabric of your dress, making sure that you are presentation-ready before you make your way to your host. 

As you navigate the crowd to approach Bronte, you take notice that he is talking to the other men that came with Mr. Morgan. The moment he catches sight of you, Bronte’s face lights up.

“Ah, Miss Y/N! There you are! Come, Come!” He waves you over to stand next to him. “I’d like you to meet some special guests.” Bronte crudely clutches your hand, bringing it to his saliva-slick lips before eagerly wrapping it around his arm. “This is Mr. Van der Linde, and his associates, Mr. Williamson and Mr. Matthews. Gentleman, this is my…’companion’, Miss Y/LN.”

You force down the bile in the back of your throat that the toad conjures up as a graceful nod and accompanying smile adorns your pretty face when you turn towards the men you are being presented to. “Gentleman, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Miss Y/L/N,” Mr. Van Der Linde greets you as he flashes a sultry grin in your direction, boldly reaching his ringed hand to take ahold of yours that sits tucked in Bronte’s elbow. He brazenly brings your digits to his warm mouth to place a tender kiss along your knuckles. “Call me Dutch.” His dark eyes fully take you in with a glitter of mischief behind them. “Mr. Bronte is indeed a lucky man.”

Unlike Angelo Bronte, you find this new social contact of his to be quite charismatic and charming. And while most of the attendees of this event carry some level of bravado, this man standing in front of you seems to be quite different, the type to put his money where his mouth is. 

Interest flashes through your eyes at this dark-haired stranger. And Bronte is quick to notice. With a deep scowl of disapproval, his arm quickly snakes around your waist, holding you possessively against him in the presence of these men, so tight that it makes you squirm against his grip. You are about to protest the moderately painful discomfort when Mr. Morgan suddenly joins the circle, his azure eyes immediately targeting the meaty hand that grips your hip before lifting to meet your grimacing expression. The sight makes his face turn dark with a menacing presence to it. It almost shocks you to see the stark contrast to his demeanor from your encounter a few moments ago. 

“Quite the shindig you got goin’ here, Bronte,” Mr. Morgan says cooly, his statement breaking the tension of the social circle. “You always run things like this?”

The disapproval in your new friend’s voice causes one of the other men in his group (Mr. Matthews, is it?) to shoot him a glare of warning, to which Mr. Morgan shrugs off. 

Bronte lifts his nose at the rub, but he will not be made a fool of so easily at the challenge. “Ah, I’m sure you country folk are not used to such luxury, yes?”  

“Personally, I don’t care for it,” snarks Arthur with a snort of derision. “Hard to enjoy myself like a gluttonous pig when there’s people right outside the gate starvin’”

As you stand there next to Bronte listening to these men throw thinly veiled contempt at one another, you begin to feel dizzy. Your head starts to swim, spots dancing before your eyes, making your stomach lurch. But no one notices at first, except for Mr. Van Der Linde.

“You alright, miss?” Mr. Van Der Linde questions you with concern skipping across his dark features. 

“Oh, yes,” you wave him off. “It’s just…just this heat…” You begin to fan yourself, desperate for some cool air to caress your face. 

And suddenly the world around you starts to spin and your knees give way underneath you as if they move of their own accord. You begin to crumple in front of everyone and Dutch is quick to catch you just before you hit the ground, his strong arms shooting out to enfold you and ease you into the grass. The moment Arthur sees that you are in trouble, he promptly hovers over you as well, catching your hand into his own and placing himself between you and Bronte as things go dark in front of your eyes.

A collection of curious guests begins to gather around the spectacle, whispers and fingers discreetly pointing in your direction.

“The lady needs some air,” asserts Dutch as he kneels behind you.

Arthur is at a loss on what to do at first, but is quick to notice how restrictive the corset of your dress is, as your chest can barely move as you desperately gasp for air, your face turning red from the heat of the evening.

With a look of determination, Arthur’s rough hands wrap around your biceps and carefully lift the upper part of your limp body to lean against Dutch, who cradles you into his chest for support. Without a word, Arthur grabs at the fabric of your dress and quickly rips the corseted area wide open, easily tearing the seams under his hands, to release your lungs, exposing the delicate silk undergarments and bare skin hidden beneath. Shock slaps Angelo Bronte in the face as he stands behind Arthur, helplessly watching this embarrassing little scene unfold before his eyes. 

Ignoring the judgemental gasps of the partygoers, Arthur then proceeds to snatch a glass of champagne out of the hands of one of the nosey women craning her neck to see the spectacle and tosses the liquid into your face. The moment the bubbly fluid hits your skin, your eyes instantly pop open as you deeply gasp, desperate to expand your lungs to draw in fresh air. 

Arthur cautiously watches your face in anticipation as you rapidly blink the sweet nectar out of your lashes. Your eyes land on Arthur in confusion as to what has just happened before looking down at yourself and realize that you are now exposed to the whole party. But Arthur immediately takes off his jacket and lays it overtop of you as you sit nestled safely against Dutch who is still behind you. And Arthur breathes a sigh of relief when he recognizes the threads of alertness brightening your features once again. 

“Get the hell outta here,” Arthur orders the crowd, waving them away with a wide arc of his long arm. “Nothing to see here, just a woman needing some air, is all.”

“Can you stand, miss?” Dutch’s deep voice carries softly over your shoulder and into your ear, anchoring you back to consciousness. 

“I think so,” you venture, although the wavering in your voice is not entirely convincing. Your head is still swimming with confusion, but at least you can breathe now and the pounding in your temples has started to recede. 

Arthur takes your hand again, his other slipping under your arm to guide you to your feet as Dutch carefully steadies you from behind. 

“I don’t know what to say,” you say sheepishly looking up into Arthur’s worried face. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?” Bronte suddenly bellows, finally finding his voice of outrage. “Thank you?! You make a scene in my house and you say ‘thank you?!”

“Easy, leave her be,” Arthur growls out, turning his threatening gaze to the party’s host. “Can’t you see the lady isn’t well?”

“No, she most certainly is not!” Bronte spits back in anger. His heartless, burning eyes now land back on you, his nostrils flaring wildly with impatience as his expression screws up into a hateful scowl. “Nuisance! I knew it was a mistake to bring you here” he hollers at you, flecks of spittle flying in your direction. “Should’ve left you at the station where I found you!” His finger thrown in your face causes you to shrink backwards, leaning your back into Dutch yet again, where the man’s hands protectively come up to cradle your arms. 

But Arthur is not having any of it, protectively placing his large bear-like frame between you and Bronte, towering over the other man and desperately trying to refrain from landing his massive fist into his face. “You best keep that finger to yourself, Mr. Bronte, else I'll break it clean off.” Arthur’s tone is low and deep, his threat making a shutter cascade down your spine as you watch with baited breath for what is to happen next. 

“Get out! All of you! Get! Out!” Bronte screams, waving at the group of newcomers. “And take that bitch with you, too!”

Your heart sinks as you watch the Italian spin on his heels and storm off towards the house, his arms flailing wildly as he vents his frustrations and anger out into the ether. The party has clearly ended now, as the guests murmur and whisper amongst themselves about the outrageous scene and begin to file out of the garden to leave. 

Your head hangs a bit in shame as you nibble nervously on your pink bottom lip, holding Arthur's jacket over your chest like armor. You have no love lost for Angelo Bronte, but the idea that you now have nowhere to go is a little terrifying. You have no money, no provisions. Nothing. 

Arthur turns to look at you, seeing your soft face frozen in stunned silence. His own countenance turns sheepish as he now realizes that he has cost you your home. “Sorry about that,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to get you tossed out.”

“Don’t trouble yourself.” You shake your head and place a grateful hand along Arthur’s arm. “You probably did me a favor.” Your smile is warm and forgiving, but it doesn’t make him feel any less responsible for your new predicament. “But I meant what I said, Mr. Morgan. Thank you,” you whisper emphatically. Your gentle voice causes butterflies to flutter in his belly. 

“You have anywhere to go now?” Arthur asks, his blue eyes burning into your own. God, how you could get lost in those eyes for hours. 

Sadly, you shake your head, confirming his suspicions. 

“Well, then,” interrupts Dutch from where he still stands behind you, “If that is the case, you are welcome to come with us, Miss Y/L/N.” He offers you another of his charming smiles as he holds open Arthur’s jacket as you slide your arms in, and he pulls the oversized garment protectively over your shoulders. He then offers you his arm to escort you away from the party, with his entourage in tow. 

Arthur gives a lofty eye-roll to the heavens at Dutch’s attempt to swoon you, causing Mr. Matthews to chuckle at the interaction. But you smile graciously at Mr. Van der Linde’s offer as you gladly accept his arm and begin to walk with him. You look back over your shoulder and give Arthur a demure little grin, which he returns as he follows you and Dutch out to the front of the property towards the awaiting carriages with Mr. Matthews and Mr. Williamson close behind. 

“Thank you, Mr. Van Der Linde,” you smile brightly up at him. “I just may have to take you up on that offer.” 

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Taglist: @appalachiancowboy99 @rivetingrosie4

[wisteriadumster]

After Party ❥Arthur Morgan

ARTHUR MORGAN X FEMALE READER

CW➻❥ Semi public sex ⋆ orgasm⋆ drinking ⋆

WC➻❥1700➻❥ this isn't well proof read so any mistakes or odd things are purely accidental

Summary➻❥ After your father dragged to the mayor of Saint Denis’ party, you drunkenly but mostly soberly hook up with a Mr. Arthur Kilgore right outside in a carriage

A/N ➻❥ I didn’t think I would actually finish this but I’ve been on a writing groove lately so more fics to come hopefully

Do Not Steal Or Translate My Work!

You were at Mayor Lemieux’s garden party, your father had begged you to go, simply to find you a husband. You walked around, observing all the older men, did your father really think one of these men could sweep you off your feet?

“More wine?” A server came up to you, “oui, s'il vous plait” you set your glass on his tray, his other hand replaced your empty one with another glass, “merci.”

You examined the balcony, “important” men were staring back, one of them was Angelo Bronte. Your fathers most evil associate, you knew Mr.Bronte was nothing but a manipulative and greedy immigrant. You would beg your father to cut ties from Bronte but you were waved away every time.

“Ah there she is!” Your father wrapped his arm around your back, “oh Mayor Lemieux, what a party,” you smiled.

“Merci, are you enjoying the vin?” His voice seemed awkward, “why of course, you surely pick well.”

A small group had formed, your father refused to let you leave, in hopes you’d be attracted by these married “suitors.” A man that had been on the balcony joined the group, “Mayor, what a pleasure.” He clasped his hand with Lemieux’s glove, “are you enjoying yourself sir?” He cleared his throat against his accent, “it’s, different.” Perhaps your father was right to make you stay, “I haven’t seen you before.” Your father remarked, the man awkwardly laughed, “I’m an oil man out west, I’m visiting for business.”

“Well mister oil man would you mind grabbing a drink with me?” You unlocked your arm from your fathers. “I can’t deny a drink,” he smiled and began walking with you.

“Are you married mister?” You dragged, “Kilgore.” He answered, “I am a single man darlin’.”

You blushed and made it to the bar, “bonjour madame, monsieur,” the bartender grinned.

“Bonne soirée,” you greeted back, “I’ll have a glass of champagne, and for you Mister Kilgore?�� He cleared his throat, “do you have whiskey?” Mr.Kilgore seemed nervous, “oh why of course monsieur!” The bartender gleamed, he set down the glass of champagne and began pouring the glass of whiskey.

“Merci beaucoup,” you cheered your class and stepped away from the bar. Mr.Kilgore set his hand on the bottom of your back as you navigated through the crowd.

With drinks in your system, you had been flirting with Mr.Kilgore the entire night, he wasn’t rejecting them either.

“What if we go somewhere, more private?” You giggle, “if we leave this party, you’re gonna love me tonight.” He remarked, “will you leave with me?” You advanced, he smirked and looked away from you, “are you sure about that darlin’?” His voice rasped, “I wouldn’t be asking now would I?”

You had both snuck just outside the mayor's home, an empty carriage sat just down the road. “What if we,” you hint as you slow at the carriage, “sweetheart that’s a bit risky now ain’t it?” He was hesitant, “well mister Kilgore, this whole ordeal is quite risky itself, I think it could be fun.” You smirk, your free hand opening the door,

Mr.Kilgore gently closed the door to the one bench carriage. It was small but how much room did you even need? Your ballgown surely didn’t fit within the confines of the carriage, but it didn’t matter, Mr.Kilgore would be tearing you out of it in a moment.

He scrunched his lips as he studied your dress, “oh don’t worry sir, it’s a simple one, just get the strings.” You had slipped in a rather simple ball gown, everything was already attached to the dress, the only thing you had to do was slip into it.

You turned yourself away from Mr.Kilgore, your back was touched by cold calloused hands as he worked through the tight strings.

“What’s your name Mister Kilgore?” You finally asked, you figured you should know the man’s name before he saw your bare body. “Arthur,” he pulled the final silk lace loose.

You took a deep breath as the constricting pressure released. You pushed the straps that laid on your shoulders, your breathing was heavy as Arthur’s hand hesitantly pulled on the fabric that covered you. “Are you sure about this?” He looked up from your cleavage, his eyes desperately searching your face for an answer, “absolutely.” You pulled on his bow tie, bringing him into a delicate and precise kiss. Your head was slightly cocked, your lips slowly connected, distracting you as Arthur’s hands meticulously removed your dress.

Your torso was exposed, the rest of your outfit was a large mass of blue that flooded the carriage.

You could feel your lipstick rubbing off against Arthur’s face, marking where your scandalous lips had touched.

“Darlin’ I need a bit of your assistance,” he pulled back, looking down at your body and the pestering ball gown. You did your best to stand in the cramped space, Arthur’s hands pushed the dress down your legs, revealing how carelessly you were dressed beneath your dress.

There was a moment, Arthur was quiet as he admired your body. You blushed at how vulnerable you had made yourself for a man you had only known for two hours.

You pulled on the buttons of Arthur’s dress shirt, “Mister Kilgore if you mind, I would like a chance to study your body.” You giggled.

You both tackled the suit that Arthur wore: removing his jacket, bow tie, and his white button up. His hand travelled around to it neck, touching the back of it before intertwining itself with your styled hair. He pulled you in for another kiss, his warm body touching against yours as your bodies shifted.

He was on top of you, his fingers squeezing and wondering over your breast. The kiss was hot and heavy; moments away from escalating to what you wanted.

He pulled back from the kiss, looking down as he directed his hand to his pants. You looked back up, fixated on his face.

He looked back to you, both of you making the same expression of shock as his cock pushed through, entering into your eager and wet pussy.

“Fuck,” you blurted as he continued to let himself fully fit. Arthur gritted his teeth and let out a groan as he adjusted himself.

His pace started slow, he analyzed you searching for the speed that pleased you best.

You gripped the back of the seat, your nails digging into the leather. Arthur was quiet with his groans, you could feel the hot air leave his nostrils as his chest rumbled.

“You like that sweetheart?” He asked, unsure of his next move. “Faster,” you mustered before wrapping a hand in his hair and pulling him into a kiss. Arthur obeyed the command and increased his pace, your skin smacking together a little harder.

You pulled at his short hair, moaning against his lips every time his tip hit exactly where it needed.

You pulled back from the ravenous kiss, “we should really get back to the party.” Anxiety had washed over you, what could your father be thinking right now, what if he needed you.

“Darlin’ I’ll do whatever you want,” he finished with a deep and aggressive thrust.

You practically belted out a moan at the sudden feeling, your hands gripping and digging into whatever they held onto.

The thrusts were delicate, Arthur slowly taking you through a growing climax. Arthur was nuzzled in your neck, kissing your fragile skin.

“I really think,” you sentence is cut by a moan. Every time you felt that you should really stop, your body would always react, begging to stay.

Your hands were travelling around his sculpted torso, taking in how his chest hair covered his body in a light layer. “Take a breath darlin’.” He smiled against your lips, you inhaled, deeply.

A hard thrust caused that air to come rushing back out, your nails to dig into his back, something you had only just started navigating.

A hot flash ran over you, your orgasm flowing throughout you. Your legs shook as the pleasurable feeling finally drained out of you.

You were panting hard, your body recovering from the surge of overstimulation.

Arthur pulled back from you, his body soaked in a layer of sweat, a combination of his and yours.

You opened your mouth to speak, but words were unable to process and come out.

“Best we should back, right sweetheart?” Arthur’s words pulled you out of the haze that he had put you in, as well as the alcohol in your system, if it hadn’t been sweated out.

“I suppose you’re right Mister Kilgore.” You sat up, your chest rising and lowering, synchronized with Arthur’s.

You searched through the sea of your ballgown, finding the corseted top.

You turned your back to Arthur, who was finishing the buttons of his dress shirt. “Do you mind?” You asked, “it ain’t gon’ to look pretty.” He admitted and grabbed the loose corset lace.

He pulled the final string tight and brushed your shoulders. “Would you like me to do your bow tie?” You turned, “nah, I think my outfit will do fine without it.” He tucked it inside his jacket coat.

As you stepped out of the carriage, cold and freeze air greeted your nostrils.

You looked back at the carriage, the mirrors were significantly fogged. You looked down the street, a man and woman watching from beneath the light of a streetlamp.

You embarrassing smiled, your face becoming flush in color.

You pulled your hair out of the now messed up-do.

You fluffed your hair with your fingers roughly, hoping the curls from the previous hairstyle could save your up kept look. “Darlin’ you look just fine,” Arthur looked at you, “are you sure?” You begged, Arthur stopped walking, holding your shoulders. “Sweetheart you look just as beautiful as when I first looked at ya.” A smile gently cracked from your worried frown.

“Now darlin’ would you like get back to that party?” He let go of your shoulders, his arm slowly jutting out. You interlocked your arm with his and continued your strut down the street back to the mayors house.

