#arthur morgan x reader

[luncury]

This is actually the cutest/best thing I've read for arthur. The ending he deserves 😭❤️ i

conflicted spaces

Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

a/n: He doesn’t get TB in this. Why? Because this is fanfiction and I’m god and fuck canon (I just finished the game, I’m emotionally distraught and needed this)

Warnings: brief attempted SA

Summary: Your father is a gambling man and you’re always the collateral. He refuses to pay the wrong man and now you’re being dragged across country roads to a man you’ve never met. Arthur Morgan, an outlaw down to the bone, is in charge of making sure you get there in one piece. Except, he doesn’t feel right selling a woman off like she’s property.

You’re done being a doormat and letting the men in your life tell you what you’re worth. You’ve got three days to escape him, but you’re not prepared for the reality of the real world.

“Put your hands where I can see ‘em, cowboy.” Arthur’s shoulders tense and he curses under his breath. His hand darts to the revolver on his hip, but the second his fingers twitch towards it he hears a hammer being pulled back. The cool barrel of a gun digs into his neck and he raises his hand in surrender. 

The man behind him lets out a familiar laugh and tugs him around. Arthur rolls his eyes and glares at Dutch. “The hell are you doing?”

Dutch clears his throat, still laughing slightly. “Relax, Arthur, but if I had been an O’Driscoll you’d be dead right now.” Arthur doesn’t point out that the only thing they have to worry about out here are the Lemonye raiders. He’s more focused on why Dutch is even out here. Rarely does he leave Shady Belle to traverse the streets of St. Denis. 

None of them are particularly fond of the place. If he wanted to step in horse shit every other step he’d go to a stable. At least those smell better. Dutch slings an arm around Arthur’s shoulder, tugging him away from the saloon he was heading towards. 

“You’re gonna have to save the cheating for later, Arthur, I need you for something.”

“You know I don’t cheat,” Arthur jokes and Dutch grins at him and it’s nice. This is familiar to him. This feels right. Dutch has been odd lately, the jobs he’s been taking, the risks he’s been imposing, none of them feels like the man he knows. 

Now, Arthur would follow Dutch straight into hell without being asked. But he can’t abide by how he’s putting their people in harm's way. He’s felt like a stranger more often than not and he’s been doubting the people he shouldn’t. Right now, though, he can see the man he knows in the teasing curl of his lips. 

“What’dya need?”

Dutch pauses in front of a tailor and pats Arthur’s chest. “I need you to look prim and proper for a party we’ve got tonight.”

Arthur’s brows furrow cynically and he scoffs. “Someone invited us to a party?”

Dutch hesitates, a stiff smile on his face. “Well, let’s just say someone is interested in our work.” Arthur wants to question him further, he’s hiding something from him. But Dutch is pushing him towards the door of the shop before he can argue. “And get a haircut, we need to look presentable not like a bunch of mountain men.”

Arthur watches as Dutch leaves, something heavy weighing down on him. Dutch doesn’t usually tell people about his plans beforehand. At least not every step of them. But this is odd, he’s definitely hiding something and Arthur isn’t sure he wants to know what. 

With a resigned huff, he heads into the tailor. He has to mentally prepare himself for being stuffed into a starched collar and a stiff suit for the rest of the night. He hates these damn parties, hates having to pretend like he knows what the hell is being said. 

Most of the people that attend are educated or pretend to be. And when he lets it slip that he’s more likely to shoot a gun than read a book they turn on him like jackals. You can’t let them see that you’re different than them or you’ll never get a word in edgewise. 

The only part he enjoys is the booze and robbing them of their money. It’s not like they earned any of it. Most of it was made by breaking the backs of the people they mock for being too poor to afford a fancy suit. 

Arthur takes a deep breath and looks for the cheapest suit he can find in the overpriced shop. 

“Now,” Mr. Crane’s hand tightens around your bicep and he jerks you closer to him. You keep your face impassive, not letting him see just how much he’s hurting you. But you can feel your skin being stretched to its limits by his clammy fingers. “You’re going to behave tonight. I’ve got a few gentlemen I’d like you to meet.”

He looks at you expectantly but you keep your mouth firmly shut. His eyes narrow and he jerks you around roughly. “Understood,” you force the word out through gritted teeth. You’re trying to breathe as little as possible, not wanting to smell his cigar-laced breath any longer. 

Finally, after a tortuously long moment, he releases you. You take ten steps back, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from the silk skirt he’d forced you in. You glance out the window of his office, watching as the workers scramble to set up the tables for tonight. You can hear cooks in the kitchen, shouting out orders for the food for tonight. 

Everything must be perfect. Mr. Crane never fails to deliver on his extravagantly indulgent parties. The man himself is the very embodiment of greed. You glance over with a disgusted sneer as he sinks himself into his leather chair and pulls out a wad of cash. 

He catches your eye and sends you a sickly sweet smile. “This,” he waves the money at you and you track the movement boredly. “Is how much you’re worth, sweetheart.” Your brows raise in amusement and you scoff. More than you thought he would put up for you. 

You wonder who he’s going to have transport you. He’ll need you out of the city soon, your father is starting to catch onto what’s happening. It took him long enough. You’ve been missing a month, you’d think he would have put two and two together faster. Then again, he’d never been very interested in you beyond what you were worth to others. 

“When will I be able to meet these gentlemen?” You ask, taking a step towards him. Your eyes dart towards the letter opener on his desk and for a brief moment you picture yourself strabbing it into his fattened jugular. 

But he flicks his wrist and like magic the door opens, his men coming inside and standing resolutely by your side. “Not anytime soon, my dear.” He looks to the men surrounding you and you take in a sharp breath, wishing you’d just taken the chance when you had it. “My associate is feeling quite tired, take her back to her room, please.”

They grab you by the elbows, even though it's entirely unnecessary. You wouldn’t run, and even if you did you wouldn’t get far with the chains he has hidden under your dress. A punishment for the first time you snuck from his home. You’ve been well behaved since then but he doesn’t trust you. 

You’re whisked away without another word. The trek of the stairs is a slow one. They’re forced to help you navigate by lifting your skirts and not tripping on the chains. It no longer brings you any satisfaction to cause a hindrance in any of their days. 

Before, you would think of being an annoyance as a small victory. But it’s not, it never was. It was just a way for them to keep you complacent by allowing you to think you’d done something for yourself. You believe your father used to do the same thing. 

It’s just another way of keeping you quiet. 

When you make it to your rooms, they shove you inside. Like clockwork, you hear the jingle of the keys and then the lock clicks. You sigh and take a step towards your vanity, working on touching up your hair. 

You think the worst part of this must be how well you’re treated. You have meals made by a private chef. Your quarters are decorated more lavishly than they ever were at your father’s house. Yet, you hear the suffocating tick of the clock as it counts down your doom. 

You’re not entirely sure what their plan is with you. You know your father had made a promise to Mr. Crane involving some land. Or perhaps it had been a wager. But as always, you were collateral when your father refused to pay up. 

You know Mr. Crane wants you out of town so that he has more time to negotiate with your father, to call in the interest he owes him. You also know the only reason your father is interested in finding you is because you’re meant to marry the son of a business partner in two months. The money he’ll get from that will be enough to finally pay off his debts. 

Except, now, Mr. Crane tells you that should your father refuse to pay you’ll be married to one of his associates. And the deal he’ll make from that will be enough to cover what your father has refused to pay. 

No matter what, you’re going to be married off to some man you’ve never met and yet again be a quiet trophy on a shelf. It’s a very convoluted situation, one which makes you think leaping from a window might be a better fate. 

None of the men your father or Mr. Crane is in business with are particularly kind. They’ve got more skeletons in the closet than there are in the graveyard. You doubt you’ll live a very happy life with whoever they pick for you. 

You slump forward onto the vanity, trying to fight off the burning feeling in the back of your eyes. You’ve known this would happen for years. Even before Mr. Crane had you kidnapped, you knew that this would be your destiny. You would never get to be one of the free-spirited women who fought for the right to choose. You would always be forced into this role. 

Yet, being so close to it coming to fruition makes you feel choked and suffocated. You can feel the noose around your neck tightening, the hangman’s fingers twitching as he waits to see you drop. 

You dig your nails into your palm, taking in a deep breath and fighting back the wave of despair. Where there is doom, you also see a sliver of hope. Your next journey will be a long one. He’s hiring someone to have you transported to an area further up the map. 

If you play your cards right you might be able to escape while you’re traveling. If you’re incredibly smart about this, thinking with your head and not your heart, you might have a shot at freedom. 

You take in a deep breath, reapplying your makeup and resolving yourself to another night of mindless entertainment. But you hold onto that fleeting feeling of hope. You have a shot, you just have to take it. 

Arthur’s heard of these parties before. Some Mr. Crane fella that likes to blow all his money on food and booze. He indulges his guests and when they’re weakest, gets their secrets from them. He’s a snake and everyone knows it. Yet, missing his party is social suicide. They have no choice but to go and indulge in him. 

Arthur had never had any interest in meeting him or doing any business with him. But Dutch had informed him that’s exactly what’s happening tonight. They’ll mingle for a little while, maybe scout some other jobs, and then Mr. Crane will invite them up to his office for a private discussion. 