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 22 - Had But Our Loving Prospered Well

Summary: As Dutch readies the gang for their next big score, Arthur is sent to Saint Denis to settle unfinished business, only to face a ghost from his past. Meanwhile, Kate's come down with an illness, but a vivid dream sparks a newfound resolve to secure her and Arthur's future—no matter the cost.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

AN: About 10k words. I really enjoyed how this one turned out. I think it does a good job at setting up what's coming next while also keeping you on your toes. Guess you'll have to read and see ;)

And Happy Thanksgiving to all those who celebrate! I am so thankful for all my readers <3

Tag List: @photo1030 @ariacherie @thatweirdcatlady @ultraporcelainpig @marygillisapologist @eternalsams @lunawolfclaw  @yallgotkik

**please let me know if you would like to be tagged in future chapters!

Story Tags: Canon Divergence, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Emotional Sex, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Sexual Tension, Friends to Lovers, Trauma, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Survivor Guilt, Caretaking, Period-Typical Racism, Anxiety, Emotional Constipation, Self-Doubt, Men Crying, Sweet/Hot, Romantic Angst, Romantic Fluff

Been a while since I put pen to paper. Feels like there ain’t enough time in the day anymore, though Lord knows I’ve been wasting plenty of it trying to keep my head above water. We’ve moved again. Ran from the law again. Stirred up more trouble. Same damn story, just a different setting. This time it’s Saint Denis—a place I heard was one of the seven wonders of the world. Well, if this is what they call a wonder, I reckon I’d be just fine never seeing the other six. It’s crowded, loud, and full of people who’d stab you in the back soon as they look at you. One of those people bein’ Angelo Bronte. Slimy, conniving bastard who’s got this whole city dancing to his tune.

He’s the same one who took Jack from us, but somehow, he’s also got us rubbing elbows with the mayor at some swanky garden party. Don’t ask me how that makes sense. Dutch’s idea, of course. Or maybe Hosea’s, hell if I know anymore. What I do know is he insisted Kate come along, dressed us all up like damn peacocks. I felt ridiculous, but then I looked at her. My Kate. She took my breath clean away. Lord help me, there’s nothing in this life I wouldn’t do for that woman.

The party itself? A circus. Drunks, phonies, and clowns as far as the eye could see. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some fun. Hell, I think Kate might’ve even enjoyed herself. It’s a memory I’ll carry with me, no matter how all this shakes out.

Still, this place ain’t sittin’ right with me. Dutch and Hosea keep goin’ on about opportunities, but I don’t see much besides folks with too much money and too little care for anything else. I better keep my head down while I can.

I introduced myself to a couple of Indians, father and son. The son is so angry and the father is; I don’t know exactly what. Something both impressive and frightening. And kind too. He’s a great man being defeated by powerful, awful forces. I don’t know why, but I agreed to help them. Seems they, like us, have a problem with that ape Leviticus Cornwall. 

And then there's Dutch, always in the middle of it all. He’s pushin’ Kate into things I’m not sure she should be a part of. Keeps talkin’ about loyalty, like I ain’t proven mine a thousand times over. Says Kate could help with this new scheme coming up—some high-stakes poker game on a damn yacht in the harbor. Wants to dress her up like some famous singer to get us in. The idea makes my skin crawl. She’s too good for this kind of life, and Dutch knows it.

I’ve been trying to keep her close, tellin’ her to stick to camp, help with the girls. But she ain’t the type to sit still. She’s got this fire in her, this restless spirit that makes her want to be out there with me, shoulderin’ the same burdens. And I love her for it, but it scares the hell outta me too. This gang is a powder keg, and when it blows, she’s gonna get caught in the blast.

John said something the other day that stuck with me—never thought I’d be takin’ advice from him, yet here we are. He told me I gotta start thinking about what happens after all this. If there’s even gonna be an "after." I don’t know what that looks like, but I know Kate deserves better than this life. Problem is, I ain’t sure I can give it to her. Not yet. Not while there’s still so much to fix, so much to make right.

I guess we’ll see what the day brings. 

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Arthur closed his journal with a soft thunk, the familiar leather creaking as he slid it back into his satchel. Stretching, he winced as his muscles protested—stiff from too many sleepless nights and too many hours in the saddle. Dawn was just beginning to break, but Arthur had been awake long before the first hints of sunlight painted the horizon. Not that it mattered much. These days, the weeks were a blur, the days bleeding into each other with each task, each job, and every damn mission Dutch insisted on. No end in sight, just more running, more scheming.

He sat on an old, weather-worn chair perched at the front of Shady Belle, the crumbling manor they called home. Its once-grand façade was faded and cracked, much like the gang itself—held together by little more than stubbornness and dwindling hope. The morning fog clung low to the ground, curling around the gnarled tree roots and the broken fence posts, giving the place an eerie stillness.

It was mid-September now—Arthur only remembered because Sean’s birthday had passed a few days back. Some of the gang had stayed up late, passing a bottle around the campfire, trading stories about the fiery Irishman. Arthur had stayed longer than most, his heart heavy with memories of laughter now silenced by a bullet.

The chill of fall was creeping in, carried by the night and lingering in the shadows, though the sun would soon burn it away. Arthur inhaled deeply, the crisp air filling his lungs, chasing away the stale dampness of the manor. For a fleeting moment, it felt good—clean. He let himself savor it, knowing the day ahead would likely choke him with its demands.

Dutch had a plan, as always. This time, a high-stakes card game aboard a river boat in the Saint Denis harbor. Every detail had to be perfect. No mistakes. No run-ins with the law. Not this time. That meant a shopping trip to the city with Trelawny, of all people, to gather supplies and scout the area. Dutch wanted every angle covered, every loose end tied tight.

And then there was Kate. Dutch had insisted she play a role in the job, her part pivotal to getting them through the door. Her cover? A famous Italian singer, the kind who’d catch the eye of the city's most elite. Arthur had protested—loudly. But Dutch was unyielding, Hosea backing him up with reassurances that it’d be fine, just like the mayor’s party. Arthur didn’t care much for that; polished shoes, fake smiles, and too many lies—but Kate had taken it all in stride, and she was confident she could do it again.

Arthur wasn’t so sure. He didn’t like the idea of her standing in the middle of it all, surrounded by strangers who wouldn’t think twice about exploiting her if things went wrong. But she was stubborn, determined to help the gang any way she could. Arthur had no choice but to pray he could change her mind in the next two days. If he couldn’t, he’d be right there beside her. No way in hell would he let her face it alone.

Lately, though, his worries stretched far beyond jobs and plans. He’d noticed the signs—Kate sleeping more, eating less, missing chores because of her headaches. The girls had told him as much, and Arthur knew the cause. Shady Belle was no place for someone like her. Sure, it had walls and a roof, but they were cracked and rotting, letting the rain and wind slip through. Mold crept up the corners, and the damp chill seeped into your bones at night. Arthur did what he could—pulling her close when the nights grew too cold, letting his body heat shield her from the worst of it. But it wasn’t enough. It ate at him, watching her put on a brave face, pretending she wasn’t struggling just to keep his worry at bay.

But he always worried. Now, with Dutch’s plan looming and Kate’s involvement hanging in the balance, the concern gnawed at him, heavy and relentless, like a stone pressing against his chest. He sighed, shifting his weight in the creaky old chair, debating whether to head back inside and kiss his woman goodbye before the day’s chaos swept him away.

Before he could move, the door creaked open, and Mary-Beth stepped out onto the porch. The young woman was wrapped in a heavy wool coat, her night chemise peeking out from underneath, and she held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a white envelope pinched between her fingers. Her other hand clutched her coat tightly against the morning chill.

“Mornin’, Arthur,” she greeted softly, her voice warm and familiar. “Figured I might find you out here.”

Arthur smiled, tipping his head in acknowledgment. “A fine mornin’ it is, Miss Mary-Beth.”

She handed him the coffee, and he accepted it with a grateful nod. The warmth seeped through his fingers, chasing away the lingering chill. If there was one thing about running all these damn jobs, it was the way the girls showed their appreciation in small but meaningful ways. It reminded Arthur why he kept going—why he fought so hard. Not just for himself, but for them, too.

Mary-Beth lingered as Arthur took a tentative sip of the bitter black coffee. Then, almost hesitantly, she extended the envelope toward him. “Letter came for you,” she said, her tone light but with a hint of something else—curiosity, maybe. “I think it’s from that woman.” The last two words carried a subtle edge.

Arthur chortled, raising an eyebrow as he took the envelope. “That woman, huh? You mean Mary Gillis?” He turned the letter over in his hands, the elegant script on the front unmistakable.

Mary-Beth pursed her lips. “Gillis? Thought you said she was married to some Linton fellow?”

Arthur sighed, suddenly feeling like he’d been cornered. “She um— well she was. Barry Linton. But he passed not too long ago.” His fingers found the edge of the envelope, ripping it open as he spoke.

Mary-Beth folded her arms, her gaze sharpening with interest. “Then tell me, Mr. Morgan, what’s this widow doing still writin’ to you?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, darlin’. That’s what I’m fixin’ to find out.” He unfolded the letter, but he could feel her eyes lingering.

“You best get along before Miss Grimshaw catches wind you’re up,” he added pointedly, trying to nudge her away without sounding outright rude.

Mary-Beth narrowed her eyes at him, clearly unimpressed by his attempt to dismiss her, but after a moment, she relented, turning back toward the door. “Alright, fine. But I’ll be keepin’ my eye on you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He chuckled under his breath as she disappeared into the manor, shaking his head at her audacity. Then, finally, he let his gaze fall to the letter in his hand, the words waiting for him like the clouds on the horizon:

My dear Arthur,

I hope this letter finds you well. I wanted to thank you for your help with Jamie. He and Daddy are still arguing, but I understand that Jamie is thinking of going back to college. Whatever happens, I believe you saved his life, and we are all truly grateful.

Oh, Arthur. I have made such a mess of my life, time and again. Why can I not change and be the woman I want to be? Why couldn’t you change and be a man and put down all those fantasies that cloud your judgment? Life is very confusing, and I see now that I am not very good at it.

I am afraid we have got ourselves in another mess. It’s not my fault, but I need your help. I’m staying at the Hotel Grand in Saint Denis. Oh, Arthur. I know it is wrong of me to ask you, but I have nobody else, and for what we had together, I beg of you, even though I am ashamed to do so.

Yours,Mary

Arthur sighed heavily, folding the letter with a deliberate care that belied the storm brewing inside him. He slid it into his satchel, the weight of it feeling heavier than any of the supplies or ammunition he carried. His jaw tightened as his gaze drifted out over the misty swamps, the sluggish waters reflecting a pale, muted sunrise. Mary Gillis. Always finding a way to haunt him, always pulling at the loose threads of a life he’d tried to leave behind.

The first time she’d called for his help, he’d nearly ignored her altogether. He’d wrestled with the question, torn between letting old flames die and doing what he thought might be the decent thing. It was Kate who’d convinced him in the end, her soft-spoken wisdom guiding him to answer the plea. "Helping others isn’t a weakness," she’d said, resting her hand on his, heart full of understanding. And so he’d gone. He’d helped Mary with her brother, with her troubles, and with it, he thought he’d finally put the past to rest.

But that was months ago. Months filled with battles, with losses, with a love that had rooted itself firmly in his chest and refused to let go. His heart belonged to Kate now, the woman who lay sleeping just upstairs, wrapped in the meager warmth of their shared cot. Whatever dreams Mary might still cling to, whatever fantasy she still entertained of what they once were, Arthur knew better. She’d signed the letter “yours,” but the truth was she had never truly been his.

They’d been just a couple of lovesick kids, foolish and reckless, trying to carve out a life in a world that seemed determined to keep them apart. Her father had despised him, calling him poor, unworthy, a scoundrel who’d ruin her. Maybe the old bastard had been right, in his own way. Mary, for her part, had always wanted him to change—begged him to leave his ways behind, to live a cleaner, safer life that had no place for a man like him.

He’d tried, God knows he’d tried, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Her rejection of his proposal had shattered whatever hope they’d built together, and they’d gone their separate ways, two hearts too stubborn to meet in the middle. At the time, Arthur had been furious, heartbroken. But with the years came clarity. She’d done the right thing by walking away, as much as it had gutted him. He’d have ruined her, and she’d have resented him for it.

Now, though, her reaching out again felt like opening an old wound that had barely scarred over. She must’ve been desperate to dredge up the past and call on him once more. Still, Arthur had made her a promise all those years ago—a promise to be there if she ever truly needed him. And damn it all, he’d meant it. But that didn’t make him regret those words any less now.

He sighed again, the sound heavy in the stillness, and turned back toward the house. His boots creaked softly on the steps as he ascended to the bedroom he shared with Kate. The air inside was quieter than the swamp outside, a hushed calm broken only by the occasional murmur of the gang stirring below.

Kate lay curled beneath their blanket, her hair splayed across the pillow in a tangled mess that caught the pale morning light. The sight of her tugged at something deep inside him—a mix of love and guilt that settled in his chest. She looked so peaceful, her face relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the restless energy she carried during the waking hours.

Arthur knelt beside the bed, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. He leaned in close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. Her skin felt warm against his lips. She stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent before settling again.

“Be back soon,” he whispered, his voice low and smooth.

For a moment, he lingered there, his hand resting on her shoulder as though drawing strength from the simple touch. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he straightened and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Whatever the day held, he’d face it. But as he made his way back down to the waiting world, he knew his thoughts would stay rooted here, with her. 

Always with her.

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Kate was lost in the throes of a feverish dream, her mind teetering on the edge of consciousness. Somewhere in the haze, she felt Arthur's lips brush against her temple—a fleeting touch that tethered her briefly to the safety of Shady Belle. But like water slipping through her fingers, she drifted away again, into a world both foreign and familiar.

She was standing in the bayou, its dark, twisting mangrove trees reaching like skeletal fingers toward a starless sky. Their roots dive far below the depths, peeking out in gnarled braids. There was no moon, yet the scene was bathed in an eerie glow, as if the shadows themselves emitted a pale, unnatural light. The air was thick and heavy, like the fever clinging to her skin, and she felt the weight of unseen eyes watching from just beyond the edges of her vision. Every time she turned, they vanished, retreating deeper into their dark spaces.

The cold water lapped at her thighs, the chill seeping through her soaked nightdress as it billowed around her legs like dissolving smoke. Shady Belle was nowhere to be seen, and she felt untethered, as though the world itself had abandoned her. She wanted to shout, to call Arthur’s name. But her mouth and tongue betrayed her, remaining silent in the oppressive quiet. Her mind grappled for meaning, but the logic of dreams offered no answers, only the inexorable thrill of what came next.

In a blink, the scene shifted, and she stood before an ancient, tortured looking willow tree. Its massive branches drooping low, their weight seeming to bow toward the water as if in devotion—or coercion. Devoid of color and leaves, it looked barren yet beckoning. The tree loomed impossibly large, its roots poking up through the earth as if it was trying to pry itself from the ground. They spread wide and deep, cradling something small and swaddled in a yellow fabric.

Kate’s body moved without her permission, her feet splashed forward sinking into the muck with every step, her hand outstretched toward the bundle. It pulsed faintly, as though alive, the fabric inexplicably dry and pristine despite the muddy water lapping at its edges. She knelt, her fingers trembling as they brushed the delicate cloth.

The earth beneath her began to quiver, a slow, rhythmic tremor that she realized was a heartbeat. It echoed in her chest, though strangely out of sync with her own, as if it belonged to something other. The sound grew louder, resonating in her bones, drowning out the hum of the bayou. It was steady and strong unlike her own, which began to falter under the pressure of uncertainty. 

This heartbeat was mighty.

With a deep breath, she peeled back the fabric. Expecting some fragile, living thing, she froze when all that lay within was a seed. Small, unassuming, nestled within the soft blanket—a peach pit.

A strange disquiet settled over her. What’s this doing here? she wondered, turning it over in her hand. She couldn’t explain why, but her mind immediately thought of Arthur. Before she could rise, a flash of light caught her eye. Looking up, her breath hitched.

Sunken into the tree’s ancient trunk was a mirror, its frame gnarled and alive, twisting like the roots that encased it. But the reflection that met her gaze wasn’t her own—or at least, not as she knew herself.

The woman in the mirror was her, but different. Healthier, fuller. Her hair was smooth and pinned in an elegant style, and she wore a fine dress—proper and clean, with no trace of the rough life Kate knew so well. But her expression was strained, her face marked by some deep, unspoken sorrow.

In her arms, the reflection cradled the same yellow bundle Kate had just unwrapped. The fabric was clean and vibrant, glowing softly as though untouched by the bayou's darkness. Kate looked on, and the image began to fade, its yellow hue leaching into dullness before her eyes.

"No," she whispered, a surge of desperation clawing at her chest. The mirror seemed to flicker, the image trembling as if on the verge of breaking apart. She dropped the seed into the water, her hands reaching out toward the reflection, pleading with it. Tears blurred her vision as her knees sank into the mud.

She clawed at the bark of the tree, her nails scraping against the wood as the mirror began to dissolve into the surrounding fog. The woman in the reflection lingered for just a moment longer, her pained eyes softened, and she smiled at Kate, before vanishing entirely.

As the last wisp of light faded, Kate’s gaze dropped. There, floating in the water before her, was the peach pit. It was glowing now, faintly golden, radiating outward as it nestled into her lap. Reaching down with cupped hands she felt its warmth, pulsing with the steady beat of her heart. Harmonizing, as if they were one.

A soft whisper reached her ears, though no voice could be seen or placed. The words were indistinct, like a lullaby carried on a distant breeze. Yet they filled her with an overwhelming peace, soothing the ache that had gripped her chest. Kate clung to the warmth, holding the seed close to her chest. 

The water began to rise, enveloping her body. But she held onto the tiny pit, clinging to the hope it offered her. Shielding it from the darkness as it swallowed them both. 

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The rhythmic clatter of Belle’s hooves against the cobblestone echoed through the bustling streets of Saint Denis, a steady cadence that drowned out the city’s chaos. The sharp clang of the trolley on its tracks, the overlapping shouts of merchants and passersby, even the piercing cry of a seagull overhead—all of it faded into the background. Arthur’s mind, however, was far from quiet. His thoughts churned, replaying the morning’s work, scanning for anything they might have missed. Anything that could tip their carefully planned mission into disaster.

Arthur and Trelawney had spent the better part of the day digging into every detail of the high-stakes card tournament scheduled aboard the Grand Korrigan the following evening. Trelawney and Strauss were confident they could fix the game in Arthur’s favor, but there was still much to learn. Who were the players? What were the stakes? And how could they infiltrate the riverboat without raising suspicion?