Dutch still hasn’t told him what exactly their business with him is. He brought Hosea along tonight so he has to assume it’s not going to be anything violent. But he can’t think of anything else they could be good for. 

“Alright, gentlemen,” Dutch places his hands on Hosea’s and Arthur’s shoulders, a scheming smile on his face. “Try not to embarrass me.” He slips behind them, heading up the stairs of the home. Hosea and Arthur share a brief look before they split up, blending into the background of the garden. 

Arthur lurks near the bar, he knows he should be talking to these assholes, possibly learning something useful. But he can’t be bothered. He orders a whiskey, gaze surveying the partygoers. They’re all loud with painted faces and fake smiles. Not a goddamn person here seems to be genuinely interested in anything they’re doing. 

“First time?” The soft voice beside him catches him off guard. He glances to the side and is surprised to see that you’ve slipped past him. He hadn’t even noticed you slide up next to him. You laugh at the look on his face and it’s the first thing here that seems real. “Sorry, it’s just that look on your face, I recognize the disappointment. You’ve never been to one of Crane’s parties before?”

“No,” he clears his throat, still recovering from the surprise. “Uh, I can’t say I have.”

You suck on your teeth, narrowing your eyes at the people passing by. “They’re not worth the effort. Everyone who leaves here leaves carrying his debt on their back.”

Arthur chuckles a little, lips twitching up into a small smile. He’s surprised by your frankness, most people like to hide behind passive-aggressive digs. He appreciates the straightforward attitude. “Then why are you here?”

You shrug and Arthur finds himself enchanted. He shouldn’t be, he’s never been one for romance. He finds women pretty and he’s been in love before, but he’s never bought into the idea of love at first sight. Or any of that mushy stuff that Mary Beth devours in those books of hers. 

But you are absolutely gorgeous, dressed in a silk dress that’s so expensive he’s sure he could buy two new horses with it. Your fingers and neck are decorated in dainty jewels that you fidget with as you stare down at your drink. When you set your eyes on him again he thinks he might have been struck by Cupid’s arrow. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you finally answer, sending him a stiff smile. “What about you? Why are you here?”

Arthur suddenly remembers himself, remembers why he’s here and what he’s supposed to be doing. The fog in his head dissipates and he’s disappointed in himself. Pretty women have never done anything except get him in trouble. 

“Business,” he answers vaguely. Your eyes narrow and your brows twitch in discontent. Something like realization dawns on your face and you back away from him. The easy attitude you’d carried yourself with is gone, replaced by a vague look of distrust. 

“Right, should’ve known.” You let out a rough sigh and Arthur can’t help but feel like he’s said the wrong thing. “I suppose I’ll be seeing you again soon.” You slip past him before he can ask you what you mean. He hears the faint sound of metal clinking as you walk back up the stairs. 

Something silver flashes under your skirts but he can’t get a good glimpse of it. He feels unsettled as he turns back to the bar. The whole interaction was odd. From how stricken he was with you to how cold you turned. 

He doesn’t know what you saw in him but it was probably for the best that you left when you did. Neither of you needed the trouble the other would bring. He shakes his head, downing his whiskey and muttering nonsense to himself about not thinking with the wrong head. 

It’s not that much later that Dutch is appearing on the balcony and silently motions him forward. Arthur leaves the bar behind and slips up the same stairs you’d disappeared on. Dutch says nothing as he leads Hosea and Arthur through the house. 

The mansion is a maze more than anything. Arthur loses track of all the turns they take and the winding staircases they descend. Finally, Dutch stops them all in front of two large oak doors. He raps once on the door and then lets himself in. 

A large, balding man with a shiny head is perched on top of a leather chair. He looms behind his desk, fingers steepled as he greets them all with a false smile. “Ah, gentlemen, so nice to finally meet you.”

Dutch grins and motions to Arthur, “This is the man who will be doing the transporting, Arthur.” Arthur’s eyes narrow in confusion but he says nothing as Dutch moves to Hosea, “And this is my associate, Hosea. He’s a lot better with money than I am, Mr. Crane. You understand.”

Mr. Crane lets out a boisterous laugh that makes Arthur’s ears hurt and nods his head, his cheeks jiggling with the movement. “That I do! Well,” he waves them forward when they linger in the doorway too long, “come in, come in.”

Arthur closes the doors behind them as Mr. Crane lifts himself from his desk. There are two couches positioned in front of an unlit fire. He takes one of them and Dutch and Hosea take the other. Arthur perches himself on the armrest of their couch, eyes surveying the office like it might reveal the truth of their visit. 

“I trust Mr. Van der Linde has kept this all quiet?” 

“He has,” Arthur grouses. 

At the same time, Dutch says, “Of course, Mr. Crane. I promised confidentiality and Dutch Van der Linde is nothing if not a man who keeps to his promises.” Crane nods, looking satisfied and  Arthur holds back a laugh at how easily he seems to trust Dutch.

“Good, good.” He dips his hand inside his jacket and Arthur’s palm instinctively drops to where his gun should be. Of course, they’d had to give up their weapons before they came into the party, if he does has a gun Arthur can’t do a damn thing. 

But he doesn’t, instead, he pulls out the thickest stack of cash that Arthur has ever laid his eyes on. A loud thud resounds through the room as he slams the bills on top of the table between them. Arthur’s eyes widen and Hosea’s jaw nearly drops at the sight of it all. 

This would be enough to get them out of St. Denis tonight. Shock sours quickly into suspicion. What the hell has Dutch signed up for? “Now, this is the first half. This is simply for accepting the job and,” he gives them all severe looks, “for your silence.”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably on his perch and waits for Mr. Crane to finish. “The other half will be given once the package has been safely delivered.” There’s a certain lilt to his words when he says package that has Arthur’s hackles raising. Whatever is getting delivered is not going to be good. 

Crane turns towards the bookshelves on the wall and calls out, “Darling, won’t you join us?” Arthur figures the man must have lost his mind, they should just take the money and leave. But there’s a loud creak and something like metal gears grinding together. One of the shelves pops open and the panel swings forward. 

You pop your head out, glancing towards Crane and then taking a step forward. Arthur, without even thinking about it, finds himself sitting up, and brushing some of the dirt off his pants from the ride over. 

At first, he’s so confused by seeing you again that he doesn’t realize why exactly he’s seeing you again. Then you glance towards him, a knowing look on your face and it clicks. You’re the package. You’re what he’s meant to be transporting. 

He glares over at Dutch, when exactly did they get into the business of trading women?

Hosea voices his doubts in a much calmer manner. “If I may, sir, why does she need to be delivered so discreetly?”

Mr. Crane laughs and your face twitches unpleasantly. You grimace, glaring at the back of the man’s head with something like murder in your eyes. He doesn’t know what he’s done to cause such a visceral look of hate and he doesn’t want to think about it. This whole situation is bothering him. You’re not here willingly, which means you’re not going to be transported willingly either. 

None of this makes sense. Dutch would never have taken a job like this before, even when they needed the money. And there’s no way in hell a rich man like this one would want to pay a couple of grungy outlaws so much money. There’s got to be some sort of trick in all of this. 

Cran clears his throat, “She’s a daughter of a, well,” he frowns and struggles for the words. “Let’s just say we’re in a hostile competition for a lot of land. This land, boys, could be very beneficial in expanding my business. He’s not interested in selling and, well, desperate times, desperate measures.”

You scoff, laughing slightly at him and rounding the couch. Dutch ignores you, Hosea looks uncomfortable, and Crane continues prattling on without missing a beat. “Should her father not pay me, she will be married to the associate you’re bringing her to. He’s promised me enough land and money to cover what I lost to her father. And if he does pay, she’ll be returned in time for her wedding here.”

Arthur’s eyes dart towards you and you send him a bitter smile. It makes him shift where he sits, hating the way your eyes bore into him. “I just need someone who's not afraid of getting their hands a little dirty to make sure she behaves while she’s delivered to my friend,” Crane glances over at Arthur. He asses him, the bulge of his arms in the suit and the scars on his face, whatever he finds must be satisfactory because he smiles over at Dutch. 

Arthur stands, ready for Dutch to tell Mr. Crane that they’re not in the business of selling women off. But Dutch doesn’t, he smiles at Mr. Crane and reaches for the money, passing it off to Hosea to count. “Well, I do believe my friend Arthur is just the man for the job.” 

“I think you’re right, Dutch.” He stands up now, pot belly nearly bursting the buttons of his shirt, and reaches for Dutch’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Dutch smiles and takes his sweaty palm, “You as well, sir.” Dutch walks towards you and holds his arm out. “This way, my dear.” You glance between him and his elbow before rolling your eyes and reluctantly placing your hand on his arm. You follow him silently and obediently, no fight is left in you. Hosea follows after you both, a concerned look on his face. 

Arthur remains in the office, standing dumbfounded and staring at the doorway you’d disappeared through. He’s struggling to process what just happened. Arthur has helped people get home safely before and provided protection. But he’s never been one to traffic a hostage. 

Crane glances up, finally noticing him still standing there. He walks past him, patting his shoulder as he does and giving him an approving smile. “Don’t be afraid to take care of her should she get out of hand.” He’s nearly out the door but he looks back and adds, “Just don’t bruise her too much.”

Arthur’s fingers twitch for his revolver once more and he’s never wanted to shoot a man more. But he knows Dutch is waiting for him and he’d never make it out of here alive if he started a fight right now. Reluctantly, he makes his way out of the manor and towards where you’re all waiting for him. 

He’s fuming by the time he stops in front of Dutch. He’s trying to help you onto his horse and Arthur finally realizes what the metal sound he heard earlier is. There are chains around your ankles and you can’t maneuver yourself on the saddle. 

His eyes narrow and he glares at Dutch, “What the hell are you doing? We’re selling women now?”

Dutch glowers at the tone of Arthur’s voice. You watch them both passively, fiddling with the rings on your fingers and looking unbothered by the entire situation. “Watch yourself, Arthur,” there’s a clear warning in his tone but Arthur’s too upset to care. 

They’ve done a lot of bad things. They weren’t good men. But this was just going too far. “We need this, Arthur. You want to get out of here, you want to keep our people safe?” Arthur let out a deep exhale, gritting his teeth together and nodding reluctantly. Dutch huffs, “That’s what I thought. We’re not selling anyone, Arthur. It’s a simple delivery.”

His jaw clenches as he watches Dutch struggle to help you again. “It’s not going to work,” you inform Dutch. You lift your skirts, flashing him the chains he hadn’t seemed to notice yet. Neither of you gets a chance to say anything as Arthur pulls out his gun and shoots the lock off. 

He feels a little guilty at how startled you look. Your eyes widen until they look like they might bulge out. Your hands fly up to cover your ears as the sound rocks through you. It breaks violently through the silence of the night. 

Dutch turns and gives him a stern look, “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” Arthur can tell he’s trying not to shout and drag any more attention towards you all. 

Arthur glares at Dutch, something wicked brewing in his stomach. “The lady wouldn’t be able to ride a horse like that.” He mounts his horse and rides off without a look back. He can’t stand to be near you or Dutch any longer. 

The reality of what they’ve turned into hits him like a bag of rocks and it makes him irate. They’ve never been these people. Never traded a person off like they were an object. He’s sure plenty of people in camp would have a problem with this. But he doubts Dutch will let them know the truth until the job is done. 

And by then, everyone will be too happy with the money to complain. Dutch is nothing if not good at saving his ass. He’s hitching his horse as the rest of you ride into camp. He lingers by Diablo, resting a hand on the thick neck of the shire while Dutch helps you off the saddle. 

His eyes narrow in on the way Dutch’s fingers glide along your waist as you jump down. You take a step back the second your legs are steady sending Dutch a dirty look that almost makes Arthur laugh. 

He starts towards Dutch, ready to try and reason with him again. But he holds his hand up and walks away, not even giving him a chance to speak. Arthur lets out a rough sigh as Hosea comes up behind him. 

He pats his shoulder comfortingly, “You should get some sleep, Arthur. You’ll ride with her to Strawberry tomorrow morning.” He almost walks off but he whispers a quiet, “I’m sorry,” before he goes. 

Arthur glances towards you but you’re looking around the camp, eyes lingering on Javier as he sings by the fire. He swears he almost sees you smile but it's gone as quickly as it came. He takes his hat off, running his hand through his hair and letting out a tired sigh. 

“Alright, come with me,” he starts towards the house. It takes a minute to realize you’re not directly behind him. When he looks over your shoulder he sees you with your skirts lifted, tiptoeing through the mud and trying not to get your pretty skirts dirty. 

He rolls his eyes, storming back towards you. Your eyes widen at the look on his face and you stumble back a few steps. Undeterred, he bends over, throwing you over his shoulder and walking towards the house. 

Your hands claw at his back, desperately grasping onto his shirt so you keep your balance. He storms up the stairs, ignoring the alarmed looks he gets from others in camp. He can already hear them whispering, wondering who you are and why he’s dragging you into his room. 

They can make up whatever the hell they want. Arthur’s too pissed off to give a shit about rumors tonight. He drops you unceremoniously onto his bed and storms back out. He heads downstairs, rooting around in one of the chests for some extra clothes. 

You won’t be able to ride to Strawberry in those ridiculous clothes. You’ll need some pants if you’re going to sit on the horse properly. He tucks the outfit under his arm and makes his way back to you. 

When he opens the door your hand immediately darts away from his shaving kit and shoves itself under your butt. His brows furrow as he catches a flash of silver in your hand. He places the clothes down on the end of the bed, eyes drifting towards his shaving kit. Sure enough, his razor seems to be missing. 

He lets out a sigh and you tense up, hand clenching around your prize. He briefly debates taking it from you. But he figures you should be allowed a modicum of comfort. Even if you did try and use it against him it’s dull, he hasn’t sharpened it in a while and you wouldn’t be able to do much damage anyway. 

He lets you keep it, leaving you on your own without another word. He can hear the exhale of relief you let out when he walks away and it makes him feel just a little better about this. At least you’re not completely terrified. 

You change into the clothes Arthur gave you. They’re a little big, but you appreciate the pants. It’s much better than the ridiculous dresses Crane had you in. You collect your dress and toss it out the window of Arthur’s room, watching it sink into the mud pit below. It brings you some satisfaction to see Crane’s pretty silk getting ruined. 

You take off the jewelry you’d been given and stuff it into your boots. If you did manage to escape while you were traveling with Arthur then you were going to need some cash. You could sell off the jewels and hopefully, it would be enough to keep you comfortable. 

It feels nice, to wear real clothes. Not being dressed up like a doll for once. You envy some of the women here, who can wear what they want. There is an appeal to the outlaw life. As long as you’re on the right side of it, which, currently, you’re not. 

You slip out of the house before anyone has a chance to retrieve you. The whole night you were curled up around a dull razor with your eyes wide open. Spending a night surrounded by outlaws isn’t exactly restful. 

You figure you might as well try and walk around before you’re on the back of a horse for the rest of the day. There are more people up than you’d expected. Luckily, you don’t see Dutch around anywhere. You don’t feel like having to deal with any more of his false charm or empty apologies. 

The same man you’d seen strumming his guitar the night before is asleep next to the dying fire. A blonde woman catches your eye, she’s walking past some other women in dresses. They’re still asleep but she looks like she’s been up for hours. 

There’s a bit of blood on her pants and you briefly wonder what she’d been doing. “Who are you?” She asks, surveying you from head to toe with suspicion in her eyes. 

“A package,” you tell her bluntly, walking past her towards the only lit fire of camp. She follows you, a wry grin on her face as she watches you pour yourself some coffee. 

“You’ve got a real attitude, I like it.” 

You huff out a laugh, taking a sip of the burnt coffee and giving her a brief smile. “I’m sure my future husband won’t.” 

She rolls her eyes and scoffs, waving you off. “Husbands, good for nothing. I loved mine but he was useless as a sack o’ flour. You’re better off without them.”

Your smile turns strained and you look down at your feet, at the boots that aren’t your own. You’ll never get to dress like this again. Or speak like this to a woman who isn’t afraid to voice what's on her mind. 

“Yes, well,” you shrug and meet her eyes again, “I don’t seem to have much of a choice.”

Her eyes narrow and she frowns, “What’s that supposed to-”

“Mrs. Adler!” Dutch’s voice booms from across the camp and forces the others awake. Most of them grumble, but they’re quick to get started on morning chores. “I see you’ve met our guest,” he says your name with a flourish that almost makes you laugh. 

He’s a good actor. He’s especially good at covering up his mistakes. “Yeah, what’s going on, Dutch? Who is she? Why don’t you guys ever let me in on this stuff?” She fires off questions rapidly, you almost don’t catch them all. There are clearly underlying issues here other than your unexpected presence. 

“In due time,” he assures her, laying the charm on thick. But even you can tell he’s full of it. He’s not planning on letting her in on anything unless it benefits him. “And this is our guest, her fiancee has paid us handsomely to provide her safe passage back to him.” 

He walks towards you, laying a hand over your arm and squeezing slightly. You give Sadie a stiff smile and let him lead you away. “I do believe it’s best that you just wait for Arthur, dear.” He gives you a look that lets you know it’s an order, not a suggestion. 

Still, you play along, “I think you might be right, Mr. Van der Linde, thank you for the hospitality.” You run a tired hand over your face, sitting down on the stoop of the house and finishing off the rest of your coffee. Dutch watches you for a while, never straying too far from where you are and intercepting anyone who asks about you. 

He spins quite the romantic tale of your lost love and how he desperately wants you back. You wish it were true, that you were living out some wonderful fairytale and were about to be reunited with the love of your life. Instead, it feels like one long walk to the gallows. 

The wood creaks behind you and you don’t need to turn to see who it is. “Ready?” Arthur asks and you figure he means, ready to leave freedom and happiness and the will to live behind? 

No, “Sure,” you toss the rest of the coffee into the grass and leave the mug on the stairs. You get to your feet and let him lead you towards the horses. He shares a brief look with Dutch as you pass by him but it doesn’t look entirely pleasant. 

He makes his way toward a towering black shire and your eyes widen in horror. “What’s this?”

He works on saddling the horse up, not paying much attention to you. “This is Diablo.” You take a step closer and the horse starts huffing, swinging his neck towards you with his lips pulled back. You jump back a step back, eyeing him warily. 

Arthur glances over and lets out a low chuckle, “He won’t bite. He’s just curious.”

“Mhm,” you give him a disbelieving look. “You’ll have to excuse me for being wary, I’ve not met a lot of horses.”