Trelawney, ever the charmer, had already secured the proper attire and spent hours mingling in the city’s seedier poker dens, listening to whispers and picking up useful scraps of information. Meanwhile, Arthur had taken to scouting the boat itself. He’d memorized its layout, noted its docking schedule, and kept a sharp eye on the captain and crew as they moved about their business. Every detail mattered, and Arthur was determined not to leave any stone unturned.

Lost in thought, Arthur rode back toward the heart of town to meet Trelawney at their arranged rendezvous. The weight of the mission sat heavy on his shoulders, his focus narrowing in on the steps ahead. So much so, he almost didn’t hear the voice calling out to him.

“Arthur!”

The shout was sudden, cutting through the din. Feminine, familiar.

He pulled Belle to a halt, glancing around until his eyes landed on a balcony just above street level. There she was—Mary Gillis, leaning eagerly against the railing, her face lit with a mixture of relief and excitement.

“Oh, Arthur, you came!” she called, waving as though the years between them had never passed.

Arthur stiffened in the saddle, his hand tightening slightly on Belle’s reins. He’d forgotten about her letter, about her request for help. Hell, he’d barely had time to think it over, let alone discuss it with Kate. The mission had consumed his every waking moment, and he’d figured he’d have a few days to sort it out—if he even decided to go at all. But now, fate had a way of forcing his hand.

He sighed deeply, the sound barely audible over the city’s noise. “Yeah, I, uh—I came,” he called back, the words tasting like regret the moment they left his mouth.

The smile on Mary’s face faltered slightly as she saw the frustration etched into Arthur’s expression. Her enthusiasm met the weight of his weariness, a stark contrast to the nostalgic hope that had brought her to this moment. She leaned on the hotel railing, her eyes fixed on him as though they could will away the years and pain between them.

"Wait right there, I’m coming straight down!" she called, disappearing into the building before Arthur could even open his mouth to protest.

He dismounted Belle with a heavy sigh, hitching her to the post outside. The doors of the Hotel Grand swung open moments later, and Mary rushed out, her steps hurried, her face alight with nervous energy.

"Arthur," she said again, softer this time, her tone steeped in wistfulness.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. "What is it you need this time, Mary?" His voice was steady but edged, cutting straight to the point. He didn’t want to linger, didn’t want to open doors he’d shut long ago.

Her expression faltered. "I can’t believe you came," she said, ignoring his question. Her voice carried a strange mix of gratitude and regret. "After everything…"

Arthur’s patience was thinning. He looked away, his gaze following a passing wagon down the street. "Sure, seems whenever you call, I come," he muttered, his tone clipped. "Now just tell me what’s goin’ on. I don’t have all day."

Mary took a hesitant step closer, clasping her hands in front of her. "It’s my daddy," she began.

Arthur let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Your father? Christ, Mary, I must be an even bigger fool than I thought."

"Please, Arthur," she pleaded, her voice trembling. "I know my daddy was always hard on you, but he was just trying to protect me. Can’t you see that? He wanted better for me than—"

"Better than me," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp, eyes narrowing. "That’s what you’re sayin’, ain’t it? Your father was never kind to me. He thought I was trash. Made damn sure I knew it, too."

Mary flinched but pressed on. "Your choices—Arthur, they—"

"What choice did I have!" he barked, rising with an anger that had been simmering for years. "You knew who I was, what my life was. I never left you, Mary. You walked away."

Her eyes welled with unshed tears, but Arthur didn’t let up, the wounds of their past bleeding fresh. "You think I don’t know why? You made the right call, I’ll give you that. But you don’t get to come back now and act like I’m your knight in shinin’ armor. I’m not. And I can’t be."

"Arthur, please," she begged. "You’re still the best man I’ve ever known. I wouldn’t be here asking you if I didn’t believe that."

He shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "You don’t know a damn thing about me anymore. You’re livin’ in some fantasy, Mary. Always have been. This pure life of yours? Your daddy’s still drinkin’ and whorin’ and gamblin’ away your money. Jamie’s nearly run off with some cult, and here you are, beggin’ me to fix it all."

Her lips quivered as she reached for him, but he stepped back, keeping the distance between them. "I’m sorry," she said quietly. "I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—I didn’t know who else to turn to."

Arthur sighed, his anger giving way to something softer, but no less resolute. He stared at her for a long moment, his voice low but firm when he finally spoke, feeling defeated. "This is the last time we meet like this Mary. I’m done doin’ your family favors."

Her eyes widened as she grasped the weight of his words. "Oh, Arthur…"

"I’ve got my own life to worry about now," he said, gentler but unwavering. "My own family. A woman who’s stood by me, who I’ve got a future with. That’s where I’m puttin’ my focus. Not on what might’ve been."

Mary’s breath hitched, and she turned away. "It wasn’t that I didn’t love you, Arthur," she whispered, thick with emotion. “You know that.” 

"Don’t," Arthur said quickly, voice tightening. "Don’t bring that up now. It’s done. We’re done."

She turned back to him, her expression desperate, but he didn’t waver. "Think of what we had," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Of what could’ve been."

Arthur shook his head, his voice firm even as his heart throbbed. "I’ve spent enough time thinkin’ about that, Mary. Now I’m thinkin’ about what I’ve got. And I’m not gonna throw it away for somethin’ that’s long gone."

Mary lowered her gaze, her fingers twisting together nervously. For a moment, silence fell between them, save for the distant clatter of wagon wheels and the murmur of city life around them. Arthur could see it—the shadow of the young woman she’d been, the glimmer of the love they once shared. That flicker hit him like a punch to the gut, stirring memories he’d buried deep.

He sighed, running a hand over his jaw, trying to shake the ache in his chest. Damn it all to hell, Arthur thought. Why was it always her?

Finally, he let out a long breath and stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched slightly at his touch, then turned to meet his gaze, her eyes hopeful and fragile all at once.

"Fine," Arthur muttered, his tone gruff and tinged with resignation. "But this is the last time, Mary. You hear me? The last damn time."

Her lips parted in surprise, and for a fleeting moment, her face lit up, though the weight of her troubles quickly returned. "Thank you, Arthur," she whispered.

He dropped his hand and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. "Don’t thank me yet. Just tell me what kinda trouble your daddy’s dragged himself into this time."

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

Stealing back the Gillis family brooch had proven to be an unseemly task, though far easier than Arthur had expected. The brooch had found its way into the hands of a pompous collector named Mr. Hugo Abernathy, a well-known figure in Saint Denis. Abernathy had a reputation for exploiting desperate gamblers, trading their losses for heirlooms and sentimental trinkets to add to his collection of gaudy treasures. Arthur didn’t know whether the man fancied himself a cultured gentleman or just another leech, but it didn’t matter. He’d made the mistake of crossing paths with Arthur Morgan. As satisfying as it might’ve been to rob the man blind, this wasn’t about profit—it was about keeping his word to Mary, no matter how reluctant he’d been to give it.

By the time Arthur handed over the brooch, the sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the bustling streets of Saint Denis. He walked Mary back to her hotel, his boots echoing dully against the cobblestone as he turned his thoughts toward camp. Toward Kate.

As if sensing his distraction, Mary broke the silence. “So,” she said lightly, “tell me about this woman who’s tamed your heart.”

Arthur huffed a quiet chuckle. “She’s far from taming it. Hell, I can’t even tame her sometimes.”

Mary laughed softly, but there was something wistful in her tone. “She sounds... spirited.”

“She is,” Arthur said, a rare softness creeping into his voice. “She’s somethin’ else, Mary. She don’t back down from nothing. She’s kind, too, in her own way. Got a way of makin’ me believe I might just be better than I’ve been.”

Mary hesitated, a flicker of something unspoken crossing her face. “And... she doesn’t mind what you do? The outlaw life, I mean. Doesn’t it... bother her? I can’t imagine it’s the life any woman dreams of.”

Arthur’s steps slowed, and his jaw tightened as the words sank in. He stopped, turning to face her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mary’s eyes widened, realizing her misstep, but she pressed on, perhaps emboldened by old familiarity. “I just mean... I tried to love you, Arthur. I really did. But that life you lead—it consumes everything. I just don’t see how anyone can truly be happy with it. Or with you.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly, as though the words had struck him like a blow. They pained him deeply, he already struggled with feeling unworthy of Kate’s affections. But it stung especially after what he had just done to save Mary’s family, again. A slow anger began to simmer in his chest. “Kate don’t see it that way,” he said firmly. “She sees me. For who I am. Not for what I’ve done or where I come from.”

Mary faltered, searching for the right response, but her silence said enough.

“That’s the difference, Mary,” Arthur continued, his tone sharpening. “You were always tryin’ to fix me, tryin’ to make me somethin’ I’m not. Kate... she doesn't ask for that. She just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “She loves me as I am.”

Mary looked away, a flush creeping into her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Arthur. I just... I suppose I wanted to understand what she sees in you. What I couldn’t see.”

Arthur let out a breath, long and heavy. “Maybe that’s just it,” he said quietly. “We were never meant to see eye to eye. You were always lookin’ for somethin’ I couldn’t give, and I was too stubborn to realize it.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the distance between them suddenly feeling insurmountable.

“Thank you,” Mary said finally, her voice soft and resolute. “For everything.”

Arthur nodded, his expression unreadable. “Take care, Mary.” Without another word, he turned and walked away, the sound of his boots fading into the din of the city.

As Arthur mounted Belle and rode back toward camp, a strange weight lifted from his shoulders. It was as though he’d finally closed a door he hadn’t realized had been open for far too long, letting the past linger like a ghost. Mary had been a symbol of what had always been out of reach—a life of quiet respectability, a pure life. A fantasy where he could be the man she thought he should be. But with every step Belle took, the clarity of his feelings grew. 

That life had never been meant for him. Mary had never been meant for him.

Mary had wanted a version of him that didn’t exist, a man who could walk away from the outlaw life and become something proper in the eyes of society. She’d seen his flaws as barriers, challenges to be smoothed over or removed entirely. That his past was something he could simply erase from his identity. She loved the idea of him, not the man himself. 

Kate, on the other hand, had never tried to change him. She had seen him at his worst—bloodied and bruised, hardened by the choices he’d made—and still, she’d chosen to love him. All of him. The good, the bad, and the downright ugly.

Kate didn’t just stand by his side; she rooted herself there in devotion. She didn’t demand perfection or moral absolution. Instead, she accepted the man he was and encouraged the man he was trying to become. She saw the good in him, even when he couldn’t see it himself. Kate understood that his scars, both visible and hidden, were part of what made him who he was. Where Mary had always sought to mend or reshape him, Kate simply held space for him to be, flaws and all. 

As the city lights of Saint Denis faded behind him, Arthur let out a deep breath, one he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. The ache of old memories had dulled, replaced by something warmer, steadier. He thought of Kate’s laugh, the way her eyes sparkled with mischief when she teased him, the strength in her voice when she pushed him to keep fighting for what mattered. She didn’t coddle him or let him wallow in self-pity. She challenged him, called him out, set him straight, and still, she stayed.

The realization struck him like a punch to the gut: Kate was his future. Not some imagined version of himself or a life he could never truly live. Kate was real, and she was waiting for him back at camp.

Arthur urged Belle into a faster trot, eager to leave Saint Denis behind. The past had its place, sure, but it wasn’t where he belonged. Not anymore. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt certain of his path. His future lay ahead with Kate—and he could hardly wait to seize it.

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The camp was alive with the warm hum of camaraderie as Kate sat cross-legged at the poker table, her cheeks flushed from laughter. The early evening sun dipped low on the horizon, casting a golden hue over Shady Belle as the group settled into their game. Hosea, ever the charming rogue, shuffled the deck with a flair, his mischievous grin growing as he eyed Kate's rapidly increasing pile of poker chips. 

Charles leaned back in his chair, sipping from a tin cup while Javier and Lenny exchanged jabs, their banter bringing easy laughter to the group.

“Now, Miss Kate,” Hosea drawled, dealing the cards with the finesse of a seasoned cheat, “you’d best not let that pretty smile fool us into thinking you don’t know what you’re doing. Although,” he added, nodding toward her hoard of chips, “I suspect the smile ain’t needed.”

Kate smirked, tossing a couple of chips into the pot. “Oh, trust me, Hosea. I don’t need my pretty smile to clean you out.”

A ripple of laughter swept over the table as Lenny slapped it. “She’s got you there, old man! She’s ruthless.”

“I’ll show you ‘old man,’” Hosea grumbled, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

Charles leaned in, his tone faux-serious. “Or maybe she’s just cheating.”

Kate gasped, placing a hand to her chest in mock offense. “The slander! Lies on my good name!”

“Good practice for tomorrow,” Javier said with a sly grin. “Maybe we should put her at the table instead of Arthur.”

The group erupted in laughter as the game continued, the teasing punctuated by moments of concentration. Kate reveled in the lightheartedness, the warmth of her companions easing the dull fatigue that had lingered all day. The strange dream she’d had still nagged at the edges of her thoughts, but the laughter and camaraderie helped soften its weight.

The sound of hooves approaching broke through the chatter, and all heads turned as Arthur dismounted Belle and strolled toward the group. Kate’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. 

“Arthur!” she greeted warmly, setting her cards down. “You’re back early. I thought you’d be out until dark.”

Arthur tipped his hat to the group, his gaze softening when it landed on her. With a small, fond smile, he bent to tilt back her hat and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, completely unbothered by the amused stares from the others. 

“Figured I’d better get back,” he said, his voice low but full of concern. “How’re you feelin’? Grimshaw ain’t been ridin’ you too hard, has she?”

Kate waved him off, trying to mask her weariness with a smile. “It’s alright, Arthur. Just needed a little rest, that’s all.”

Arthur stepped behind her chair, folding his arms as he watched the game unfold. “You want me to deal you in, son?” Hosea asked with a knowing smirk.

Arthur shook his head. “I’ll pass. Looks like y’all’ve got enough trouble at the table already.”

Three hands later, Arthur couldn’t help but notice Kate placing a high bet despite her lame cards. He frowned, leaning forward. “Hold on. Are you whipsawin’ Hosea?” He whispered loudly. 

Kate froze, turning to glare at him with mock indignation. “Arthur Morgan, I cannot believe you right now.”

The men at the table groaned as Charles threw his cards down. “Told you she was cheating,” he said, laughing.

“How’s she even doing it?” Lenny asked, his curiosity piqued. “You can’t squeeze a player by yourself.”

Kate rose with a huff, tossing her cards on the table and dramatically pointing across at Javier. “Ay, pequeño diablo!” Javier threw his hands up in mock innocence. “I swear, it was her idea!”

Lenny leaned back, shaking his head with feigned annoyance. “Can’t believe you’d do Hosea dirty like that. Poor old man.”

Arthur burst into laughter as realization dawned. “You two teamed up on Hosea? Of all people?”

Hosea chuckled, putting a hand to his heart. “I’m touched, truly.”

Kate grinned, collecting her chips and dumping them in her satchel. “No hard feelings,” she said, pushing in her chair, and flicking her hat in a playful farewell.

“You’ve learned from the best,” Hosea replied with a laugh.

Kate looped her arm around Arthur as he wrapped a hand around her waist. “I think it’s time I turned in,” she said, her voice softening as the laughter behind her began to fade.

“Goodnight, Kate,” Charles said with a small nod, echoed by Lenny and Hosea.

Javier smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Sleep well, card shark. Don’t let Arthur keep you up too late.” He winked playfully, “we got a big day tomorrow.”

Arthur shot him a warning glance but chuckled, steering Kate toward the house. “They’re gonna have your name runnin’ through camp by morning,” he teased.

“Good,” Kate replied with a smirk. “Keeps things interesting.”

 ━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The climb up the creaking, weathered staircase to their bedroom was quiet, the kind of silence that wrapped around two people who didn’t need words to fill the space between them. Arthur walked just behind Kate, his gaze focussed on her every movement. 

Up close he noticed the faint pallor in her cheeks. She was good at hiding it, but he could tell she was still feeling unwell. He ran a hand over his jaw, searching for the right way to bring it up without discouraging her mood. Listening to her laughter and the childish banter with Hosea and the other guys struck a chord in his heart. He didn’t want anything to ruin her happiness. But this next job, coupled with her abating strength loomed over his consciousness. Arthur couldn’t let it go. 

As they reached the landing, Arthur cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “Darlin’, I gotta talk to you about somethin’.” He was soft, cautious, but it was clear this wasn’t something he could brush aside.

Kate stopped just shy of opening the bedroom door, turning to face him with an arched brow. “That sounds ominous.”

Arthur gave her a crooked smile, his hat in his hands, but before he could continue, Kate pushed the door open—and gasped.

Hanging from a shelf inside the room was an elegant black and gold dress, the fabric catching the dim light like liquid fire. Beside it hung a sleek black suit and a matching golden ascot tie—Trelawney’s handiwork, no doubt. Arthur recognized the attire immediately, part of the plan for the riverboat job, and an uncomfortable weight settled in his chest. 

This wasn’t the first risky scheme they’d run, but something about involving Kate this time gnawed at him. The mayor's garden party had been a simple play to gather information. It had gone smoothly enough, but this felt different. The stakes were higher, the dangers more evident. Kate would be shoved in the spotlight. Open, and vulnerable. 

This wasn’t just another job with the gang. In the past, Arthur would dive into missions headfirst, guns blazing and ready to handle whatever chaos came his way. He’d learned to adapt, to put on a show when things went south, always prepared to claw his way out of trouble. But this time was different. This time, he had something to lose.

Kate wasn’t just another member of the gang. She was a light in the darkness, a reason to hope in a world that so often felt too heavy to bear.

Arthur's unease wasn’t just about her safety—it was about what her involvement represented. Every lie, every con, every dangerous move Dutch made, Arthur could swallow it. It was a part of the life he'd chosen. But dragging Kate into that world, risking her for the sake of their schemes, felt like a line he was dangerously close to crossing. One that gambled with her life. 

She deserved better than this, Arthur knew it was not the future he wanted for her. Yet here she was, caught up in it all because of him. Because Kate is too stubborn to let him take on the world alone. The thought of something going wrong made him feel sick. 