Arthur looks a bit shocked by your admission. “Really?” He questions, sounding doubtful. 

You give him a brief smile and nod. “Hard to believe, I know, but I’ve lived a very sheltered life, Mr. Morgan. Haven’t had many opportunities for exploring on my own.” 

He opens his mouth, looking like he wants to say something. At the last second, he stops himself, instead taking a step closer to you. You flinch away from him when he reaches for you and he lets out a sigh. “You can’t spend the next three days terrified of him, come on.”

He coaxes you forward and you reluctantly step closer to the beast. He chuckles at the scared look on your face. You don’t appreciate how much amusement he’s gaining from this. “Come on,” he mutters, taking your wrist and leading you closer to Diablo. 

The damn thing is named Devil, how could you not be terrified of it? 

“He won’t bite, I promise.” You don’t trust him but he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He presses your open palm to Diablo’s nose and you wince, bracing for him to lash out at you. 

But he doesn’t, he lets out a soft knicker and it seems like he doesn’t even care that you’re there. You let out a relieved laugh, running your hand tentatively over his muzzle. It’s shockingly soft and oddly squishy. 

He doesn’t seem to mind as you awe over him. You smile and glance over at Arthur but it drops when you see the odd look on his face. He seems perplexed by your reaction and you can’t fathom why. “You really never have ridden a horse before, have you?”

You shake your head, “No. I told you.”

He purses his lips and nods. You don’t know what it is about this that’s bothering him and you don’t care to ask. If he doesn’t believe just how strict your upbringing has been then fine. “Alright, come on, we need to get a move on.” 

He leads you around to the saddle and helps you up on the back of the horse. It’s beyond odd, sitting on something in pants. Getting to spread your legs freely is something you are going to greatly enjoy during this journey. 

Arthur takes off without much warning and you yelp, throwing your arms around his waist to steady yourself. He glances over his shoulder at you but says nothing. You turn your head, watching as the camp gets smaller and smaller. 

The people mill about, greet each other, and break bread together. It hits you suddenly, this will be the last time you get to see people being free. If you don’t get out, if you can’t escape, your life will be filled with starched collars and powdered faces. You’ll never have a genuine conversation with someone again. You’ll be turned into pretty jewelry hanging off the arm of a man you never met. 

The ride to Strawberry is three days at least. You have three days to get your plan together and to escape. You almost feel sorry for Arthur and the repercussions he’ll have to face losing you. But not sorry enough that you’re not gonna try. 

Arthur’s speed evens out and you let your arms relax, easing away from him slightly. Your wrist jolts against the gun on his hip and you eye it curiously. If you had a gun there would be no doubt you could escape. You see Arthur’s fingers twitch on the reigns of the horse and you move your arms higher up his torso. 

You doubt you’ll be a quicker draw than he is. He is an outlaw after all. You don’t think he’d have many qualms about delivering you to your fiancee with a few extra holes in your gut. Your mind drifts to the razor in your pocket and you consider it for a moment. 

You’re sure you’d be quick enough to just whip it out and slit his throat. You sigh and dismiss the thought. You were a lot of things but you were not a murderer. There are lines you can’t bring yourself to cross. Besides, as wicked as what he’s doing to you is, you know he’s a good man. 

It was an instinctual feeling. Mr. Crane and your father were both horrible, evil men. They knew nothing but greed and would never be satisfied by all the riches they reaped. They were the type of men you looked at and knew deep down that there was nothing left to save. 

Arthur has undoubtedly bad things. You don’t become an outlaw without spilling some blood. He was weathered and rough from a hard life, but that didn’t mean there was nothing good left in him. You won’t have his blood on your hands, no matter how much you might want to get away from him. 

As grateful as Arthur is for the silence, it is odd. He’s helped a few ladies find their way back home before and for some reason, they seem to think he’s the best listener in the world. It seems everyone who rides with him wants to tell him their life stories. 

You’re completely silent, though. He has to keep looking back just to make sure you haven’t fallen off the back of the horse. You’re pretty complacent, following along with whatever Dutch said and coming along quietly. You seem beaten down, the fight dragged out of you. 

He wonders what Mr. Crane had done to you. A few times, he’s seen just a glimpse of the spark that used to be there. But it was snuffed out before he got a chance to know it. He almost wishes you would talk. It would distract him from what he was doing right now.

It didn’t feel right, bringing you along to marry a man you’ve never even met. He has to keep reminding himself that it would have happened no matter what. Ladies like you are always sold off into a profitable marriage. The only thing he’s doing is switching up who the fiancee might be. 

None of that makes him feel better, though. He should be helping you, not dragging you away to your worst nightmare. But, his people come first. The amount of money Dutch’ll get from this will be enough to get them all out of here. This could finally be the last score. 

You gasp behind him and he whips his head around, immediately expecting someone to be following along beside you both. Maybe your father’s men or just some raiders. But he doesn’t see anything except a herd of deer running through the trees. 

His brows furrow in confusion and he glances back at you. You’re watching them like they’re something spectacular. Arthur’s always been a fan of the quiet beauty of nature. He appreciates them in ways most folks don’t understand. But you’re looking at ‘em like you just found God. 

“Never seen deer before?” He teases, chuckling a little at your reaction. 

You startle, not realizing he had been watching. You clear your throat and look away from them sheepishly. He almost feels bad for ruining the moment for you. “No. No, I haven’t.” 

He knows it's possible, but it’s astounding to him that someone truly lived their whole life in the city. It just doesn’t seem right. Cities are full of shit, smog, and bad people. Not even having a moment out of that your whole life seems like torture. 

“I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts,” you mutter, eyes darting back to the tree line. But the deer are gone and you don’t look very interested anymore. 

“Right,” he shifts forward, the air between you awkward. He’d only meant it in jest. He didn’t mean to remind you of what was about to happen to you. He doesn’t like the silence, not this time, it feels wrong. It makes him stew in his shame and that’s a nasty feeling. 

Selfishly, he prods you for more. “A few days on the road, you’ll be eager for the city again.”

You laugh but there’s no humor to it. “I very much doubt that Mr. Morgan.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, “just call me Arthur.”

“Right,” your tone remains cold, “well if you don’t mind Arthur, I’d like to ride there in silence.”

He's got no other choice but to comply. If you don’t want to talk he won’t make you. He just wishes he could make this a little easier for you both. 

Camping is something. You don’t have a word for it. It’s nice to be out in nature and embrace it for the first time in your life. But you really would not mind the comfort of your bed right now. 

Rocks digging into your spine and head do not make for a good night’s sleep. You’ve been lying in front of the fire for hours, flipping around uselessly. It doesn’t matter how much you shift, the rock stays digging painfully into you. 

You let out a loud huff, flopping onto your back and glaring up at the starry sky in defeat. At least the view is nice. In the city, you can’t see the stars. The smoke’s too thick and you never get a good look at them.

Out here, they almost feel fake. They’re so bright and beautiful, you thought the paintings in the museum had always been exaggerating just how breathtaking a night sky can be. But you were wrong. And you hate that there’s a potential future where you’ll never get to see this again. 

“Would you quit squirming so damn much?”

You shoot up, resting on your elbows and glaring over at Arthur. He’s got his hat over his eyes, arms crossed, and looking like he’s been asleep for the past few hours. You hadn’t realized you’d been keeping him up. 

“Some of us aren’t used to sleeping outside,” you hiss, throwing yourself back down to the ground. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you figure that’s the end of it. You clench your eyes shut, counting sheep in your mind and trying to force yourself asleep. 

You hear boots crunching across leaves and your eyes fly open. Arthur’s standing over you, hands propped on his hips as he glares down at you. “Can I help you?” You snap when you get tired of the staring. 

He scoffs and shakes his head, kneeling to be eye level with you. You’re startled by the proximity, an odd heat creeping up your neck. “Come on, I’m gonna tire you out. Maybe then you’ll get some sleep.”

You gasp, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Excuse me?” You demand, tone incredulous. 

His brows furrow before he shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Not like that,” he grouses. “Get up,” he doesn’t give you much of a choice. He places his hand under your back, shoving you onto your feet. You stand with a slight stumble, glaring at him as you brush dirt off your shirt and pants. 

You can’t help the snotty tone of your voice as you ask, “What are we doing?” 

“Huntin,’” He answers gruffly, going over to the horse and taking the bow out of his saddle. 

Your brows furrow as you recall the few stories your father told you of hunting bison. “Aren’t you supposed to use a rifle?”

He shakes his head and nods towards the treeline. You glance back at the fire before reluctantly following him into the dark forest. The moon is full enough that it provides just enough light for you not to be terrified of what’s lurking in the underbrush. 

“Got a friend,” he tells you, kneeling and glancing at some tracks on the ground. “Taught me how to hunt properly. Bows are quieter, less disruptive, and they provide quicker, cleaner kills.” He looks back at you and motions towards the arrows, “Less pain for the animal.”

Your face slacks with something like astonishment. All you’d heard from your father was the thrill of the hunt, the satisfaction of the kill. He never mentioned keeping anything from the animal, using it for meat, or about how long it took for them to die. You’d never thought there was anybody who actually cared for the creature’s comfort as it died. 

You suppose there’s going to be a lot about Arthur that’s different from the men you know. 