Kate stepped forward, running her fingers lightly over the dress, her expression equal parts awe and amusement. “Well, I’ll be damned. Trelawney certainly has an eye for style,” she murmured.

Arthur crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah, an eye for flair and trouble. This don’t change how I feel about you being involved in it.”

Kate turned to him, her playful grin fading as she caught the concern etched into his face. “Arthur,” she began softly, already sensing where this was headed, “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that?” he pressed, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. “You ain’t been feelin’ fine these past few days. You think I don’t notice how pale you’ve been lookin’, or how you’ve been tryin’ to hide it from me? I’m worried about you.”

“I told you, it’s nothing serious,” Kate said, though the edge in her voice betrayed her. 

“Darlin’, it’s serious to me.” Arthur stated. 

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince Arthur or herself. Her thoughts drifted back to the dream she’d had that morning, the edges of it now hazy, like a half-remembered melody. She could recall flashes—shadows moving like whispers, an overwhelming warmth, and a sense of being drawn toward something she couldn’t quite remember. The dream’s meaning eluded her, slippery and incomprehensible, but it left behind a strange, fluttering feeling in her chest, like the stirrings of anticipation or fear.

Maybe it was just the lingering effects of the fever, or perhaps something more. Kate had noticed subtle changes in her body—a creeping fatigue that left her feeling weaker than usual, a loss of appetite, and persistent headaches that seemed to come and go. She brushed it off as nothing serious, likely just a common cold. After all, a little sickness had never slowed her down before.

She squared her shoulders, meeting his eyes. “I can pull my weight, Arthur. I always have.”

Arthur sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “It ain’t about pullin’ your weight hon. You’ve got nothin’ to prove to me or to anyone else. I don’t want you pushin’ yourself too hard, not for something like this.” He gestured toward the dress, his voice softening. “If somethin’ goes wrong on that boat…”

Kate crossed the room and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “It won’t. Hosea’s got this all planned out to the last detail. I just have to sing a few songs while you win a couple rounds. I’ll be careful, I promise.”

The fact that Kate rehearsed things with Hosea brought him a sense of calm, but still his anxiety festered. Arthur held her gaze, his deep blue eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt.

 “I just hate that Dutch is puttin’ you in the lion's den while your vulnerable. You mean everything to me, Kate,” he said quietly. “I don’t want a future without you in it.”

Kate smiled faintly, her fingers brushing against his cheek as his warm hands enveloped her waist, squeezing them like he was testing if she were real or just his wild imagination.

“I’ll make you a deal, alright?” she resolved. “After this, I’m done. No more schemes, no more jobs. I’ll tell Dutch I’m out of commission.”

Arthur’s lips quirked into a soft smile, though the worry didn’t fully leave his face. She had made up her mind. “I’ll hold you to that,” he muttered, pulling her into a gentle embrace.

She rested her head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. “I know you will,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

As they stood in the quiet room, the soft glow of the lantern illuminated the dress and suit like relics from a story neither of them wanted to live, an unwelcome reminder of the weight of the world outside. Arthur tilted his head, his lips brushing against Kate’s hairline with a tenderness that belied the tension coiled in his chest. His hand traced slow, deliberate circles along the small of her back, grounding him as much as it soothed her. 

For a moment, Kate closed her eyes and leaned into him, the warmth of his body chasing away the lingering unease of her dream. Flashes of it teased the edges of her mind—a heartbeat, a pull she couldn’t quite explain. She opened her eyes and pulled back slightly, her hands resting on his chest where she could feel his heart, steady and strong. 

“You’re too good to me, you know that?” she teased, though the mischief in her eyes couldn’t entirely hide the vulnerability beneath. 

Arthur let out a soft snort, his lips quirking into a smirk that made her stomach flutter. “Darlin’, I think you got that backward.” He leaned down to nudge her nose with his, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “I don't know what a man like me did to deserve a woman like you.”

Her laughter was quiet, intimate, the kind that warmed Arthur to his core and chased away the heaviness he carried. She moved her hands to his shoulders, her fingers tracing the lines of his shirt like she was memorizing him. For a moment, all the worry and fear melted away. 

“You know,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a playful whisper, “you could try on the suit—” She bit her lip, her lashes lowering as she glanced up at him, a soft blush coloring her cheeks.“And recreate that night we had in Saint Denis.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow, giving her a skeptical look, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. “What, you’re tellin’ me this doesn’t have it’s charm?” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to his body and clothes. His tone was laced with mock arrogance, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed his act.

Kate pressed herself against him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Absolutely,” she murmured, her voice softer now, her lips hovering close to his. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, her breath mingling with his. “I want you just as you are.”

Arthur’s grin widened, his hands sliding up her sides to cradle her face. His thumbs brushed her cheeks as he leaned closer, his voice a rough murmur. “Then what are we waitin’ for, to hell with the suit.”

Kate didn’t give him a chance to say more. Standing on her toes, she captured his mouth in a kiss, slow and deliberate. Arthur stilled for only a heartbeat, then surrendered, his hands tightening on her waist as he kissed her back with a fervor that made her knees weak. The world outside the room seemed to vanish, the faint sounds of camp life fading into nothing. All that mattered was the way her lips moved against his, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way her body molded perfectly to his, like they’d been made for this.

His tongue brushed along her bottom lip, and Kate moaned softly, her hands sliding to his collar to tug him closer. Their movements grew more eager, more desperate, as they peeled away layers of clothing, discarding them without breaking their connection. Arthur felt his need for her aching between his legs, and he couldn’t stop himself from guiding her backward to the cot. He followed her down, his weight pressing her into the mattress as he ground his hips against hers, drawing a breathless gasp from her lips.

Arthur broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, his stubble scraping lightly against her sensitive skin. Each kiss was unhurried and reverent, as though he were memorizing her taste. He reached the curve of her collarbone, then lower, his mouth finding a peaked nipple. He captured it between his lips, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, and Kate arched into him, a soft cry spilling from her mouth.

Her fingers tangled in his hair as his kisses continued downward, his warm breath ghosting over her stomach. She shivered beneath him, flashes of her dream surfacing again—the heartbeat, the magnetic pull, the sense of inevitability. When he kissed her navel, she swore she could feel it again, that same unshakable connection.

Arthur paused, his lips hovering over her skin as he looked up at her. “You alright, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice thick with concern and raw desire. His hands caressed her thighs, grounding her in the moment.

Kate laughed breathlessly, her heart racing so fast she thought he might feel it. “I am now,” she whispered, her voice trembling with affection and longing.

Arthur chuckled, low and warm, the sound vibrating against her skin. His hands slid down to lift her thighs, spreading her open for him. She gasped softly as she felt his warm breath against her most sensitive spot, her fingers tightening in his hair.

“I think I can help with that,” he drawled, his grin turning devilish before he lowered his head and pressed a kiss where she needed him most.

Kate’s body tensed at the first touch of his tongue, her head falling back as a moan escaped her lips, unrestrained and raw. That sound, coupled with the sensations Arthur was drawing from her, made her chest tighten with something beyond pleasure. The rhythm from her dream returned, steady and certain, like a heartbeat resonating deep within her soul. It wasn’t just her body responding to him; it was her heart, her entire being. Arthur’s mouth moved with a precision that wasn’t hurried but deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world to explore her, to love her in a way that felt eternal. 

Every touch was a silent vow. A tangible expression of holy devotion, a sacred need that left her trembling beneath him, utterly lost yet feeling more whole than ever.

As the pleasure surged and overwhelmed her, Kate swore she could feel that heartbeat echo in her chest, pulsing with a meaning she didn’t fully understand but instinctively trusted. This moment wasn’t just an escape from the dangers of tomorrow; it was an anchor, a reminder of what truly mattered. What they were fighting for; their future.  Kate cried out his name, the sound trembling with passion and something deeper. Hope. In Arthur’s touch, in his unspoken promises, she knew that whatever lay ahead, there was hope for a future beyond this. For now, she let herself fall into his love, into the steady rhythm that promised her not just comfort but a forever she hadn’t dared to dream of.

AN: I know this chapter and the last one probably feel a little repetitive in the way they're structured; Arthur goes out, Kate is left at camp, and then they come together at night. But I promise the next chapter will include them together. I think you all know what mission is coming up....

Suffice to say, I think I've got the rest of this fic laid out. Well at least I have the bones, I've just been adding the meat as I go along. But it will be 35 chapters, with 2 epilogue chapters (37 total). It feels so far away, yet close at the same time. I wonder if I'll finish this before it hits the one year anniversary in March! ♥️

[margowritesthings]

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm. 

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds. 

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk? 

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?” 

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.” 

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection. 

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day. 

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet. 

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known. 

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to. 

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp. 

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees. 

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception. 

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man. 

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit. 

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder. 

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one. 

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers. 

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon. 

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.” 

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly. 

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down. 

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you. 

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him. 

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-” 

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them. 

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” 

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen. 

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.” 

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there. 

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways. 

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger. 

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt. 

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will. 

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over. 

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear. 

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted. 

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

[verdemoun]

that scene where milton and ross show up at clemens point and tell dutch they only want him but then kierans like “what if we give you colm odriscoll” and theyre like sure that works and they do that

this would most likely lead to the typical 'if the vdls were all alive who would actually be able to give up being an outlaw and settle down' dilemma

this did however make me kick my feet and giggle over the idea of the gang being forced to do a 180 because they actually realise kieran has a whole lot of power

in short: even if they had a deal with the pinkertons not being outlaws would be a condition and dutch is such a garbage power hungry vain person he wouldn't be able to help himself and end up jeopardizing the deal for everyone who WAS able to settle down. like rdr1 but with a proper 50:50 of the gang hunting down the other members of the gang who stayed with dutch in an effort to buy back the right to live free

but have you considered kieran having the sudden confidence to confront milton and ross because because he was actually an undercover agent with the og bureau: the classic fbi agent arrested by stupid cops

milton and dutch having their legendary stare down as the entire gang draw their weapons after dutch said he would go peacefully and kieran just finally groans and rolls his eyes because 'that was a pretty damned good deal but how about we give you colm o'driscoll and you let these 'murders and lowlifes' carry on their merry way if they promise not to - i don't know - rob anymore ferries??'

in the time it takes most of the bewildered gang to turn to kieran, who looks bored, and has holstered his weapon: ross is sweating a lot more than the lemoyne air should make anyone sweat and agent milton has goosebumps. 'what are you doing here' 'it's a long story. now how about we actually sit down and talk about this civilised'

kieran whistles to branwen, who calmly trots his way into camp almost going straight over micah bell. from the ratty saddle bags attached to a barely kept together saddle, kieran pulls out a badge, a very fanciful looking ID, and hundreds of photos of colm, the vdls, the braithwaites and fucking angelo bronte having tea with catherine braithwaite when the gang still just think that's a funny looking italian feller and haven't actually put a name to the face.

with only dutch, hosea, milton, ross and kieran duffy mediating, there is a back and forth of wit and snark and entire time kieran is there actually talking confidently, boredly, snarking at both 'respective' parties and making arguments about legal loopholes hosea didn't even know existed. then there's silence, milton shakes dutch's hand, and milton, ross and kieran ride off. and everyone is asking what the fuck just happened. hosea says they wait. yes jack's missing, yes they just burned down a manor, yes the pinkertons know where camp is but they stay and they wait until kieran tells them otherwise. the whole van der linde gang waiting for the word of kieran stableboy duffy

and three days later, kieran duffy rides back into camp with a very excited jack who can't wait to explain spaghetti and the dozen words of italian he learned to his parents with seemingly no idea how terrified they were. kieran kicks over a crate, gives himself a little box to stand on as he reads through dozens of pages of terms and conditions.

thanks to the unwitting work of the van der linde gang, the pinkertons and bureau were able to arrest colm, fat tommy, a half dozen other high ranking o'driscolls wanted for a collective thousand murders. they also were able to arrest angelo bronte and all his minions, severing a major international weapons dealing and money laundering operation. their reward? slate is wiped clean.

obviously, the gang are banned from ever setting foot in blackwater again. dutch is expected to be a polite and docile law abiding citizen the rest of his life. no more cons for hosea, arthur is also banned from going with 600ft of saint denis because no one should be able to accidentally trample 4 people and leave one man dead galloping through side streets. turns out that guy a wanted criminal anyway. otherwise? bounties forgiven. crimes washed away or otherwise explained as justifiable. javier esuella is an american citizen with his outstanding warrants in mexico not recognized by any us state. bill's dishonorable discharge was changed to 'other'. any members of the gang younger than 20 were given $150 to cover the tuition fee to a college of their choice and a letter of recommendation. everyone else was free to do as they wished, as long as they don't commit a crime big enough to come to either agencies' attention ever again.

well, except micah. the bureau still wanted micah, who arthur is only too happy to truss up like a thanksgiving turkey and deliver to the nearest police station

and if the gang chose to stick together (as strongly suspected they would) they were stuck with agent duffy, who was legally obligated to inform agencies if dutch started making stupid plans again (but if it was a good plan - which agent duffy may or may not have been allowed to advise on to help them not break their contract with the bureau - then what was the harm?).

the gang head west happy and free and definitely still committing much smaller scale robberies for the thrill. kieran discovers he prefers being called o'driscoll to rat king but at least he finally got his own bedroll

[azures-bazar]

Fairest of Them All

That's a long one, I'm being quite busy these days because of my new job so let's say my mistakes are mostly due to me writing this by night :') Remember, I'm French and I'm terribly sorry for my humble grammar.

I'm even roasting French champagne here lol

Female reader this time, I'd love to make a male version someday ! Next one will be a Kieran x GenderNeutral!Reader one shot (if I have time) !

Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader 

Word count : 2.5k

Short summary : You were invited to the Mayor’s party along with Dutch, Hosea and Arthur. However, you were tasked to arrive a some time after them. 

A/Note : First female fiction, let’s give this a try ! This is basically taking place during The Gilded Cage mission, with slight changes.

Tags : beautiful red dress, fireworks, chapter 4, Arthur is absolutely thrilled, all eyes on you, love, you are BEAUTIFUL (yes)

What a peculiar party ! This is what Arthur thought while looking around, lost among all these guests, all dressed up for the occasion. He analysed mens silhouettes, their top hats and fancy suits, some of them wore gloves while drinking this expensive champagne common people could never afford. According to Mayor Lemieux, who could be heard nearby, he had ordered these fancy bottles from France. Arthur had tried some of it and, unfortunately, it was not as good as he thought… but not many folks would ever have the opportunity to taste such an expensive beverage ! He would have been a fool not to try it, it was probably his only chance. Despite looking exactly like a man from the upper class, holding his glass of champagne while trying to take part to a random conversation, Arthur felt mostly uncomfortable.

Arthur quickly glanced at women around him, wearing their most sumptuous dresses. The shapes of their bustles were exactly the same, their sleeves were mostly large and puffy, giving the illusion that their waists were quite small. Some of them wore extravagant accessories, pearl necklaces, rings and bracelets along with feathers or flowers in their hair, while men were mostly displaying their extravagance in tiny details like golden pocket watches, silky cravats or brooches attached to the top of their black jackets. Arthur felt like an intruder, a stranger. Dutch and Hosea had a natural ease with these people, even Bill was trying his best to fit in ! But Arthur was not, he could not. 

"What a nice party !" a woman said. "This champagne is remarkable !"

"Indeed it is !" a man sounded. "It comes straight from France ! "

People kept talking around him, this overwhelming crowd made it uneasy to focus on what he had to do. Retrieve informations for Bronte would be quite difficult as his attention was triggered by every single sound he heard : clinging glasses, footsteps and laughs were quick for him to feel lost. He kept glancing around him to see if Hosea was nearby. Dutch would frequently check on him while still trying his best to keep up in many conversations, but Arthur felt like a child lost in a crowd of people dressed in fancy outfits, deeply wishing to go home. Yes, he wanted to go back to Shady Belle and lay on his bed, he didn’t even want to be here ! 

Meanwhile, you entered the mansion and were quickly greeted by Angelo Bronte, was surrounded by his men. He had expressly told Dutch to bring you along. Your presence was requested, Dutch obliged and sent you and the girls to Saint-Denis' tailor to get you one of the most beautiful dresses the shop could offer. You had first suggested to wear Molly’s dress, but the latter was already jealous enough for you to feel bad about your invitation. Molly possessed this beautiful black and green dress with golden layers which could fit you but was told by Dutch that she would not come with them. You were there to witness her sudden sadness as you were leaving with the girls to get dressed in a bedroom they rented in Saint-Denis. 

"Looking good in this dress, Miss Y/SN." Bronte said

This dress was large but beautiful, looking quite similar to the ones worn by the beginning of the decade, if not even prior. The back of its skirt was quite puffy, reminiscing of the bustle era from the late 1860s, but Tilly managed to make it look a little more modern to fit the current fashion standards. It had four shades of red with white layers and a nice ivory bow holding your waist. Your shoulders were bare, but you did not mind much. Mary-Beth had crafted you a matching necklace and managed to steal Molly’s black gloves to complete your gorgeous attire. Your corset was tight, but you did not care. In fact, you felt great in this dress. 

"Your acolytes have arrived." Bronte restarted. "You may join them." 

"Am I late ?" you asked

"Certainly not." 

The girls had managed to get someone to give you a proper ride to the Mayor’s house, wishing you luck. Bronte was already there, waiting for you. He kissed your gloved hand and placed it on his arm, guiding you through the entrance hall of the house towards the back garden. You nervously glanced around, observing this beautiful and large mansion, still keeping an eye on Bronte’s overall behaviour. You had a knife attached to one of your thighs, nobody would suspect such a beautiful lady enough to ask you to lift your dress up to show them if you were hiding any weapons underneath. In order to avoid any doubts regarding your presence, Bronte had mentioned that you were his niece and that he wanted you to get more familiar to Saint-Denis’ high society. You knew about that as soon as he introduced you to a man in the back of the Mayor’s mansion. 

"This is my niece, Viola." Bronte smiled as the other man kissed your hand 

"Viola…?" you whispered, quickly sending an awkward glance towards Bronte’s men 

"What a beautiful niece you have here, Signor Bronte !" the man smiled. "I hope you will enjoy this party, Mademoiselle."

You had no time to respond, Bronte had dragged you to the door leading to the back garden. You grumbled a little, feeling uncomfortable. You did not look like him, how could anyone believe the two of you were related ? You sighed as Bronte’s men opened the door, allowing you finally get to the garden. People were suddenly rendered silent to the sight of Bronte holding you under his arm. 

Quite surprised by the sudden lack of talks which had been overwhelming for endless minutes, Arthur turned back to the doors and gasped. As he noticed you, holding Bronte’s arm with the most confused face he had ever seen, his heart suddenly stopped beating. You hated dragging everyone’s attention on you, and people’s silence made you feel uneasy, despite the music was still being played. Arthur watched Bronte whisper something to your ear and gently push you forward, you went downstairs as people restarted chatting. However, Arthur was, once and for all, lost in his deepest thoughts. 

While looking at you going downstairs in your beautiful red dress, Arthur felt like time had stopped. He could no longer hear people talk around him, some of them were nearly gone. The rest of the world did no longer exist to his eyes, and the only clear thing he could see was you. You, beautifully joining the rest of the guests, shyly turning your face down, unable to look at these people. Arthur only had eyes for you, only you. Your beauty had made him loose his composure, he kept his eyes wide open as you finished your descent, gently grabbing a glass of champagne a waiter had quickly presented to you. 

"Jesus Christ…" Arthur mumbled 

You were beautiful, so beautiful ! This dress suited you so much and was so flattering, your hairstyle was perfect… everything Arthur could see led him to think he was looking at the most beautiful angel of a Renaissance painting. Only you, Tilly and Mary-Beth had the opportunity to see the dress, leaving Arthur, Dutch, Hosea and Bill mesmerised by the way it suited you. Arthur wanted to run to you and compliment you. He loved the way you looked, the way you walked around, the way you were holding yourself. Despite noticing how uncomfortable you were, Arthur was baffled by your capacity to act like a woman of Saint-Denis’ high society ! 

Dutch and Hosea were proud of the way you acted, they had taught you right. Since your arrival, back where you were in your mid-teens, Hosea had taught you to perform scams, but also to behave depending on your surroundings. You were a chameleon, taught so well that nobody could have guessed your true nature. Even you felt strange when you had first looked in the mirror after putting this dress on !

Arthur was about twenty-five when you came and had always been friendly towards you. He had seen you grow and mature into the woman you were that day. However, your relationship had been quite peculiar since a few months, as Arthur had appeared to display evident signs of attraction towards you, awkwardly offering you flowers he would leave by your tent or drawings he would hide under your pillow. That Blackwater incident had brought the two of you much closer, enough for you not to bother about kissing him before the rest of the gang anymore. However, that night, you had to forget about this idea. 

Arthur was dragged out of his thoughts by a man gently tapping his shoulder. In fact, he had completely stopped his sentence in the middle of a conversation about Wapiti Indians. He softly apologised to the group of people surrounding him, taking a step back. In no way could he not go and, at least, break Dutch’s command and talk to you. He could not avoid it, you were like a magnet, waiting there alone by the gazebo. 

"‘Scuse me." Arthur said, walking away

You could not hold your smile as you noticed Arthur walking towards you, his eyes wide open, unable to look away. How beautiful you were, even sipping some champagne, finding its taste rather common and not worth these compliments people kept making about it and its provenance. Arthur stood before you for a second, so mesmerised by your beauty that he could not even say a word, his smile being so sweet and genuine that it made you chuckle at little. You knew you had won his heart just by looking at him.

"Good evening, Miss." Arthur said, gently taking your gloved hand to kiss it 

"Sir." you smiled back 

"M-may I say… you look gorgeous tonight, Miss." 

"Thank you, Sir."

Arthur smiled even more. People started dancing waltz near you, you gently placed your glass on the nearest table and caught Arthur's hand to dance with him. He was terrified, for some reason. Terrified and thrilled to dance with you. He was good at it, Dutch had taught him some easy moves back when he was younger, but your beauty was quick to make him loose his self control. He placed his hand on your waist and started dancing with you while people minded their own business, except Dutch. Despite you looked absolutely adorable together, Arthur had disobeyed his orders. The two of you had different tasks for the night, you were not even supposed to talk to each other… but it was too late. 

"Enjoyin’ the party, Miss Y/SN ?" Arthur asked 

"It’s Miss Bronte for tonight, Sir." you calmly responded with a quick wink. "Viola Bronte."

"Oh, didn’t know Signor Bronte had relatives in Saint-Denis, Viola Bronte."

"Me neither."

The two of you chuckled, looking into each other’s eyes for a moment while dancing. Arthur would have wanted to dance all night long with you, he would have wanted to be alone with you. Just the two of you. You were like a star to his eyes, the most beautiful star, she most shiny one. Among these women, only you had caught Arthur’s whole attention. Your attitude, posture, attire… there was no doubt, he loved you. You were the fairest of them all. 

You kept looking into his starry eyes, his smile was the beautifulest gift he could offer you. His puppy glance and sweet facial expression were worth everything, it was hard to resist to the temptation to kiss him right away. In fact, it had always been hard not to give up and do whatever he wanted, his eyes would win you over anytime ! 

"You’re beautiful." he said, blushing a little 

You were like magnets, unable to be taken away from each other. Nobody could separate you in your dance, not even fireworks which were launched by the end of this modernised version of one of Bach’s symphonies. You quickly turned to the sky to watch them, your mouth remained half opened as you did not even notice you were still holding onto Arthur’s hand. Neither you nor him could take your eyes away from the fireworks, you kept smiling while looking at them until Dutch passed by you, giving Arthur the task to subdue some papers while you had to distract the maids. 

"Get inside, lovebirds." he said. "Don’t get caught, we’ve got papers to retrieve."

The two of you went back inside but neither you nor Arthur could hold it any longer. As soon as got hidden into the Mayor’s office after closing all doors around you, Arthur quickly walked to you and took you by the waist, giving you the most passionate kiss he could offer. Waiting for so long to finally be able to hold you against him… was a hard thing to endure ! 

You held his face between your hands, running your fingers through his short beard. He even applied some Cologne ! You felt his tongue crossing yours, making you shiver of excitement. This was obviously not the best place for the two of you to do something… beyond your tasks, but you still allowed Arthur to run his hands on your thighs while gently pressing your lips against his. Your heart rate increased as you heard someone walk past the room, causing Arthur to jump back from you and crouch under the desk, dragging you with him while chuckling. 

"Is there someone here ?"

"Get down !" he whispered 

One of Bronte’s men had just walked into the room. Arthur kept his finger on his smiling mouth while holding you close to him, waiting for the footsteps to vanish in the distance. The two of you felt like children playing hide and seek, but the festivities had to stop, unfortunately. As Arthur took your hand to help you going leaving your hiding spot, he gently kissed the top of your head. 

"Let’s go home, sweetheart." he whispered, taking your hand. "We’ll continue what we started there."

to be continued, maybe -

[makriiii]

Wary accord (Arthur morgan × f!reader)

Summary: Invited to Angelo Bronte's garden party, you couldn't see anything fairing well. However, as the evening fades to night, and nothing goes wrong, you let yourself enjoy it more than you planned.

Word count: 3.4k

Authors notes: This is just a one-shot with heavily referenced themes from my ongoing series rn - Caught. I had to take a break from writing hardcore and unadulterated angst. ☠️ I'm also open to any suggestions, so send them in! ;)

Warnings/tags: Lots of fluff, 90% sfw, mentions of wounds, guns, some angst.

Ao3!

Pt1 to Caught!

♡

Wary Accord.

Jack ran into his fathers arms with glee, you were just as happy as he was that he was safe and okay.

You were sure this night would've ended in blood shed. Instead, you begrudgingly had to do Bronte's dirty work, handling some grave robbers with Arthur and John.

You didn't much enjoy partaking in being nothing more than a lackey, especially for someone like Angelo Bronte. This made even worse when you heard what Dutch had to say.

"Mr. Bronte has invited us to a garden party at the mayors house." He announced, still seeming unbelieving in the invite himself whilst he chuckled. "And us, just simple country folk."

This didn't delight you, fully willing to stay behind that day if you could, but you feared something might go awry and it'd be best if you were there to help. You felt much with Arthur and John there. Plus, that Dutch. He has his way with his words, and you trusted those words.

-

You'd been busy helping Pearson all day, the whispers of dusk finally upon the camp. Ready to relax, you sat up against a tree near Hosea looking forward to dinner when you were suddenly startled awake by Dutch.

"Come on!" He shrieked, "If we are gonna make it to this party, we sure as shit better clean up a little."

The party. You'd completely forgotten about the party. Your original plans for the night squandered.

"So we're doing this?" Arthur asks, disbelieving you were to actually attend.

"Oh yeah." Hosea acknowledged. "Old friend Dutch Van der linde has finally shown his true colours." He teases.

Hosea could always make you smile, if not full on laugh. "Social climbing." He states flatly.

"Old Signor Bronte, that horrendous snake has invited us to the ball, Cinderella." He addressed to Arthur. You'd be sure to tease him with that later on.

"So my suggestion is we go and get you a gown." He chuckles, Hosea laughing along with him.

While they walk by, you try not to catch attention, putting ur hat lower over your face, to which Hosea comes over and flicks it off.

"You too y/n. We don't want to insult Mr. Bronte." Hosea chimes in front of you chuckling softly.

You got up hesitantly to travel into town with them, knowing your fate long since been sealed.

-

Your mares gait matched Arthur's. It wasnt long since you had made it into town with a group of people you never saw yourself attending a ball with.

"Arthur?" You glance to your side to see if you had his attention.

His eyes met yours instantly when you asked his name oh-so-calmly. "What is it?"

"Have you been to a ball before?"

"No," he gives you an airy laugh. "Not too many people like me have."

"Well, I hope you know how to behave then." You poked fun at him, your usual goal.

"Yeah? And what would you know about behaving?"

"More than you I reckon. We'll see who gets booted out quickest."

"Deal." He jokes, nodding with a funny look on his face.

"You know, I hope it's not too costly, I don't see another occasion that I'll use a dress again." You murmured, trailing off into your thoughts, counting the money you had now in your head.

"I can see that," he coughs a laugh out, looking you up and down. "I've never seen you in somethin' so fancy."

Your brows furrow, knowing the meaning behind his tease.

"I'd like to see you run around in a thick skirt, Morgan. I don't think you'd be so tough anymore." A grin splits across your face as the image of him with a skirt on whilst chasing someone down on foot crosses your mind.

"You doubt me too much." He fights back a small smile that tugs at his lips. "I could outdo you first try."

You started giggling when the little Arthur in your head tripped over and tumbled in response to his bet.

He raises a brow, questioning your sudden fit of laughter with just a glance.

"You wanna take me up on that offer? We'll race." Then, you thought of bringing heels into the equation.

You stopped him before he went to speak in between wheezes, adding the heels into the challenge. Now he didn't look so confident.

"If you can find a pair of heels that would fit me." He couldn't help but give up on his faked seriousness, all while you couldn't contain yourself.

You looked down to his feet, wiping tears from your eyes as you observe his feet.

"Don't think there's any that'd fit your fat feet."

"Well then, You're outta' luck ain't ya."

You exhaled sharply, calming your chest after all that cackling. "But we have to find the perfect slipper for you, Cinderella."

"Oh, shut it-" He pauses mid sentence to point to a store with dresses and suits on display. "Think that's our place, y/n." Dutch, Bill and Hosea already dismounting in front of it.

You sat in awe as you turned your horse to the ties right outside. You hadn't noticed this the last time you were through here.

"Careful, don't lose yourself in there." He snickers, dismounting with you. Clearly you had made your gawking too obvious.

"Oh please," you swat at him as you both walk for the door. "I'm not that bad."

When he opens the door to the inside, the slightly cooler air relieved you, everything smelt fresh, polished wood and all. This wasn't a place for an outlaw, made all the clearer when you spotted the clerk.

The store clerk instantly looked taken aback by your groups presence. Maybe you should've considered leaving your guns outside.

He wasn't all for you in his store, but you greeted him as softly as you could, keeping your hands well away from your dangerous metal contraptions.

"What can I do for you... folk?" His voice shrill and accented with what you could only assume as french.

Dutch waves over Arthur, who gives you one last glance before they all go to a different part of the shop, leaving you awkwardly standing there alone.

The man walks up to you after sorting out Arthur and the rest of them. "I assume you're looking for an evening gown?"

You nod, "Yeah, something that isn't too costly?"

He hums his consideration, scanning you up and down. "Measurements?" He asks out of the blue.

Now your face flushed. You would have infinitely no idea, which made you feel even more dumb.

"I-" You look away for a moment trying to think if you even knew. "I couldn't tell you..."

He makes a noise as if he already knew, gesturing his hand at you to follow him.

He sped walk so fast to your surprise, you weren't sure why he was in such a rush, having you near to jogging just to keep up.

When you reached a paltry, bright room with fabrics adorning mannequins. He had you remove most of your outer clothing and equipment. Discarding it to a chair left of you.

He was rather swift with your measurements, wandering around to find a small selection of dresses that he said would fit, with some adjustment of course.

You picked the prettiest of the bunch, almost feeling like a little girl again. Getting a new dress. It excited you - mostly.

"I'll let you try these all on, and your little boyfriend can hobble over to see, whenever he's done. But- over there." Now he shoo'd you to a dressing room, he seemed like he was trying to get the lot of you out of his store swiftly.

The curtain slid aggressively behind you, leaving you stunned inside, which you shook off but not without an amount of confusion.

You groaned, forgetting just how much of a hassle getting on dresses was, it took you a good while each dress you tried on, thankfully only three.

Once you got down the last dress - your favorite - you heard Arthur chime from behind the curtain, startling you so bad you jumped to cover yourself.

(Leaving the dress desc vague so you can come up with your own.)

"Can I see?" He questions, a mere curtain being all that separates you. He'd seen you unclothed before, but now it felt different.

"No, I'm half-naked." You scolded, but your disgruntled attitude quickly washed away when your eyes widened with shock.

Your words had only seemed to rev him up. His hand grasped at the curtain, but you stopped it before it folded back any further, slapping away his hand.

"Quit that you no-good buzzard." You hissed, fearing that the rest of the gang would hear, which would be too much for you to bear.

He crows in response, but doesn't continue dragging the curtain further. "I've seen you much more indecent than that, y/n."

Your face runs hot with his words, prompting you to start swatting and punching at the curtain to get him away.

"Get outta here before the sales clerk thinks we're doing some silly business back here." You fussed, mumbling lowly enough just for him to hear.

This prompted a defeated sigh, from the other side of the curtain. "Just give me another minute." You half-consoled, not a shred of empathy for him.

He came for the dress no doubt, but he preferred no dress just as much if not more.

"Okay, okay." He laughs, his spurs clicked as he took a few steps back.

Pulling up the sleeves that rested just by your shoulders, you took a look in the mirror.

The dress revealed a hell of a lot more than what you were use to, your bullet scar on your arm prevalent, though you didn't mind as much as thought you would.

With this dress on, there was no room for guns. So you had come prepared with a small thigh holster, only allowing for a tiny pistol.

You weren't sure what you were to do with your hair. Tapping your foot, to which you realized, you didn't have heels neither. This all getting more costly than you had hoped for.

Nestling your hair up into a loose bun, you quickly gathered the rest of your clothes before you forgot them to stuff into your saddle bags.

When you finally pulled back the curtain, you glared at Arthur with a 'are you happy now?' look for a minute. He himself stood dashing, if you put it lightly. A regular tuxedo, even on him, looked way better than it should.

You only gave him a small grace period before you walked passed him to find some heels.

"Wait-" He reaches for your arm and holds you back. "Let me get a better look, Miss l/n."

You stood in front of him awkwardly, his eyes quite literally feasting upon you which made you anxious and squirmy in his grasp.

"Hmm." His initial ogle replaced by his typical sarcastic grin, which already had you ready to sock him. "Looks fine enough, I suppose."

"And you?" You made it a point to make it noticeable that you eyeballed him up and down. "They might not let you in." It was a lie, and he could tell.

"You shoulda seen your face when you first came out." Puffing his chest out, much too proud. You gave him a small slap to his bicep, shaking your head.

Meeting with Hosea, Dutch and Bill, you finished the rest of your affairs. Climbing into the back of a carriage to eventually join the party.

-

The mayors house was magnificent, and damnably large. It felt daunting as it loomed over you.

Your eyes caught onto all of the intricate wood decals that sprinkled the faultless paint job. Every thing well lit by the warm street lights.

It wasn't a place you felt you belonged in with the life you led. Especially not with the people that were attending; Corrupt politicians and crime lords.

This whole situation was brittle and you had to run it nicely - not peeve anyone off.

A man greeted Dutch, then told the lot of you, no guns. No one suspected you of your gun, delightfully. So you followed everyone inside after they unenthusiastically handed over their weapons.

when you reached the inside, you flicked your head around to catch all the details in the interior. You had really only heard talk of such extravagant places like these. Certainly an experience, you thought.

Dutch looked to you, Hosea and Bill and told you to join the party whilst him and Arthur followed the man who led them to Bronte up a flight of stairs.

Your face soured, you had only a faint idea on how to seem a natural when speaking to the high flyers. Never the less, you did.

Eventually, you spotted Arthur who finally had left the balcony where he conversed with Bronte and Dutch. You dismissed yourself from the two men you spoke with, making your way to him.

"So? Did you find anything out?" You question, hoping he found out more than you had.

"No... not really. He suggested a take at the trolley station."

Your brow strung up. A trolley station? That sounded unusual to you.

"Good money, I suppose?"

He wasn't so sure either. "So it sounds. Dutch seems to trust it."

"Very well then." Nodding your head, in acceptance. "Whats he want us to do next?"

He hooks your arm in his abruptly, feeling a blush heat your face with his sudden act of affection.

"Try to talk to the mayor, get info." He says lowly, leaning over slightly as he walks with you to a group of men.

They stood in a small circle, chattering amongst themselves, scolding a man to their right that was much too drunk.

Arthur waited a moment before releasing you and reprimanding the man himself by touring him out. Leaving you with them alone.