“Arthur,” a twig snaps behind you, and your eyes widen. You drop your voice to a whisper, not wanting to draw too much attention towards you both. “I don’t want to kill anything,” you hiss.

“Ha!” He barks out a laugh and you purse your lips in irritation. He stands and looks at you, chuckling again before shaking his head. “I wouldn’t be so confident in your huntin’ skill, kid.”

You click your tongue and glare at him, “Don’t call me that,” you snap. It’s the same patronizing nickname your father loved to use on you and you detest it. He raises his hands in surrender and you roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “Then what’s the point of this?”

He shrugs and heads further into the trees, you have no choice but to follow along behind him. “Figure you should be taught a few skills before I get rid of ya.”

You want to argue with him that there’s no point. If you are given to Crane’s associate, you’ll never set foot in the woods again. However, if you do manage to escape him, learning a few survival skills wouldn’t be a bad idea. 

So, you keep your mouth shut and let him lead you through the forest. “How do you know where to go?” You ask, trying to figure out what it is he keeps looking at in the mud. He waves you forward, moving you so you’re standing directly in front of him. 

“You see that?” You have to squint, relying solely on the light from the moon, to make out what he’s pointing at. There are some tracks in the mud that look vaguely like hooves. “It’s buck tracks, you can tell by the size.” He kneels and when you don’t follow he tugs you down by the sleeve. “You can’t rely on just the tracks, though. You have to look for other signs of ‘em.”

You glance around, noticing some crushed twigs and grass a few feet ahead. “Like that?” You point towards it and he huffs in amusement. 

“Caught on quicker than I thought.”

You feel vaguely offended by that but don’t bother voicing it, just glare at his back as he gets up. You walk silently through the forest, letting Arthur show you which tracks to follow and which to avoid. You’re not comforted by how many cougar prints you find. You stare up into the branches always expecting something to already be looking down at you. 

Miraculously, no wild cat chooses you for dinner as you track the buck down. You find him near a small stream, antlers dipping into the water as he takes a drink. He’s got to be one of the most gorgeous creatures you’ve ever seen. 

You’ve lived your whole life in St. Denis. The most you’ve seen are overworked carriage horses and mangy dogs. No life slips through the cracks of that place. There’s just smoke and misery. This is nature, real beauty. It’s breathtaking, the way the leaves ripple in the wind and the starlight reflects in the water. 

You can’t imagine seeing this and wanting to tear it down to put up an oily machine that contributes nothing to the earth but death. It just makes you hate your father more. It also makes you more resolved to not be forced back into that life. You can’t do it. You can’t have this one taste of freedom and then let it go without a fight. 

Arthur pulls the bow out and nocks an arrow. You glance between him and the buck and rapidly shake your head. “No,” you hiss, “I don’t wanna kill it.”

He rolls his eyes and moves you in front of him. You don’t have much choice as he places your hands on the string and guides you into the right position. “Relax,” he murmurs in your ear as you fight against his grip. “You ain’t gonna kill it.” 

It doesn’t bring you much comfort, but if you’re going to make it on your own, sometimes you’ll have to do something you don’t like. “Now,” his hand drifts down your bicep and you suck in a sharp breath. “Don’t hold it too long, you’ll get tired.” 

It’s dawning on you just how close you both are. You’re kneeling on the ground with him behind you, essentially cradling your body to him. You’ve never been this familiar with a man before, it’s making your brain short-circuit. You can hardly pay attention to what he’s telling you. 

He lifts your elbow slightly and points you towards the left. “You need to keep your arm steady even after you let go or your aim will be off. Take in a deep breath and release on the exhale.” You give him an apprehensive look, still not wanting to hurt the buck. He just nods and there’s something in his gaze that lets you relax slightly. 

You release the string and the arrow flies over the buck’s head, burying itself into the tree behind it. Its head shoots up and it turns towards you both before dashing off. You let out an astonished laugh, glancing down the bow and then back at Arthur. 

“My god, I’ve never shot anything before.”

“Congratulations, you’ve killed your first tree,” he remarks dryly, but you see the glint of humor in his eye. 

He gets to his feet and offers you a hand up. You smile up at him, undeterred by his attitude. “Thank you for this,” you tell him earnestly. He gives you an odd look but nods anyway. He doesn’t understand just how important this is to you. Knowing how to do something like this is the difference between life and death when you’re on your own. Of course, he doesn’t realize you’ll be making an escape attempt soon. 

He retrieves the arrow from the tree and you run your hand over the curve of the bow. You wonder just how much he’d miss this if you took it from him. 

Arthur’s tearing down the camp and you’re standing by Diablo, feeding him some apples. You stroke absentmindedly over the horse's muzzle, watching Arthur intently. He’s too busy pulling the tent apart to be paying attention to you. 

You got better sleep last night than you did at Crane’s. He was right, hunting had tired you out. You were eager enough to sleep that you didn’t even feel the rough ground underneath you. He seems to be a little more lax about his watch over you. 

Something about last night must have eased him into a sense of comfort that you’re not going to run. That’s his own fault, though. You glance over the curve of the hill, noticing a carriage that will be passing by soon enough. 

You look back at Arthur and ease slightly away from Diablo. Arthur is still collecting the blankets and rolling them up. He turns towards the dying fire and tosses the rest of the coffee out. You take another step back and he keeps his back to you. 

Slowly, you release Diablo’s reigns, giving him one last apple before you turn on your heel and run down the hill. Your foot slips out from under you and you let out a loud yelp as you go flying headfirst down the grass. 

You land on your back with enough impact to make the breath rush out of you. But your descent is still going and you’re flipping over headfirst into the road. You slide forward, the dirt scraping up your chin as you cough and try and catch your breath. 

“Look out!” You roll out of the way just before the carriage rolls over you. Someone shouts your name from the top of the hill and you see Arthur glaring down at you. He starts towards you and you scramble to your feet. 

“Stop!” You scream, waving your arms wildly and chasing after the carriage. The man gives you a bewildered look as you throw yourself at him. “Please, sir, I’ve been kidnapped, you must help me get back to my husband.”

The man looks behind you, sees a very angry Arthur bellowing out your name, and moves to the side. “Hurry up,” he urges, giving you a hand on the bench beside him. You let out a relieved breath, taking his hand and throwing yourself the rest of the way up. 

He whips the horses, hurrying them along all the while Arthur is yelling after you. It’s not hard to believe that he would kidnap you. He looks half-crazed as he follows along behind you. You turn over your shoulder, giving him a brief wave and a smile. “Thanks for the help,” you tell the man beside you. You offer your hand and name. 

He glances down at it but doesn’t take it, instead looking forward and ignoring you entirely. Something uneasy settles in your stomach but you push it aside. You blame the feeling on the adrenaline still pumping through you. 

“Where are you headed?” You ask, glancing into the back of the carriage. You notice some moonshine and a crate full of guns but decide not to question it. 

“Said yer husband’s waitin’ for ya?” He demands, completely ignoring your question. You stare at the side of his face but his expression isn’t giving anything away. He comes to an intersection. You see a sign pointing towards a town and figure he’s going to take it, but instead, he pulls onto a smaller trail leading to the woods. 

“Um,” you clear your throat uncertainly, glancing back at the sign. “Yes,” your voice cracks and you know you sound like you’re full of shit. 

He laughs and the sound sends chills down your spine. You rip your eyes off of him, looking down at the horses and suddenly realizing just what you’d gotten yourself into. “You sure about that, little lady?”

Something cold digs into your side and you gasp quietly, looking down to see a gun pressed against your ribs. “You scream, run, or do anythin’ to piss me off and I’ll put a fourth hole in ya.” When you don’t say anything he digs it harder into you. “Understand?” He growls and you can do nothing but nod your head. 

You want to move, want to shove him off the side of the carriage and make a run for it. But you can’t, you’re frozen solid. You’re so petrified with fear you can’t even blink. You think you’re holding your breath, as if taking in air is going to set the gun off. 

He grins, a blackened curl of lips over rotted teeth, at your obedience and comes to a stop in the trees. “What are you doing?” You whisper, staring at the secluded area with a newfound sense of horror. 

“Shut up,” he snaps, his voice echoing through the quiet of the woods. You hear no birds or animals and you feel so alone it makes you want to cry. He gets off the carriage and turns towards you. “Down,” he demands. Your eyes dart towards the reigns of the horses and he pulls the hammer of the gun back. “Don’t even think about it.”

You lift your hands in the air, slowly slipping down the seat. He doesn’t appreciate you taking your time He grabs the front of your shirt, jerking you further into the trees and tossing you to the ground. 

You let out a rough groan at the impact, blood staining your shirt as your elbow slips across a jagged rock. It’s like something is snapped loose in your mind. He comes stomping towards you, kneeling between your spread legs and it finally clicks. 

You lunge forward with a shout and he rears back in surprise. You wonder how often someone’s actually fought against him or just let it happen. You don’t want to die, you don’t want to get shot by this scum, but there are a lot of things worse than dying. 

You grab the arm holding the gun, jerking it around, and knocking it out of his hand. “You bitch!” He hisses, bringing his open palm down across your cheek. The smack rings through the trees and ricochets through the air. Your head whips to the side so hard you think you might have snapped your neck. 

Blood dribbles out from your lips, your teeth having bitten into the fat of your cheeks. You spot the gun nearby, the silver of the barrel glinting from under the leaves. Just as you reach for it, he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles and dragging you back towards him. 