They greeted you, to which you introduced yourself, waiting for Arthur to return, which he did, promptly.

They exchanged pleasantries for only a second before a series of pops interrupts their speak.

A splatter of blazing colours fill the dark sky, instantly captivating you. This wasn't something you'd seen before in all your long years of life.

You automatically pulled Arthurs hand to get a better view together. The sounds of the crowd behind you gasping and awing amongst the booms that sounded from the sky.

The bright twinkling and sparkling only lasted seconds each, spirals and scatters, each their own neon colours.

Greens, reds, blues, faded into smoke that matched the parted clouds, new splashes of colour never seizing to paint the gray and black behind them.

You stood in front of Arthur, sinking your head into his chest, gazing at all of the captivating lights before you.

Maybe your feelings for Arthur held you tighter than you cared to admit. He was still the one who had committed atrocities against you, which you weren't so quick to let go of.

Spinning around, you looked up to him, the blue in his eyes would perfectly match the skies if it were day, instead reflecting all the crackling lights you missed with your back turned.

"You know how to dance, don't you?" You beam, his hand in yours.

"No?-" He questions, not anticipating just what you had in store for him.

"Perfect!" Your hand tightens around his, leading him to the gazebo that stood not far from where you gathered just a moment before.

"I don't reckon we have time to embarrass ourselves right now."

"Oh, yes, you do. Believe it not, I still recall getting taught how to dance when I was younger." Snickering as you reveal your plans to a reluctant Arthur.

Stepping inside the lit gazebo, you glance around to make sure its clear. Smiling when you confirm it is.

"Ready?" Catching his hand before he felt he could change his mind - not that he had much of a choice in the first place.

He grumbles, but that tiny little spark in his eye proving he wasn't all that terribly put out by this.

His arm slowly slid down and around your waist, drawing you in close, in turn your arm raised up to his shoulder.

"Okay, now just follow my lead." You moved one foot back, the front of his shoe found your toes faster than you had imagined.

He corrects himself, much to the relief of your foot. "Shit- sorry."

"We'll go slow." You giggle, finding it funny that you were teaching Arthur of all people how to dance.

Which each step, his foot still strayed a few times, but he got the hang of it quickly.

"See? It's not so bad. But if you're still embarrassed from stepping on me, I can understand." Feigning a look of pity and a half hearted pat on his shoulder.

"I enjoyed stepping on them more than not." He shoots back, his timing lining up with the moment your heel caught on a loose board, nearly loosing your balance but Arthurs arm around you remained firm, holding you up.

"Not so tough are we, y/n?" He chortles, your pride hurting more than your feet.

You couldn't help the sheepish laugh that left you. "I demand you respect your teacher, Mr. Morgan."

"Or what? There ain't much you can do about it."

"We'll see about that." You challenge, returning to a slow rhythm. He never released you from his tight grasp.

Your bodies never left each others for the entire time, you both relished in it more than you'd ever address.

His hand eventually found your arm, his fingers gently brushing the double sided scar that he had punished you with upon your first meeting.

Dwelling for a few moments, he runs his hand up and over your collar bone, then meeting your chin. His gaze was soft, no trace of his typical cocky expression.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier." His thumb caressing the bottom of your plush lip.

"I-" He stops you from what he already anticipated you saying. Shaking his head.

"Not another word from you." He leans down, his mouth meeting yours. The most gentle show of affection he had shown you to date.

You leaned into it for as long as it lasted, cherishing each second it dragged further.

When he pulled away, there was a look you'd never be able to place on Arthurs face. You'd never forget it, that you could count on.

"I don't like that all the other men here get to see you like this too." He confesses, glancing over to the gathering, jerking upright when he spots something he didn't expect.

"I hope I'm not being too brash as I interrupt you two love sick fools." Dutch as much himself as ever with those words.

You and Arthur finally released from your embrace, standing side by side as if you both just got caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

Dutch hollered out a hearty laugh, the ability to stay mad lost with the guilty looks you both held. "Save it for camp... now I heard mentions of Cornwall from Mr. Mayor and one of his men. Quickly both of you."

He chased you of the gazebo effectively, Arthur sighed as you strode back to complete the mission you'd been sent on.

-

"Oh good, I was starting to regret sending you both in there together." Dutch waited no time to tease you both further, making it obvious to Hosea and Bill who had a good laugh about it too.

"Yeah, yeah. We got somethin'." Arthur confirms, waving off the insult.

"Well then," Hosea chimes, excited with the news. "Think it's time to go."

That you could agree dualy on, your eye lids started to gain weight, desiring nothing more than to return to camp.

You all made for your ride back, collecting their guns on the way out, some speak of a bank heist along the way, which definitely prompted skepticism in you. As most of these takes did.

The carriage rolled up to you, not much time spent in terms of getting in. All of you wanted out of there.

Bill's voice haughty and filled with contempt as he complained about the 'high society pigeon shit.' Which plastered a drowsy smirk on your face.

Instinctively, you sat next to Arthur on the way back, dozing off on his shoulder not long after the carriage lurched shakily over the uneven cobblestone roads.

Guys I proof read this at 3 am so ignore any mistakes...

[x-fag]

crazy how molly was supposed to attend the angelo bronte party but instead they put hosea 😭

[pinkysberg]

Why do you think Dutch acts the way he does when he, Arthur, and John first meet Angelo Bronte? He kinda makes an ass out of himself and is really aggressive and makes me so nervous every time 😅

i won't lie to you friend i am on a bachelorette party weekend and celebrating accordingly (if you know what i mean) so maybe my judgement js clouded but i feel like he's aggressive bc like. jack's been kidnapped and dutch at this point still cares for jack.

if u mean when he starts like warming up to him, i think he just likes having his ego stroked.

[greytabbydreams]

Honest Confessions: (16+) warnings include curse words and slight sexual content. It’s mainly fluff and Arthur being shy and awkward lol.

Summary: Set in chapter four of the story, right after Jack is saved from Angelo Bronte. Arthur gets drunk and reveals a secret. 🤭

————————————————————————

 Honest Confessions ~

The evening was as optimistic as it was humid since we had just saved young Jack from Angelo Bronte, earlier that day. Although, from the sounds of it Jack didn’t seem to be in too much trouble. Talk of sleeping in some lavish room and eating Italian food. What did he call it again? Spaghetti? In any sense, the gang was in rather high spirits. Javiar is playing his guitar and singing, while a part of the group did their best to sing along overlooking the fact nobody could understand a word of Spanish. I laughed to myself watching my friends smiling faces flicker in the campfire light. I turned around to face the table I was resting on, there was an opened box of liquor. I reached in and grabbed a bottle and took a drink. A warm tingling feeling instantly sent a calming sensation into my face and chest. The drink was definitely some good whiskey. On a normal occasion, I wouldn’t want to over-drink, but since tonight was so great… What the hell, when isn’t there a better time to get drunk than being surrounded by friends? I finished my first bottle and grabbed another for walking around while chatting with everyone around the camp…

…

A couple of hours had passed, and the party was starting to slow down. But I think I might be on my… third?... probably fifth bottle of whatever alcohol I was sipping on, it honestly doesn’t matter I was feeling incredible and surprisingly chatty.

“J-John,” my words were tumbled out, “I, just wanna tell ya’ you doin’ okay.”

“Aw thanks, Arthur.” The stringy man replied with a goofy smile.

“You’re a good dad, you’re gonna do right by the kid.” I slurred while giving a little smack to the back of John’s shoulder.

“I hope you’re right.” He said while pushing me away from him.

“You should probably stop drinking now, and eat something though Arthur.”

“Alright, Marston.” I reply giving a dismissive wave as I turn around to face the entrance of the Shady Belle manor. I squinted into the darkness, did I just see something move? Could that be… Charles? He’s still on guard duty during the party? How absurd is that! I quickly began to stomp my way up the hill to confront the man.

“Wh-wat da’ hell are ya’ doin’ up here all by yourself?” I clumsily question the large man who didn’t seem too startled by my company.

“I’m on guard duty this evening. And you’re pretty drunk my friend.” He replied in his normal stoic yet warm tone.

“Come on Charles,” I wine, “ we’re c-clearly havin’ a party.” I gesture back to the campfire that was now being put out by Abigail, while other members of the gang were cleaning up the rest of the mess.

“Looks like I missed out.” Charles replied letting out a little chuckle.

“Aw shit…I think you’re right.” I said with a sigh.

“Well, I haven’t talked to you ALLLL night! So come on, take a little break and sit with me.” With that, I plop right down in the dirt beside Charles. Charles lets out a little sigh in protest but then sits down next to me.

“Okay, what’s on your mind, Morgan?” Charles asks.

“Well, I’m just really happy you’know?” I hummed while looking up at the stars that barely shined through the branches above.

“Things are just going our way at the moment. We got Jack back, I have faith in Dutch’s new plan, and I’m… I’m just in a great mood tonight.” I close my eyes for a moment allowing my head to hit the back of the stone wall that sat by the entrance of the manor. Maybe I was oversharing, normally it was hard to talk about any type of feelings I had. Could it be the whiskey? Or Charles�� calming presence? I shake away the thought, what was I talking about again?

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy, even if it ends up being just a fleeting moment.” Charles breathed as he moved to stand up. Reaching his hand down to me.

“Let’s get you to bed now.” Charles said looking down at me with his twinkling hazel eyes.

“Alright Mr. Smith, let’s go.” I respond grabbing his calloused hand and pulling me up with ease. We wandered over to the entrance of Shady Belle, Charles holding onto my ribcage to keep me from stumbling. However, his touch put my nerves on edge. Not because he was making me uncomfortable, but more because I was uneasy with human contact that lasted for this long. Once we had made it to my room, I pushed off him and face-planted into the pillow on my bed. Charles turned away walking towards the door.

“Good night Arthur.” He said quietly, trying not to disturb the others who were trying to sleep on that floor.

“W-wait Charles, c'mere I wanna talk to ya’,” I say slightly muffled by my face still practically covered by my pillow. He turns back around to me, crouching at my bedside.

“What?” he sounds in a hushed tone.

“Oh Charles, you’re so talented, a-and strong!” I mumbled “So handsome too, but you work soooooo hard. You need to let loose every once in a while.” Charles suddenly looked a little flustered as a small ting of pink filled his cheeks.

“Uhm, yes I’ll keep that in mind, Arthur.” Charles tries to move away again but I reach out to grab his arm. What has gotten into me?

“Where are you going?” I stammer as confidently as I could. Charles snorts looking at my hand that was on his arm.

“Back to my post cowboy.” He answered in a playful tone.

“Didn’t I just say somethin’ about workin’ too hard? Why don’t you stay here with me, and we can talk.”

“I don’t know about that Arthur, by the way you’re talking, you might say something you’ll regret later.”

“What do you mean by that?” I say gripping his arm a little tighter and trying to draw him closer to me.

“All I’m saying is that you’re clearly very drunk. Maybe we should talk in the morning.” Charles finishes breaking away from me and walks out the door. Dread and embarrassment immediately washes over me as soon as Charles exited. What did I just do? Did I make a move on Charles? Am I imagining things? No that definitely happened. I pulled my blanket over my face like a child cursing myself for acting so oddly. I’d always known I had a fondness for some men, but I hadn’t acted on any of those urges. Too afraid of being found out; especially by any of the gang members. Oh God, I’m sure I freaked out Charles, he probably despises me. FUCK.

…

The sun begins to peak through the window and onto the table in my room. My vision was blurry, as my eyes fluttered open. My head ached, and nausea flowed over me instantly.

“Oh God… what the hell did I do last night?” Memories of the party last night, and walking around camp came back to me. Memories of me and Charles. Shit, Charles. The feelings I had of embarrassment came to me again. Why did I act like such an idiot last night? I swear to God I hope Charles doesn’t say anything, or– just forgets about it and just assumes I was just drunk and didn’t mean anything by it. Fuck, I need to get out of here for a couple of days. I jolted out of my bed and moved to retrieve my satchel and pistol, head still pounding from the previous night’s liquor. I moved into the hallway going down the stair almost bumping into Hosea as I passed him.

“What’s got you moving this fast my boy?” Hosea questions in a slightly annoyed fatherly tone as he would speak from time to time.

“I just need to get some fresh air, Hosea.” I say a little more irritated than I intended

“Okay, don’t let this old man get in your way,” he replies sarcastically

“Maybe while you’re out try and get some deer, we’re running a little low on supplies.”

“Fine,” I nodded at the older man. I continued to rush down the rest of the steps and walked outside stepping onto the porch. I trek over to the edge of camp where Tobacco, my horse, was standing grazing on a patch of grass.

“Come on boy,” I say swinging myself on the back of the Arabian. I ride out of the camp, but as I passed the gate, I noticed Charels’ horse was also missing from the herd. Maybe that was a good thing, he wasn’t going to say anything to the gang about me.

…

I made my way into a clearing a few miles away from Rhodes where I knew I could find some deer for camp. It felt good to be far from camp. I can think a lot clearer when I wasn’t surrounded by people. I could see a large stag grazing atop a hill a couple of paces away from my current position. I took aim with my rifle, breathing in, and out slowly. The sound of my rifle shooting reverberated across the field the stag fell over dying instantly.

“Nice shot,” a filmier voice said behind me. I practically jumped out of my skin.

“OH, MY FUCKING–don’t-don’t sneak up on me like that!” I erupted turning to see Charles who had a slight smile on his face looking down at me from his horse Taima.

“Oh, I’m sorry Arthur, didn’t realize you would react so intensely.” He replied, obviously finding the whole situation to be very funny.

“What are you doing here?” I ask calmly, trying to stay relaxed while in his presence.

“Went hunting early this morning, Hosea mentioned we were running low on food.” Charles gestured to Taima, who already had a large deer strapped on. How amusing Hosea, I thought, what did he think he was playing at?

“Well, guess we had the same idea.” I say shortly moving away to retrieve my fallen stag. Charles seemed a little taken about by my tone. I didn’t particularly care, I just needed to get away before I embarrassed myself again.

“Hey, do we need to talk about something?” Charles asks sharply trying to catch my attention. My hair stood up on the back of my neck, and the same feeling of dread I felt last night washed over me. I cleared my throat before I spoke again.

“Alright,” was all I could muster before turning back to face Charles.

“So, about last night… I–uhh– it didn’t mean anything I was really drunk.”

“You’re sure?” Charles asked,

“Yes, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Okay, as long as you’re sure,” Charles reacted emphasizing the “sure” in his sentence, a twinkle behind his eyes. Why the hell is he acting so weird?

“ I’m confused Charles,” I blinked in confusion.

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“That depends, are we on the same page?” Quickly, Charles moved towards me and pushed me up against a nearby tree. My face immediately flushed, eyes darting unsure of where to rest.

“Hm, seems like you were lying Mr. Morgan,” Charles said in his calm and patient tone. I was frozen, I didn’t know what to say.

“It’s alright Arthur, I’m not angry with you,” Charles spoke in the same tone, changing his position on me slightly by relaxing his hand on my shoulder.

“You’re not?” I asked, begging to let that feeling of embarrassment drift away.

“No, of course not,” Charles smiled warmly

“To be honest, I wanted to tell you I was interested but I wasn’t sure when would be the right time.”

“What?” I say stunned, could Charles really be interested in me— like in that way?

“I felt like I would have been taking advantage of you last night. That’s why I thought it would be better to talk when you were sober.” I couldn’t believe what Charles was saying! This handsome statue of a man was really saying he was interested in dirty, ugly me?

“So…” I start, straightening myself up against the tree.

“What now?” I ask trying to regain some sort of confidence. Charles hummed a moment before leaning in and giving me the lightest peck on the lips. My body felt like it was lit on fire, and this small action from Charles unexpectedly made me ache for his touch. I reached for the back of his head and drew him into a deeper kiss. I felt the hand that was on my shoulder shift to the base of my neck, while his other wandered down to my waist. I let out a sharp sigh as I felt Charles thrusting my body closer to his. Things seemed to be escalating pretty quickly, and I was still unsure of what was really happening. The last couple of minutes felt like a long-awaited fantasy of Arthurs. I turned my body slightly in hopes of finding a more comfortable spot against the tree. Instead, I lost my balance and started falling back down the hill.

“Shit!” I spat out before me and Charles started tumbling down the golden mound. We fell for quite a ways until we hit the dip between two hills. Charles and I lay still staring up at the sky.

“God Arthur, you really know how to make a man fall for you?” I could hear Charles’ smile spread over his face.

“Oh, shut up Charles!” I erupted laughing. I pushed myself up off the ground and reached my hand down to Charles. He grabbed my hand and I lifted him up to his feet.

“Maybe we’ll pick up where we left off later,” I say, trying to regain composure.

“I’m sure we will,” Charles replied with a gentle demeanor while brushing dirt from his shoulder.

“I should grab that deer I shot before a wolf gets it.” The two of us walked up the hill and retrieved the animal carcass and then made it back to our horses.

“I’ll meet up with you back at camp,” Charles said while turning Taima in the direction of the camp.

“Alright, I’ll meet up with you soon,” I smiled at Charles tipping my hat as a sorta wave goodbye. Charles’ trotted off. I took this moment to take a deep breath. My heart must have been beating out of my throat with how hard the thumping felt.

“Come on boy,” I say to my horse who began to move in the direction of camp.

…

The sun was starting to set over the Shady Belle house. The usual faces of friends, and Micha, were gathering around the campfire. Javiar was playing his guitar, John was poking the fire with a stick and Hosea was sitting next to Jack teaching him to read with some fantasy tale. I sat down on a log next to Charles, who was carving what appeared to be a little horse out of wood.

“How was hunting today boys?” Hosea asked, pausing Jack’s story when he noticed I had sat down.

“Great, we shot two bucks a little past Rhoads,” Charles replied calmly, as usual, so as to not hint that any other activities had occurred. I could only nod awkwardly after flashes of being pinned against a tree came back to me. Hosea smiled in response.

“Anything else happen while you were out?”

“No, just the deers.” I reply as plainly, as I could.

“Okay.” Hosea said with a shrug of his shoulders a hint of suspicion behind his tone. Why was Hosea so suspicious of us? Did he see us together up on that hill? No he couldn’t have, he almost never leaves camp by himself. Maybe it was best just to forget about it for the moment.

…

A couple of hours had passed, and members of the camp were starting to retire for the night. I had finished a sketch of the deer Charles and I shot today in my journal, every drawing I did seemed to get a little better with practice. Something I was secretly sorta proud of. Charles placed a hand on my shoulder leaning to whisper in my ear.

“How about you get ready for bed and I’ll meet with you in a little bit?” His warm breath on my ear sent a shiver up my back.

“Uhm–okay,” I say with a swallow. I sat for an additional moment, waiting for Charles to leave. I proceeded to get up from the log walking to the manor and eventually the door into my room. I began taking off some of the extra weight I had been carrying all day. First my satchel, belt, and gun holster, then my jacket, and lastly I removed my hat placing it on my shelf. A soft knock came on my door. I quietly moved to the door, opening it as silently as I could making sure not to wake Hosea, John, and his family in the nearby rooms.

“That’s you Charels?” I whisper through the crack of the door.

“Let me in Arthur,” Charles replied in a similar hushed tone. I pulled the door open wide enough for Charles to slip in.

“C’mere,” Charles said grabbing the collar of my shirt and pushing me onto the bed. He pulled me into his kiss once again and I replicated the motion pressing my lips into his. Charles pulled away from the kiss to set my body into a more comfortable position, parallel to the bed. I could hardly believe what was happing to me right now. If this was some sort of dream, I hope I never wake up. Charles brought his hands to my chest, removing my blue button-up, and I began to do the same with his shirt pulling it off onto the floor. Charles then moved his hand down near my crouch.

“This alright?” He said in a thick soothing tone.

“Yea’ that’s alright,” I say, heart, beating out of my chest, bringing my hand to his. He began pulling down my pants while maintaining partial eye contact with me. Just then the audible sound of my pistol hitting the wooden floors thudded. I had forgotten to take it off the bed and move it to my table.

“Shit,” Charles whispered through gritted teeth. We both froze waiting for someone to come and ask what all the ruckus was about.

“I think we’re in the clea–” I began before the sound of a door creaking opening could be heard. Shit, I thought still frozen with Charles on top of me, his hand motionless on my inner thigh. Footsteps could be heard coming in our direction.

“Are you alright in there Arthur?” Hosea asked, his voice dense with sleep.

“Yes,” I grumbled out “go back to bed, I just dropped my gun.”

“Okay son, try and get some sleep.” Hosea replied, his footsteps were getting quieter as he retreated to his room. I let out a breath of relief as I heard his door shut behind him.

“Would you like to pickup where we left off?” Charles asked, leaning into me.

“Of course darlin’,” I reply bringing him down to kiss him again.

…

The morning sun once again came pouring into my room. I blinked my eyes open, turning to see Charles who was still sleeping underneath my arm. The both of us were squished together because of how small the bed was. I turning over onto my side, staring at the man who layed before me. How unbelievably handsome he was; his muscular body, soft black hair, his eyelashes, everything about him was absolutely beautiful. I wanted to badly to grab my journal and draw him asleep the way he is. Although moving would only disrupt this prefect image that sat so peacefully. Some movement could be heard outside my door. It was Johns voice moving closer. Not again! I nudged Charles on the shoulder waking him up.

“Good morning Arth–” Charles began before I placed my finger to his lips signaling him to be quiet.

“I’m comin’ in Arthur,” John stated turing the door knob

“NOWS NOT A GOOD TIME MARSTON!” I shouted, but it was already too late. John had stepped into the room.

“So I was just letting you know I borrowed your–” His demenor suddenly shifted to stunned and dumbfounded. His mouth stayed opened as he stared at me and Charles laying completely naked next to eachother.

“Wow, uhh, I-” John spoke in totally bewilderment.

“Please, leave.” I spoke in a tense but calm tone.

“Shit, Arthur,– I– i’m so sorry” John said turning bright red with embarrassment. Right before he was able to escape this awkward situation. Another voice rang though the hallway.

“What the hell is going on over there?” Hosea shouted from the room across from mine. Why was this situation getting worse and worse by the second?

“NOTHING!” John and I shouted at the same time.

I quickly leaned down and grabbed my underwear that was laying on the floor slipping it on. I then pushed John out the door and shut it with a slam. Charles and I as quickly as we could scrambled to put our clothes back on. I stubbeled outside my door into the hallway where a still stunned John and a confused Hosea stood.

“Who else is in that room Arthur?” Hosea questioned

“Well–” I started desperately trying to think of a away out of this situation.

“Charles.” Hosea answered his own question gestuing to my shirt. I looked down noticing that I was wearing Charles’ shirt. What an idiot.

“I had a feeling you two were up to something.” Hosea said, who then shifted closer to me placing his hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay son, I don’t care who interests you.” Hosea said giving me a warm smile.

“What?” I say staring blankly at the older man.

“I had a feelin’ you and Charles had something going on. I noticed Charles leaving your room a night ago.”

“WHAT?” John exclaimed mouth still agape.

“How long–how long has this been going on brother!?” John questioned in disbelief

“I guess I might have made a move after the welcome home party for Jack. But nothing really happened until yesterday.” I answered shifting from one foot to the other.

“Oh my God,” John said with an exhale.

“I mean, it’s totally fine, but shit–entirely unexpected,” He said scratching the top of his head. Just then Charles slipped outside the door behind me.

“Excuse me.” Charles said moving me gently to the side.

“Everything okay?” Charles questioned the group of men.

“Yep,” John replied nodding and giving a little thumbs up as he twisted around to his room. Hosea let out a little chuckle.

“I know you’ll treat him right,” Hosea says also nodding and walking away. Once the men had disappeared I turned to look at Charles.

“Well, I guess we don’t need to worry about anyone finding out now.” I say shrugging.

“That sure made things a lot easier,” Charles said turning to look at me.

“How bout’ we ride outta here for a little bit?” I asked the taller man. Charles’ face warmed with a smile.

“That sounds like a good idea Mr. Morgan.” Charles replied giving me a little kiss on the cheek.

[pookiecowpoke]

rarepair anon here. thank you for the response! honestly thats okay! you dont even have to write a fic, i just need someone to manifest ideas with abt this rarepair since i’ve literally been think abt this ship with a friend for YEARS now. like literally since the game came out.

i read ur bronte/arthur fic and i raise you: bronte/molly. now hear me out! this all started when i saw in the game files a fully rendered model of Molly in a gown, because apparently she was supposed to be at the mayors gala with dutch and the others but for some reason that was scrapped. i love molly, and i want her to have a happy ending. ive thought abt her just running away to bronte while dutch and the others are at guarma (pretending he isnt dead atp). bc i just know he’d spoil her and give her the love that dutch never did. she’d be a trophy wife basically. i also just like the idea of her cheating on dutch with one of his enemies lmao.

let me know what you think!! :>

Oh now that is interesting. I love Angelo Bronte, he's one of my favorite antagonists from the game (I even got to meet his actor in July 💀), so I love any ship that has him in it.

I absolutely love Molly's gown and wish we got to see her instead of Bill at the party, and I do think Bronte would see her and show some interest.

Would really be a big F-you for Dutch too, to see his lady with one of the people who tried to kill him. She deserves a happy ending too, she got such a tragic ending. All she wanted was to have the bare minimum of attention and affection and she ended up lying just to get that last reaction from Dutch before being set free.

Though I have to say one of my favorite Molly ships is probably with Mary-Beth. Not to make things fruity but 😂 Mary-Beth would actually care for and give Molly that attention she so desperately wants. And of course Molly would be absolutely flattered to be written about in one of Mary-Beth's romance novels.

And Molly loves to write poetry? Or she has written poetry. They would just be so cute together in my opinion.

[mslangermann-a]

@gunslingcr liked for a starter

Saint Denis comes alive at night. The hustle and bustle of busy working folk melt away into a cacophony of peeling laughter and chatter in the streets. Drunks stumble about while the most sophisticated and well connected keep their parties behind closed doors or in gated gardens. The Bastille Saloon is the most lively of all. Here, the rich could let loose - drink and gamble and fuck to their heart’s desire. 

And it is at night when loose tongues spoke valuable secrets to Lynn Langermann, unaware of the gift they’d given her. She’d thank them for coming, accept a tip if they were generous, and sell their information to the highest bidder. Like a spider, she spins her silken web and is intent on having dirt on every fat cat in Saint Denis. Only a web is a delicate thing. One fell sweep and it’ll fall apart. A man by the name of Benjamin Jasper threatens to destroy what she’s built, threatening to go to Angelo Bronte and spill her operation, unless she pays him off. 

But Lynn is not so easily threatened. It’s what brings Arthur Morgan to the Bastille - an invitation and promise of payment. She knows little about him, save for the string of crimes he’s carried all the way from Blackwater. But he’s proved resourceful. To deal with Jasper, she needs a man who will do what’s necessary to keep him quiet. 

Ascending the steps to the upper floor, Lynn spares a smile for guests venturing down - a man grabbing at the waist of a rosy cheeked woman. She makes her way onto the veranda, welcomed by the soft glow of the street lamps, and finds Arthur seated at a table nestled in a corner. A safe distance away from the conversation of the other patrons of the second floor. 

“Mr. Morgan,” Lynn greets as she approaches, her voice laced with a hint of an Italian accent - a parting gift from her father. She places a glass of aged whiskey before him. “On the house. Should we get straight to business or do you want to finish your drink first?” 

[bombshelllblonde]

Okay, hear me out. On the other side of the coin: a fic based on "Meet Me in the City" that's about a low honor Arthur cheating with a woman who is in a loveless marriage (maybe she's a high society woman stuck in an arranged marriage or something), trying to get her to run away with him. 👀

slutty low honor arthur omfg.

i think its a wonderful idea; i personally am not capable of an arthur that's anything other than a high honor arthur, but i can see the appeal!

she's in an arranged marriage or some sort of forced relationship with angelo bronte?? they meet at the mayors house for that party he throws in saint denis, and he's all slutty and smoking his cigar, poking around at her and quietly flirting as much as a low honor arthur could flirt...but it's like a sexy flirting not like a cute fluffy pining flirt.

then later they both are able to sneak away and make their way to the saloon down the street and it's like 2am and maybe they even go to the cinema and do nasty things in the alleyway behind the cinema??? omfg

i love the thought of it!!!!

[photo1030]

Masterlist 

Hi, Kids!

I am fairly new to the scene but have been so inspired by the images, stories and ideas that I’ve read that I’ve dared to create my own board. While I have some brain doodles of my own that I am hashing and rehashing before I present them to the world, I want to share the things that have captured my interest and sparked my imagination again. Just want to share the goodness that I have been fortunate to find

Below is a masterlist to keep tabs on my own brain doodles and keep them corralled together. 

So just to try to clarify what I am trying to accomplish here, I have an overall story for Arthur and Reader (OC in my own mind). My first few fics were initial attempts at writing to see if I could even do it. So I started with stories that were the clearest in my mind, but not necessarily in an order. Now that I am carrying on, I am trying to write in a chronological order. (Those first few do fit in with the story, just at different times). So if you want to start at the beginning of my brain doodle, “And That is When Everything Changed...” is the “origins” story.

Arthur’s Shadow - Arthur finds an unlikely companion. *This is an “ask” I received.

Arthur Morgan x Female Reader

Don't Make a Scene - You are at Angelo Bronte’s house for a fancy garden party when you meet a certain group of outlaws.

Leather and Lace

Chapter 1: And That Is When Everything Changed... - Arthur is out on a scout when he comes across a woman in need and brings her to the camp.

Chapter 2: Patchwork - You patch up Arthur after a bar fight in town, leading to delightful banter between the two of you.

Chapter 3: I Will Sit With You In The Dark - You offer Arthur some comfort when he’s struggling

Chapter 4: The Job Offer - You get an offer for an honest job outside of the gang, making Arthur begin to confront his feelings for you. 

Chapter 5: No Offense - You unintentionally offend Arthur while out in town.

Chapter 6: The Gala - Dutch and Hosea take you out on your first job to a fancy gala. And Arthur is not too happy about it.

Chapter 7: A Most Special Gift - Arthur finds the perfect gift for you when he is out

Chapter 8: All Hot and Bothered - You wake up to these rather intimate dreams, each more erotic than the last one, with seemingly no outlet

Chapter 9: A Friendly Game of Poker - You agree to a game of strip poker with Sean, earning you some time with your favorite outlaw and leading to a major turning point in your relationship

Chapter 10: No - Arthur is in a bad mood. By giving him something else to be focused on, you're hoping he'll forget all about the ugliness of the the afternoon.

Chapter 11: I Got You - Arthur gets seriously hurt when a job goes wrong. Its up to you to help him.

Chapter 12: Drunken Silliness - After an evening of drinking, you and Arthur both acknowledge your feelings...just not to each other.

Chapter 13: Life Is Full of “What If’s” - Arthur struggles with whether or not he should tell you how he feels about you.

Chapter 14: It’s Such a Perfect Day - You and Arthur go on your first "non-date" date, not even realizing it. *I got the idea for this one listening to Lou Reed's song "Perfect Day".

Chapter 15: Feelings Revealed - Part 1:  I Have Something to Tell You - You finally confront Arthur about how you feel about him, and force him to make a decision, whether you are ready for the answer or not.

Chapter 16: Feelings Revealed - Part 2:  Where Do We Go From Here? - After Arthur’s rejection, tensions run high between the two of you and decisions need to be made.

Chapter 17: Feelings Revealed - Part 3:  The Grand Gesture - Arthur leaves camp in search of something to repair your relationship. But meanwhile, you are getting closer to leaving altogether.

Chapter 18: Feelings Revealed - Part 4:  See Me, Feel me, Touch Me, Heal Me - You and Arthur finally have your first night together.

Chapter 19: Second Time Around - You and Arthur settle into your new relationship and try to find some more time alone together. 

Chapter 20: All the Little Things - Arthur takes note of all the little things you do for him and tries to decide if he’s ready to take your relationship to the next level. 

Chapter 21: Because You’re Mine, I Walk the Line - Arthur treats you to a stay in a hotel in the new town and promises to be on his best behavior.

Chapter 22: To Pick a Lock - The gang discovers a one of your "talents" and puts it to good use

Chapter 23: Colter - The Winter Storm - After a major job goes seriously wrong, the gang is driven out of the area.

Chapter 24: To Know the Winter Darkness - Arthur's irritation with the gang's situation begins to take its toll on your relationship.

Chapter 25: As the Wicked Snow Begins to Thaw - The drama continues up in Colter, pushing Arthur to his breaking point. 

***These listed below here were either written before I “officially” started this storyline, or a quick idea that came about, but they do go with it. They take place after Arthur and reader are together. I can’t name them with a chapter # yet since I have to write a few more that come before these in the storyline. 

Close, But Not Close Enough - You and Arthur have been trying to get some time alone together all day, to no avail. But by the end of the day, Arthur finally gets what he wants.

Say Hello to an Old Friend - Arthur is none too pleased when you run into an old friend from your previous life.

A Thanksgiving Feast - You decide to prepare an elaborate dinner for everyone in the gang.

I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Its Christmas time and Arthur has been out in the cold, missing for several days 

Perhaps You Lust For What You Cannot Have - Micah longs to have Arthur’s s/o for himself, knowing that he never will. This realization is all too clear when he is out, returning from a scouting job.

Vents And Frustrations - Sometimes you just need to vent a little

Questioning Everything - Tensions are high between you and Arthur when he goes out to see Mary yet again. Will this be the final straw?

[immajustvibehere]

Chance Encounter

Chapter 17

Chapter 1 // Chapter 16

warning: SMUT (has very much first time vibes, fluffy, consensual, slow) Also, this is my first time writing smut. I'm very sorry if it sucks ._.

summary: After the gang had settled in at Shady Bell, it took Arthur and the other men almost a week to locate Jack. When they returned one evening you and Arthur are desperate to spend some time together.

4600 words, 25 minutes reading time

You barely saw Arthur for the next couple of days, as he was busy asking around in Saint Denis for some information on Angelo Bronte, who was the guy who held Jack hostage. You spent your days in bed or outside in a chair, resting your leg as much as possible, while still trying to help, especially Abigail. She needed someone to talk to and since you weren't too capable of doing much else, you gladly lent her an ear. Occasionally, you'd have a nice conversation with Kieran, who was so kind as to take care of your horse the whole time. Conversations and card games aside, you felt useless.

Every time Arthur stopped by at camp, it was only to rest or sleep for a short time. As soon as the sun was up, he was already in town, tracking down young Jack. You had the privilege of using his room. It was a debate Arthur had with Mrs. Grimshaw, who only agreed when Dutch stepped in and argued for your case, as "we might need her firepower soon". Oh boy were you glad you had a real bed to sleep in. The swamps were a weird and uncomfortable place, at least you didn't have to sleep on the ground. It was tricky getting up the stairs with your injured leg, but it was well worth it.

"Hey, they're back! I think I see Jack!", somebody yelled. You looked up from the table you were sitting at with Kieran. Dutch yelled for Abigail, who ran out the house as if her life depended on it. You stood up and leaned against the table to better overwatch the scene. Abigail hugged Jack desperately. It was not possible to make out what they were saying, but you were sure it was nothing else but an expression of how much she had worried and how glad she was of having him back.

"Y/N", Arthur said your name as he came closer to you. You cracked a big smile; you knew Arthur would have at least this night off. "Thanks for bringing Jack back", you said. Arthur looked around quickly before he pressed a fleeting kiss on your forehead. It made your stomach flutter. There had been occasional kisses on cheeks and foreheads over the last few days, always in the privacy of your room or when nobody else was looking. You had also shared a bed, though Arthur often stood up way earlier. He'd try to get up silently, and still he would either stroke your cheek or give it a kiss before he left the room. It had always woken you and you were happy it did.

"I'm glad we got the kid back", Arthur nodded and left his big hand on your shoulder to guide you to the campfire, "Gives us a good reason to party." He gave you a warm smile. It was at this moment that you realized you wanted him. You had missed him terribly and you just wanted some peace and quiet, lay down next to him and cuddle. Feel his skin against yours. But this wouldn't happen any time soon, the night was still young, and the first bottles were just being opened.