You feel like screaming as your hands desperately grasp at the dirt underneath you. But there’s not enough air to scream. You dig your nails into the mud, feel them split against the rocks, and kick at his chest hard enough to make him lose his breath. 

His grip on you loosens and you throw yourself at the pile of leaves. Hands groping for something solid. Just as he flips you over you wrap your hand around the handle of the gun. You pull the trigger and the bang is deafening. 

Your ears ring and your hands are trembling from the recoil. His jaw goes slack and he tumbles on top of you. You let out a grunt, breath pushed out of you by his weight. You scramble against his chest, something warm making your hands slip as you struggle to roll him off of you. 

You glance over, waiting for him to spring back up. But there’s something dark pooling around him and sinking into the dirt below. There’s a hole in his chest and his eyes are already flattening. You fall back against the earth, staring up at the trees above you. 

The sounds rush back to you all at once. The birds singing, deers prancing somewhere in the distance. You hear a stream rushing nearby and let out a stunned laugh. There’s a smile on your face but there’s nothing to be happy about. 

You think you might be in shock. Mind still trying to catch up to what just happened. You glance down at the gun in your hand and toss it to the side, not wanting it near you anymore. Only a second later do you reach for it again. 

You struggle onto your hands and knees, checking over yourself for any injuries that you might be numb to right now. The only blood on you is from the dead man on the ground. You keel over, hands on your knees, and suck in a deep gasping breath. 

You stumble back, limping towards the carriage. You dig around in the back of the wagon, tugging out a giant hunting knife and walking towards the horses. You cut them loose, keeping the rope on one of them and tugging yourself onto her back. You tuck the knife in your belt and nudge her side, leading her forward gently. 

You don't even have time to process the fact that you’re riding a horse on your own. Your body is moving on autopilot. You can only think about getting ahead, getting away. What just happened will hit you later. You slump against the neck of the horse, adrenaline leaking out of you and exhaustion catching up. 

He’s going to find you and he’s going to kill you. Leaving while he had his back turned. Getting on some carriage with a man you’ve never met before. How dumb do you have to be? You can’t trust people out here. Not when there are gangs, raiders, hell, he’s encountered a few cannibals. 

For all he knows, you’re already dead and he’ll be delivering a body to the train station. The thought makes him curse and urge Diablo forward. It’s not hard to follow the tracks of the carriage, what concerns him is when they lead into the forest instead of the town. 

“Goddammit,” he mutters, “the hell have you done woman?” He leaps off Diablo, figuring it will be easier to track you on foot. He follows the paths of the wheels, finding the wagon abandoned and the horses cut loose. 

His brows furrow in confusion as he wanders around the side and spots a lump in the leaves. All he can see is the bottom of a boot and blood splattered across the orange of the fallen leaves. 

His stomach plummets and he races towards it. But it’s not you buried under the foliage, it’s the man who offered you a ride. “What the hell?” He kneels, brushing the leaves off his chest and frowning when he sees the blood splattered all along his chest. 

He doesn’t need to look long to figure out what killed him. He’s sure the bullet buried in his heart did the job. Arthur curses and stalks away from the man. There are prints where the horses were but there are too many to tell which one you might have taken. 

He’ll have to rely on instinct to find you. You’re becoming a real pain in the ass for what was supposed to be a simple job. Still, he can’t help but be a little relieved that it was a stranger and not you lying dead on the ground. 

He turns back onto the road, taking the turn into town. Someone on horseback rides past him, they look disgusted by something up ahead and it makes alarms go off in his head. He urges Diablo forward, running the rest of the way into town. 

An unsaddled mare lazily eats some grass as the sound of a rushing river meets his ears. Diablo’s hooves sound off against the wood of the bridge. He finally sees what disturbed the other rider so much. 

You’re sitting on the railing of the bridge, legs dangling dangerously over the edge as you stare down into the crashing waters below you. Arthur gets off his horse, approaching you slowly. He doesn’t want to startle you and have you go tumbling over the edge. 

He calls out your name and you glance briefly over at him. Blood is splattered across your neck and the front of your shirt is soaked with it. He knows it isn’t yours but it still puts him on edge. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

You don’t answer him, “Did you follow me?” He eases up beside you, straddling the railing so he can catch you if you slip. He nods and you let out a rough sigh. “Is he dead?”

He scoffs, “Sure as shit hope so, don’t know how someone would survive that.”

A manic laugh bursts through your lips and you double over your head falling into your hands. Arthur surges forward, steadying you before you dive headfirst into the river. “Alright, let’s go,” he quietly urges you around. You don’t put up a fight, letting him maneuver you how he likes.

He gets you on your feet and leads you back to Diablo. You latch onto the horse's reigns immediately, stroking your hand over his mane. Your silence is concerning. Arthur doesn’t know what your regular behavior is, the most he’s seen of you, you have been quiet. This is different, though. He’s seen this sort of quiet in women before and it never ends pretty. 

“You’re alright, come on,” he tries to keep his voice low so he doesn’t set you off. He keeps his hands light as they land around your waist, giving you help onto Diablo’s saddle. Your gaze is distant and you move like someone else is controlling your body. 

He collects the mare you’d brought along with you and leads both horses into town. He’ll have to get a saddle for her, she already seems attached to you. And maybe taking a horse with you into the city will let you escape a little. 

The town, at least, is on the way to Strawberry so he doesn’t have to worry about being too far off schedule. Though, that’s the least of his concerns right now. His eyes keep darting up to you. Waiting for you to try and bolt again or finally break down. It doesn’t look like anything is going on in your head, you seem completely distanced from the situation. 

It’s a good thing for him. He can’t handle a distraught woman. He’s not a kind enough man for it. 

He hitches the horses in front of the hotel. You turn in the saddle, staring down at him and waiting for a hand down. You slide easily through his hands, landing in the mud with a dull thud and heading up the stairs of the hotel without prompt. 

He huffs and follows after you. He doesn’t know how to explain the blood on your clothes away and hopes he won’t have to. The man running the place, thankfully, doesn’t have many questions. He looks disturbed but keeps his qualms to himself when Arthur slips him a little extra cash. 

Arthur guides you up the stairs with a light hand on your back, opening the door of the bath for you. “Alright, here’s your room key. I’ll be out for a while so, just,” he sighs, taking in the blank look on your face and shaking his head. “Try not to cause any more trouble.” You nod and close the door behind him. 

There’s no worries that you’re going to make a run for it again. He’s sure whatever happened in those woods was scarring enough to make you want to go back to the city and never see country folk again. He wouldn’t blame you, there are some nasty people out here. Himself included, but he could never imagine hurting a woman like that. It just ain’t right. 

He heads to the shop across the street, buying some new clothes for you that actually fight properly. The horses are brought to the stables and he goes ahead and gets a paper for your mare under your name. Diablo will be faster tomorrow if he doesn’t have to carry the weight of two people. You might make it to your handler in time. 

Arthur still doesn’t feel right about this whole thing. Leaving you with a man you’ve never met feels even worse knowing what happened to you today. He doesn’t think you being so calm about it all is a good thing. Shouldn’t women react?

Dutch likes to tell him women are a more sensitive breed. He’s seen some tough ones in his life, but this seems like the time to be in hysterics if there ever was one. He heads back to the hotel, planning on just leaving the change of clothes in your room. 

He passes by the bath and hears an odd sound seeping through the cracks. Frowning, he presses his ear up against the door. A man passes by him, giving him a disgusted look as he goes into his room. Arthur sighs but he stays where he is. 

It’s clearer now, you’re crying and it’s hard to listen to. It's the type that makes it hard to breathe. That sort of crying makes your ribs ache and bruise. It’s wrong to keep listening to such a vulnerable moment. So, he does what he planned, drops the clothes in your room, and then heads to bed himself. 

Sleep comes easier than he thought it would. It’s not as restful as he’d been hoping but it draws over him faster than it normally does. He’s always been a light sleeper, though. It comes from years of having to be on guard in case some O’Driscoll is gonna try and slit his throat while he’s asleep. 

When he hears the door creak his hand is already on the trigger of his revolver as he shoots up in bed. The glow of the lamps outside illuminates what’s clearly a woman’s form. But he can’t see your face until you take a step further into the room and the moonlight provides some light. 

“Arthur?” You whisper his name, peering into his room. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” he grumbles. With a sigh, he shoves the gun back under his pillow and runs a rough hand over his face. “What'd ya want?”

You let out a low breath and rock back on your heels. “I’m sorry,” you mutter. “I just, I can’t sleep. I keep thinking he’s gonna creep out of my closet or bust through the door, I-”

You cut yourself off but he can hear the emotion thickening your voice. He clenches his eyes shut in irritation, arguing with himself over what he’s about to say. “You wanna sleep in here?” He mumbles reluctantly. 

You close the door immediately, practically running towards his bed. “You don’t mind?”

You’re not really giving him a choice, but he’s not going to say that to you. “No.” He grabs a pillow and blanket off the bed and rounds the end of the mattress. You frown as you watch him toss everything to the ground. 

“Well, what’re you doing?”

“What’s it look like?” He snaps, angrily gesturing towards the floor. “I’m givin’ you the bed.” 