Everyone was gathering around the fire. "Come on! Are we celebrating here or what!?", Karen yelled and handed out beer. Javier was supplying the group with a song. You sat down on a wooden chest a bit further away. Still close enough to consider yourself joining in on the action, but all the chairs and trunks were occupied. Everyone was cheerful, humming along and joining in on the refrain. After the song had ended, John, Jack and Abigail excused themselves and some other people dispersed, getting more beer and forming smaller groups. You stayed on your chest, observing everyone. It was difficult not to stare at Arthur, who walked around to talk to different people.

From time to time, yours and Arthur's eyes would meet. It happened rather often, regardless of whether he was having a conversation at the moment or not. You'd search him and find his eyes already resting on you, smiling when your eyes met and then looking away. You listened to Hosea telling a story and talked with Lenny about his day. Kieran and Karen were having a fun conversation, it seemed, and you were happy about how relieved Kieran was about Jack's return. Kieran had been on edge the last few days, blaming himself for Jack's abduction. Not even you had managed to ease his conscience, despite offering distraction and consolation. Especially because Kieran was a nice and gentle soul, it was hard for you to see him so nervous. Which is why it made you even happier to see him relaxed tonight.

Barely an hour had passed since the party had started, when once again you met Arthur's eyes. This time though, he was not occupied with someone else, he was simply leaning against a table, watching the scene, or better: watching you. He took a swig from the bottle which he held in his hand, lowering it after he had done so and placing it on the table. Neither of you looked away. You watched as his eyes sometimes broke the staring contest to check you up and down and as if agitated, he adjusted his stance. Suddenly, barely noticeable for anyone else but you, he nodded towards the house.

You knew what this was supposed to mean. Not only that he wanted you in the house, but it meant much more. You suppressed those thoughts for now because they made your stomach turn, you simply told yourself to be calm. You walked inside, your leg was barely bothering you anymore. Running or heavy lifting was still not an option, but you could walk without a crutch by now, even if it meant limping a bit. Climbing the stair still took you longer than you would have wanted, but Arthur had given you a head start for probably exactly this reason.

When you had reached the room you lit the lantern, illuminating the dark room. It was night already and in the last quarter of an hour, clouds had formed and hidden the moon behind them, so the lantern was absolutely necessary to not hit your foot somewhere. (This had actually happened a few days ago with your injured leg and you had been careful to know where you were stepping ever since.) The door creaked as it was opened again and Arthur walked in. You stood at the window and turned around as he entered.

"You okay?", he asked with a calm voice. He put his hat on the table and walked over to the bed and got out of his boots.

"Yeah." He looked a bit exhausted, you thought. Unsurprising of course, he had been out the whole day. You again looked at each other, both at a complete loss for words. There had been no long private conversation the last few days. The privacy and tranquility of this moment was unusual, you didn’t quite know how to handle it.  Arthur lit a cigarette after he had unfastened his gun belt, which now rested discarded next to him on the bed. "I missed ya", Arthur admitted, attentively watching you while he finished his cigarette. The smile came to your face involuntarily. "It was difficult...getting up so early, having you sleep all peacefully next to me. Never thought I'd...feel like this again."

"I missed you too", you replied. Your cheeks had burned up from Arthur's confession. Though he had told you before that he cared about you and he liked having you around, it had never come so close to him telling you that he had stronger feelings. Arthur nodded and shifted his position a bit, then tossed the cigarette away and put one hand on the mattress for support, while he lightly clapped on his thigh with the other one. This was an invitation to sit down on his lap, and you wouldn't let him ask twice.

You sat on his thighs, facing him with a slight smile. He watched you find a comfortable position and asked all innocently: "How's your leg?" "Much better. It doesn't hurt anymore if there's no pressure applied or something like that...it's just a slight, dull...throb, if that makes sense." Arthur nodded in affirmation as he carefully placed his hand on your injured thigh, just resting it close to where he remembered the wound to be. "I had the same with my shoulder. Just means that it's healing well", he explained. Your faces were only inches from each other, so it wasn't too difficult of an act to lean in closer until your lips met.

It was as if you kissed him for the first time, the butterflies in your stomach went mad and you felt yourself melting into his touch. Arthur left his hand on your thigh, lightly stroking it with his thumb. You barely felt it through your pants. But you definitely felt his other hand, which found its way to your lower back. The kisses were gentle and careful. You could barely form thoughts explaining how happy you were that this was happening again. For no reason other than overthinking you had feared that the kiss a week ago could have been a one-time thing. You were proven otherwise at the moment, so you couldn't help but crack a small smile during the kiss.

Arthur stopped, looking at you curiously, but finding you content and smiling he gave you another kiss on the lips before he worked his way down from your cheek to your neck. You chuckled satisfied and with new courage managed to place your hands on his shoulder, playing with the collar of his shirt. Arthur hummed as he placed a final kiss next to the neckline of your shirt. His beard was softer than the last time, probably because it had reached a length longer than stubble, so instead of scratching, it tickled your neck. Arthur's hand which had rested on your back was no looking for an opening, carefully peeling your shirt out of your pants so it could slip under and touch your bare skin.

The sudden contact surprised you and Arthur must have noticed you tensing up because he kissed your cheek again and whispered a "Ya know ya can tell me if yer uncomfortable..." You only managed a nod. Arthur smiled at you kindly and said: "I better make sure you know that, because you don't look like the type to tell someone else to slow down." It took you a couple of seconds, but you recognized those words. Arthur had said the exact same thing to you when he rode with you all the way from Valentine to Rhodes. It had been your first time on a horse and Arthur had decided to ride behind you, so you wouldn’t fall behind. It was obvious that he had said this as a homage to this ride, and you couldn't be more thankful. Arthur had always been kind and considerate to you and there was no reason this would change if you relaxed a bit more.

"Thank you", you whispered. This time, you initiated the kiss. The feelings from earlier; just wanting to feel Arthur from skin to skin, hadn't dissipated. The contrary was the case, they had only gotten stronger since you sat on his lap. This time, the kiss grew passionate quickly. You let Arthur's hand roam across your back, where it found a place to rest under your undergarment. "How 'bout we get this off, darlin'?", Arthur mumbled. You leaned back a bit, just enough so you would be able to move your arms without hitting Arthur and got out of your shirt. Arthur enjoyed the show. His two arms rested on your thighs while his eyes followed every movement of yours.

Your undergarments were a two piecer, so you could get out of your undershirt without removing your pants. Your fingers trembled in excitement as you tried opening the last buttons, and finally, stripping out of the cloth that had hidden your breasts. For a few seconds the feeling of exposedness and embarrassment almost overwhelmed you, but Arthur was quick to let go of a happy sigh he had been holding and exclaimed a weak "Amazing" before leant in to kiss you again. This time, however, his hands went directly to your boobs. His touch was very tender, only holding them at first to see if you'd object. You found it appropriate to let the kiss grow more passionate, as sign that you were alright. When he slowly started kneading them, a soft moan escaped you.

You could have sworn you felt the shiver that went through Arthur's body as he heard you moan. He broke the kiss, looking at you admiringly: "Yer driving me mad, ya know that?" "Sorry", you mumbled back in a chuckle, using the momentary distance between you to unbutton Arthur's shirt, which proved quite difficult with your trembling fingers. When he realized you struggled, he helped you and finished the work. You had never seen Arthur's bare chest, only ever with the cover of a union suit. So of course, you could have guessed how broad and muscular he was, but it still had you in awe when you finally saw it.

"Ya okay, y/n?", Arthur asked.

"Yes. Of course", you had been okay up to the second Arthur had asked you. Because now you remembered what you were here for, and you felt anxious once again. You considered not telling Arthur, but after you sighed you still blurted out: "I'm pretty nervous."

"Tha's okay", Arthur smiled and cupped your cheek in his hand; "I'm...too, to be honest with you."

"What?"

"It's been a long time since I was with a woman. And I don't wanna mess up...", Arthur admitted.

You shook your head: "What should you mess up?"

Arthur shrugged and looked around in the room before he asked: "What are you nervous about?"

Of pain, mostly. That you'd have to tell him to stop. That you wouldn't be brave enough to tell him to stop when you needed to. That you looked weird. That you wouldn't like it. That he wouldn't like it. The list was long...but it could be summarized: "That I mess up."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Yer teasin' me!", he chuckled lightly. His grimace made you laugh in turn. Arthur pressed a quick peck on your cheek before he said: "So are you gonna lie down yerself or should I throw ya off?" You looked at him confused, the smile still on your face: "What?" Arthur rolled his eyes playfully and sighed an "Alright then" before he grabbed you under your arms, carefully of course, lifted you off his lap and threw you onto the bed.

You knew he had done this to make you laugh, and it worked like charm. "That's better", Arthur commented on your laugh and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to you. You saw him palm his bulge as he found a comfortable position to sit in. Yes, you wanted him. You searched for eye contact to tell him exactly that. And it worked, because when your eyes met, you started to peel out of your pants while Arthur got rid of his belt first, dropping it on the floor together with the gun belt which had been clinging on to its dear life on the edge of the bed.

Both of you were now naked. You did your best to look into Arthur's face, out of embarrassment, mostly. You weren't sure if you were ready to look down. He, however, let his gaze wander, absorbing and observing every part of your exposed body. Arthur’s whole body seemed to shiver again, he couldn't resist to immediately lean forward and kiss you again. "I want ya, y/n"

"I want you too", you stuttered. His hand first stroked your cheek and then wandered down your whole body, only stopping when he had reached your hip and went all the way up again. It gave you goosebumps. "We're gonna get'cha ready, okay?", Arthur asked and dutifully looked you into the eyes, searching for consent. You nodded. He plastered your face and neck with tiny kissed while his hand wandered down again, this time further, stroking the outside of your thigh before he let it touch the inside.

"Ya might be more ready than I thought", Arthur commented surprised as he felt the slick between your legs. You only squirmed lightly under his touch, but he didn't miss another second before he slowly started to drag his finger through your wet folds. He was now half lying next to you and while one hand was busy between your legs, he supported his weight on his other arm, allowing himself to have a better view over the situation. It didn't take long for his finger to stimulate a point which made you moan into the kiss you were just sharing.

"You like that?", Arthur whispered, his face so close to yours, you couldn't even focus on his eyes. Your eyes were half closed anyways. You nodded as reply, and Arthur continued to stimulate the same spot with frightening accuracy. He pulled you into another kiss when he slowly let a finger slide into you. You barely noticed. Honestly, Arthur's little growl when he did so told you more that something happened than anything else, but you were just glad it didn't hurt.

"Ya doin' great, darlin'", he praised, as he slowly moved his finger. You wanted to answer something along the lines of 'no, you are doing great' but just as you opened your mouth, he found another sweet spot which instead pulled a moan out of you. You felt the second finger more than the first and it made you whimper silently when you perceived the stretch. Arthur mumbled an apology and went even slower if that was possible. The pain was only short though and quickly replaced by pleasure. You felt full. Full, safe and satisfied. Hearing Arthur's heavy breaths and seeing as he always closed the eyes for a few seconds after you moaned made you think that this could be going on forever.

"Arthur, I think I'm ready", you announced in a whisper. Arthur pricked up his ears. He was on edge, ready to act in seconds, but you knew he forced himself to act slowly. A low hum was his only answer. Then he sat up and looked at you, all the while his two fingers still buried in you: "D'ya wanna touch it?" You knew what he meant, obviously. You hadn't even looked at it yet, but of course you wanted to give Arthur something back. He was holding back and being considerate, the least you could do is try; so you nodded in affirmation.

Arthur slowly slid his fingers out of your pussy and smiled as you shuddered at the sudden emptiness. A bit ungracefully he wiped his hand on the bedsheet before he held it open, waiting for your hand to guide it to his cock. You were grateful for the gesture. Making proactive moves would cost you too much courage and you spent most of your nerves on staying calm. Arthur led your hand to his dick. Now you had a reason to look down, so you'd know where to grasp. You didn't have enough experience with men to judge how well-bestowed he was, you could only tell that he was definitely thicker than two of his fingers. Your thumb barely touched your other fingers when your hand was wrapped around it.

Arthur's hand was still on top of yours, though he now let go of it and left you alone with the instruction: "Now just move your hand up 'n down, darlin'." You whimpered silently, not moving just yet: "I'm afraid of hurting you." Arthur chuckled: "You couldn't, even if ya tried." So you moved your hand up and down. You saw how the mountain of a man next to you melted, breathing a satisfied "for Christ sake" and absolutely being at your mercy. He shamelessly buried his face into the crook of your neck, pressing a few kisses on your skin before he stopped you by taking your hand off his dick. You were confused why he did that, because he had seemed to like it and you thought the reasonable thing to do was to go on. It was only later that you understood he wanted you to stop so he'd last longer. He hadn't had sex for a long time and waiting for something for so long, you had no idea at the moment of how excited he must have been.

"I'mma go slow, alright? It might hurt a bit. You tell me if ya need to stop", Arthur assured you as he lined up his cock with your entrance. He used his one hand to spread your legs further apart. He didn't touch your injured one, letting it rest on the bed in the position you had put it in, where you didn't feel your wound throbbing too much. You closed your eyes when you felt his tip slowly pressing into you. He pushed into you incredibly slowly, stopping when you winced and slightly rubbing the spot with his thumb that made you forget about pain momentarily. With every inch he buried into you, his breaths became heavier. When he had finally bottomed you out, he let out a deep growl and cursed in illegible words.

He tried not to move too much as he bend his torso forward, so he'd be closer to your face. "Ya feel amazing, darlin'. Yer doing really great", he praised. You lifted your head and gave him a quick kiss. The burn and stretch was clearly discernable, but you were too entertained of how done Arthur seemed. Panting before he had even properly moved, sweet praise falling from his lips so silently, you wouldn't have possibly understood it.

Arthur started slowly thrusting into you, barely moving at first. There was discomfort and this new sensation, it brought tears to your eyes. When Arthur noticed them and stopped, you were first to speak: "No, go on please. Arthur. It feels good." You weren't lying. The uncomfortable stretch had almost disappeared and was replaced by an interesting feeling. Suddenly Arthur began hitting a spot that at first drew a loud moan from you and then let you whimper every profanity known to you. He picked up speed and a few moments later his thrusts became sloppy.

With a growled "fuck" he pulled out so suddenly if you would have had the energy you would have protested at the sudden emptiness. You felt his warm cum on your stomach. Arthur didn't rest one second, mumbled a hurried "'m sorry" and stumbled to the little washbasin he had resting on his desk. You laid still on the bed, catching your breath and watching Arthur as he dipped a rag into the water, wrung it out and came back to you. He cleaned you up tenderly, also still trying to calm his breath. The cold wetness of the rag was a relief. The swamps are very muggy already, and the activity had both of you covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You had no problem begging for eye contact, which Arthur was keen to avoid. Even in the dim light of the lantern you saw his red colored cheeks and awkward hand movements. You smiled to yourself. In many ways this had gone better than you'd have expected. "Thank you...you", you swallowed and tried to get rid of your raspy voice, your throat dry from the moaning, "you were great." Finally, Arthur looked at you. "Did it hurt?", Arthur asked tenderly. You shook your head. It did at first but it got better and in the end the pleasure outweighed the pain. You had been prepared for a bit of pain and you knew it would only get better the next times.

"'m sorry I didn't last long", Arthur apologized as he laid down again next to you. You squeezed yourself against the wall, so he'd have more space. "Don't be stupid", you simply replied. You couldn't care less about how long he lasted. To stress how much you didn't mind, you pressed a kiss on his cheek. "Might go for a second round later to make it up to ya", Arthur said, his embarrassment now replaced by sass. You chuckled and sat up. Arthur had covered himself with a blanket from his hip downwards, but you still had a wonderful view on his torso.

Oh god, how you adored this man. Thinking back to a few minutes earlier how you had him at your mercy. Never before had you seen a man of Arthur's caliber - or any man to be precise - so responding and soft to a woman's touch. You could flick, hit and kick this man, he wouldn't feel more than when a fly landed on him; yet you had his knee buckle and body shiver. Suddenly, something came to your mind. Something, your mum had always done to you when she was still alive.

"Could you sit up? And have your feet on the ground", you instructed Arthur, who at first only rolled his eyes back to look at you questioningly. When he saw you smiling innocently, he sat up as you told him. He let the blanket rest in his lap. You crawled around on the bed until you were positioned behind Arthur. Then you placed your hands on his shoulders. They were huge. You knew that, of course, but now, touching them consciously, skin to skin, you felt nothing but hard muscle. You started to knead them, lightly at first, but quickly adjusting to a firmer grip.

Arthur chuckled: "What's that about, darlin'?"

"Figured you'd like a massage", you explained. You regretted not touching Arthur enough, so having him lie naked next to you, you thought you couldn’t let this chance pass. You were right to assume that his muscles must be tense. He had survived an intense week of riding and running around and if you could possibly offer even the slightest relief, you were up for that. You wouldn't admit it to him, but your hands got tired quickly. His shoulders being so broad and his muscles so hard, you had to put a lot of effort into the massage. Arthur's occasional hums made it worth it though.

"You should relax more often", you instructed after about five minutes when you had to take a break, now massaging your own hands that had almost gone numb. "Guess I'll have time to relax in Tahiti", Arthur turned around and smiled slightly. He gave you a peck before he stood up. It surprised you that he held the blanket in place when he waddled to his pants, but as he lowered it to get dressed, you saw why. He had hidden another erection which he now quickly covered with his underwear and pants. You smiled faintly. Without a question, you were way too exhausted for a second round. Your feelings were going crazy too, it was almost overwhelming. Nevertheless, you were proud of making Arthur feel this way.

"I'll get down to the others again, night's still young", Arthur said after a quick glance out of the window. "You coming?", he added. "In a minute. Mind handing me the blanket?", you asked and pointed at the blanket which Arthur had just dropped on the floor. Slowly, Arthur looked at the blanket, then at you. You sat on the bed, stark naked. He shrugged and cheekily said: "I'd rather not."

------x

this is my first smut, sry it took so long. I thought I had fallen from grace after I uploaded the first chapter of this story. Now I've uploaded smut. There's definitely no turning back now.