You bite your lip and he feels horrible instantly because you look like you’re about to cry. He’s not trying to be rude but you woke him up in the dead of night. What’d you expect him to say?

“I was sort of hoping we could share the bed.”

His eyes widen and he glares at you in disbelief. “You mean-”

“No!” You cut him off with an aggrieved sigh. “You fool, that’s not what I mean at all. I just don’t want to be alone, alright?” 

“Look,” he scoffs and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m the man you want to bunk with for company, alright. I’m not that kind of guy.” You glare at him and snatch his pillow and blanket off the floor. 

“Don’t be so damn stubborn.” You aggressively fluff the pillows, throwing the covers back and gesturing towards them, your brow set in anger. 

“Right,” he huffs, “I’m stubborn.” He reluctantly crawls into bed and you follow behind him. It’s not that he minds sharing a bed with a pretty lady. He’s just not the sort of guy you should be coming to for comfort. 

He doesn’t think he can provide whatever it is you need at this moment. But you seem to think otherwise as you inch towards him slowly. He lays on his back, arms under his head as he watches you out of the side of his eye. You think you’re being subtle, slowly moving into his side until you’re flush against him. 

He doesn’t say anything to object and you don’t bring up the proximity. He doesn’t want to admit it but it is nice having someone else beside him. He’s so used to camping out on his own. He hasn’t had anyone beside him in a long while. He lost interest in women of leisure a long while ago. And ever since Mary, he’s given up on any sort of intimacy. 

He hates to admit it, but he finds himself easing towards the warmth you provide. The second you feel him reciprocating you’re inching a tentative hand around his waist, cuddling closer to him. He recognizes it for what it is. 

He’s always been looked at as someone who can protect, at least by the gang. He’s their muscle. To most others, he incites nothing but fear. It should be the same for you. But after what happened today, you just see someone who can keep the monsters in the dark away. 

He doesn’t mind being used like this. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and waits until he feels you settle to ease into sleep again. 

Arthur figures you should both get breakfast in town while you’re here. He reasons you should enjoy a hot meal before you’re on the road again. You don’t point out that you know he’s just trying to ease you into the day. 

You appreciate it, honestly, but yesterday wasn’t your first run-in with men like that. It’s become incomprehensibly normal in day-to-day life, even for a city girl like yourself. You’d cried everything out in the bath once you’d scrubbed your skin raw. 

You don’t think Arthur will ever understand just how much his presence helped you last night. If you’d been on your own, jumping every time you heard the wood creaking outside, you’d have driven yourself over the edge. He protected you, even if there was nothing to be protected from. 

You don’t think he gives himself enough credit. Ignoring the situation you’re both in and what he’s taking you to do, he’s a good man. While the caliber of the men you’ve met is questionable at best, he’s one of the best ones you’ve ever known. At the end of the day, he disagrees with the whole situation, but he’s doing this for his family. That’s admirable in its own way. 

But, god, does he have poor conversational skills. “So, yesterday.” You glance up from your toast, brows raised in question. He clears his throat, eyes darting between you and his food like he can’t choose what to focus on. “That man, did he…”

He trails off and you feel your hackles rise. “Don’t worry,” you hiss, a bite to your words, “I’m still pure for my husband. Your pay won’t be docked, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

His hand clenches around his fork and his eyes bore into yours, “That’s not what I meant,” he growls. “I wasn’t worried about that,” he snaps, “I was worried ‘bout you, woman.”

You take in a deep breath, actively biting your tongue from saying something spiteful. He wasn’t being rude, that’s just what you’re used to. “I’m sorry,” you concede lowly. “Nothing happened,” you repeat without the attitude. 

“Well,” he huffs and goes back to his breakfast, “good,” he settles on dully. 

“Good,” you agree quietly, pushing the rest of your food around. You find your appetite dulled and you push the plate away. You lean back in the booth and stare out the window. The horses seem to be getting on well enough. “Did you name her?”

Arthur gives you an odd look and you nod towards the mare hitched next to Diablo. He swallows the food he’d been chewing and takes a swig of his coffee. “No, figured you’d want to do it.”

Your brows furrow and your lips quirk in confusion. “Why?”

“She’s yours, ain’t she?” He grouses. 

You shake your head, “Nope,” you tell him, popping the p. “I just took her so I’d have something to get me to town.”

“Yeah, well,” he sounds less sure of himself and he’s looking like he made a mistake. “I thought she’d be nice for you to have with you in the city. A way for you to get around without relyin’ on someone else.”

You can’t help but smile, something in your chest easing away at the kind gesture. “I appreciate it,” he lights up a little at your approval, but you crush it in an instant. “But I can’t keep her, I won’t be allowed to. I’ve tried to have my own horse before, hard to control something that can get away from you,” you tell him blankly. There’s no emotion in your voice because it’s something you’re used to. 

He looks slightly horrified at how blunt you are. He can’t comprehend not having that freedom but he fails to recognize that he’s got a leash of his own. You doubt a man like Dutch would ever let his main asset just run off to wherever he wants to. 

A few people walk into the saloon, the women giving you odd looks when they see the pants on your legs. You smile cheekily at them, reveling in what you know will be a short-lived experience. You’ve never been on the receiving end of a judgmental look like that. 

You’ve always blended in. Been the perfect wallflower for the men in your life. You were never something to gawk at or cause trouble. It’s a relief to stick out for once, to break the mould for the first time in your life. 

Arthur clocks the interaction and chuckles. “Missin’ the skirts yet?”

“Not one damn bit,” you tell him, smiling as you take a sip of your coffee. “I’m going to miss being able to run around without having to lug an extra four pounds of fabric behind me.” 

“Ya know, you could just wear some pants, you’ve got a choice.”

You grin patronizingly at him, propping your head on your chin and watching him finish the rest of his breakfast. “You don’t know city men very well, do you?”

“Glad for it,” he grumbles, distaste clear in his tone.

A laugh breaks through your chest, the first real one in a while. “I’m going to be marrying one, Arthur. I won’t have a choice in much of anything anymore.” You can tell he wants to object, tell you there’s always a choice. 

He’ll never truly understand what’s going to happen to you, though. You’re no longer human once you’re married. You’re cattle and property, meant to be bred and shown off. You accepted your fate a long while ago. And after you’re failed escape attempt, you’ve realized this is what you were always meant to be. There’s no point in fighting fate. 

“Don’t apologize or argue,” you tell him, no spite or bitterness in your tone, just the honest truth. “I don’t mind anymore, really. What place is there for me in this world, anyway? I can’t exactly take care of myself.”

“You did a damn good job yesterday,” he snaps back quickly. He doesn’t seem too keen on the way you’re talking about yourself. But you’re not lying. Yesterday was a wake-up call. If you let yourself get screwed over by a hillbilly that quickly then how were you ever going to make it on your own? In your defense, you were raised to be dependent, you never had a chance. 

“Sure, but that was a one-off incident. I’m not going to run again, Arthur. There’s no point. And there’s no point in fighting against the way things are, they’re never going to change for me.” You take in a deep breath, the easy mood ruined by your sincerity. 

“I’m just gonna wait by the horses.”

You slide out of the booth, leaving Arthur to stare pensively at his plate. You’ve nearly slipped through the door when Arthur calls out, “You should name her.” You pause at the doorway, glancing back at him. He’s settling the bill at the front and you walk back out to the horses. 

The mare picks her head up as you walk towards her, ears perked and tail flicking. “Hey, girl,” you run a hand over her muzzle, admiring the sleek silver of her coat. “I guess I should name you.”

You run a hand over her mane and swing yourself onto the saddle. “How ‘bout Bullet, it’s how I got you, anyway.” A dark joke, but it eases the macabre feeling hanging around you. 

Arthur walks out of the saloon, tucking his money away into his bag. He lifts himself onto Diablo, glancing over at you with a knowing glint. 

“Name her?”

You resent how smug he sounds. “Bullet,” you answer reluctantly. 

“Bullet?” He questions, tone incredulous. 

You grin at him, “It’s how I got her.” There’s a slightly stunned expression on his face before it slacks away into something more amused. 

He shakes his head and nudges Diablo forward, Bullet follows alongside him eagerly. “Clever,” he mutters.

“Not really,” you snort, running a hand over her neck lovingly. “But I think it works for her.”

“Your husband’s gonna have his hands full with you,” you know he means it in jest. The lightness of the conversation turns into something heavier. Realization sinks over both of you and the smiles slowly drop away. “I-”

“How much further to Strawberry, anyway?” You effectively cut off whatever train of thought he was going to follow, distracting you both from the truth. 

“Half a day,” he tells you, frowning when you refuse to meet his eye again. Half a day. That’s all you’ve got to enjoy the last bits of freedom you have. You’re gonna take your damn time getting there, that’s for sure. 

You slow down from the steady trot Arthur had led the horses into, easing Bullet into a slow walk. You’re slowly getting the hang of riding a horse. It’s easy when she’s so intuitive. By god, though, your ass is sore. 

Arthur shoots you a questioning glance at the slow pace and you shrug. “Might as well take the time I’ve got left.”

“You’re actin’ like you’re on death row,” he chuckles. 

“Aren’t I?” He falls silent and you don’t know what’s bothering him but you don’t have the energy to inquire. 

He’s slowing you down on purpose, he knows it and you know it. Neither of you says a damn thing about it but it’s bugging him. He shouldn’t be this bothered by a job. He knows how to separate himself from what he does. He just can’t this time. 

There’s something about you that glows. You’re sitting beside him on the peak of a hill, overlooking the roads below you, and laughing as you make up stories for the people that pass by. It’s a far cry from the beaten-down woman he’d seen at Crane’s house. 

Even after what happened yesterday, you somehow manage to seem happier. There’s nothing about it that makes him happy. This feels like the last goodbye of someone who knows they’re going soon. The last bout of happiness before they just give in. 

You’re not gaining your spark back, you’re just giving in to what you think is inevitable. But it doesn’t have to be inevitable. You could fight back you just refuse to. He’s sure growing up the way you have, you don’t think it's possible to stand up for yourself. 

But you don’t have to give in like this. You don’t have to roll over and let someone else dictate your life. Which is rich, coming from him. He’s practically Dutch’s lap dog now. Even when he disagrees he still follows along behind him. 

He shouldn’t even be thinking like this. He can’t criticize you for not standing up for yourself when he’s the one thing standing between you and freedom. “Not hungry?” You nod towards the uneaten meat on his knife. 

He shakes his head, plucking it off the blade and passing it to you. You give him an odd look before popping it in your mouth. “Ya know,” you mutter around a full mouth. You take a moment to swallow it down before smiling over at him. “I’ve grown up with private chefs my whole life, but there’s is something infinitely more satisfying about this.”

He takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair. He snorts at your comment, “I find that hard to believe.”

“No,” you shake your head, insistent, “I mean it. Being out here, hunting the game myself, I don’t know, it’s nice.” You shrug and lean back on your hands, gazing across the way at the trees and river. 

“You can always get a bow and go hunting.” He speaks to you like it's a cut-and-dry truth that you’re just not accepting. Your face screws up and you give him an annoyed glare. 

“No. I can’t,” you tell him again. Where your words were patient before, he can tell you’re growing irritated at how much he’s pushing this.

“Yes, you can,” he snaps. “You don’t have to keep yourself boxed up in some manor in the city. Get out, woman, do something with your life!” His voice echoes through the air and you flinch back from it, lips pulling down into a sneer. 

“You know, that’s really easy for you to say, Arthur. You have a goddamn choice. Sure, I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, little miss rich girl crying about being pampered.”

He lets out a rough sigh, “That’s not what I meant-”

You cut him off, getting to your feet and glaring down at him. “You got to grow up with a choice. What to do with your body, your life, your career. You get to have an education if you want it. Every goddamn door is open to you. You don’t get hated for not wanting to have a family. You get to choose. And as much as you insist I can too, you will never understand the position I am in.”

You kick dirt over the fire and head back towards Bullet. “It’s a double-edged sword, Arthur. Sure, my life might be comfortable, but it’s never really gonna be my life.” He stays there on the ground, too stunned to get up. 

You glare down at him, impatiently waiting for him to get a move on. This isn’t how he wants things to end. He doesn’t want you to go off thinking he’s just some ignorant fool. But he is, much as he denies it, he’s always been a fool. 

He should never have thought he could make a difference in your life. Not when he’s the one backing you into this corner. He could have helped you escape the very first night he saw you. But he was too selfish to let you go, now you’re both paying for it. 

He mounts Diablo and you both head back to the roads silently. You’re moving faster now, leaving him behind if he lingers in one area for too long. You’re too pissed off to enjoy the rest of your day and he hates that he ruined it for you. You, at the very least, deserved a slower journey towards your future. 

You’re in Strawberry before he’s ready, he’s sure you aren’t. “Hey, we could-”

“I think that’s him.” You cut him off before he says something stupid like spend another night in town before you go. He’ll miss you, he thinks. Odd, he’s known you such a short time but it’s been so different having someone beside him as he rides. It was nice, what he wished he and Mary could have had. 

Arthur follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh. Sure enough, some prim and proper ass is standing in front of the ticket station, foot tapping impatiently. He’s got a large bag beside him, gaze wandering around expectantly. He doesn’t doubt the man who looks like he’s got a five-foot stick up his ass is Mr. Crane’s associate. He’s got the same slimy glint.

You slide off Bullet and Arthur follows suit, taking the reigns of both horses and leading them towards the platform. The man’s eyes narrow in on you before lighting up. He calls out your name and it’s like a mask being dropped over your face. 

The spark is gone once more, a subdued and demure smile resting on your face as you wave at him. “I apologize for my dress,” you tell him as you walk up the steps. “Pants were more conducive to such a long ride.”

He takes your hand, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles that makes Arthur roll his eyes. “No apologies necessary, I brought you a change of clothes. I figured you would be less than put together after such a journey. I’m only sorry I couldn’t accompany you.”

You scoff and nod along, “Okay,” you mutter, not believing a word of his bullshit. You take the bag from him and move towards the saloon to find a room to change in. They both watch you leave, though the other man with a much more devious glint in his eye. 

Arthur’s hands tighten on the reigns of the horses, anything to keep him from reaching for his revolver. He’s already getting a bad feeling about this. There’s nothing trustworthy about the man in front of him. 

“Mr. Finch,” he holds out his hand and Arthur gives it a distrusting look before reluctantly shaking. Finch attempts to squeeze the life out of his hand but Arthur can barely feel it. He tightens his own grip and revels in the way Finch’s face blanches. 

“Arthur Morgan.”

Mr. Finch looks him up and down in the same way Crane had. He sees a commodity, not a person. “I trust,” he drawls, “nothing unsavory happened.”

Arthur feels rage bubbling in his gut. The only damn thing he cares about is whether or not you’re “pure.” Not if you were okay or injured during the journey. If he told him that he’d punched you out for talking back Finch would just ask if you were bruised. 

“She’s fine,” Arthur grits out. 

“Oh, good, good. Glad everything went smoothly.” Finch has a way of talking he’s found most self-important men do. He draws everything he says out, and forces you to listen to him speak. Makes you pay attention so he can pretend he has power for a moment. 

His gaze darts behind Arthur and he turns just in time to see you slipping out of the saloon. The dress Finch has provided you is ridiculously large. It poofs out at the waist in a way that makes Arthur wonder how you’re going to fit into your seat. 

You look beyond uncomfortable. Grimacing as you join them again. You try and plaster a smile on but it’s a struggle. You look to Arthur, a finality on your face that makes him want to throw you over his shoulder and run. He’s doing this for the others, he reminds himself. They’ll be on a boat to Tahiti in a week. 

“Thank you, Mr. Morgan, for everything.” The smile you leave him with is real, if just barely. Something lurks under your words that Mr. Finch will never understand and Arthur knows it will drive him crazy. 

“Let’s go,” Finch grabs your hand, looping it through his arm and tugging you towards the doors of the station. 

“Wait!” Arthur calls out, feeling foolish when you both look back at him with perplexed expressions. “You’ll be wanting Bullet, won’t you?”

Mr. Finch answers for you with a condescending tone, “She won’t be needing a horse, thank you.” You give him a knowing smile, turning away and slipping through the doors of the station and onto the train. 

Arthur stays rooted where he is, something crawling up in his chest and rooting around restlessly. The whistle blows and the wheels start cranking slowly forward. Arthur just barely catches a glimpse of you through a window as the train chugs past. 

“Shit!” He hisses. He tugs himself up onto Diablo’s saddle and urges him after the train. He was born a fool, he’s always going to be a damn fool. But he’d have to be a complete moron to just let you go. 

Mr. Finch keeps a painfully tight grip on your elbow, jerking you through the passenger cars and practically throwing you into your seat. You land with a thud, your arm bouncing against the window painfully. You keep a stoic expression, trying not to let him break you so soon. 

He takes a seat beside you, straightening out his jacket and tugging on his tie. Something white flashes in his jacket pocket and you lean forward, perplexed when you realize what it is. “What is that?” You question, not quite believing your eyes. Finch glances down at the thick wad of cash in his jacket and grins. 

“Oh, this? Mr. Morgan must have forgotten to collect the rest of his payment.” He sends you a condescending smile and you flinch away in disgust. “He was too enamored with my fiancee to pay much attention, I’m afraid.”

“That’s his money,” you snap, the volume of your voice catching the attention of a few other passengers. Finch sends them apologetic smiles, making you seem like a mad woman. “He earned that!” You object, eyeing the money warily. 

His hand snakes out, gripping you tightly around the arm and dragging you towards him until your noses are nearly touching. You nearly gag at the smell of his cigar-infused breath. It’s not like when Arthur would smoke one, you didn’t mind that. But this was making you sick to your stomach. 

“Let's get a few things clear, I will not be dealing with an obstinate wife. You can either get yourself in order or I’ll do it for you.”

Your lips pull back in disgust and you jerk yourself out of his grip. He’s not as strong as he pretends to be and you’re not going to be scared into submission again. “I’m not your wife yet. My father still has time to pay.”

He laughs at you, spittle flying from your lips and sprinkling across your cheeks. “He has time to pay, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be getting you back, sweetheart.” Your eyes widen with the realization and you want to throw yourself off the side of the train. 

You never had any chance to get out of this situation. Mr. Crane was always in control of it all. To even think of having a hope of getting back home was foolish. To believe for a second that you were going to escape this had been utter idiocy. 

He sees the crestfallen expression and sinks into his seat with a satisfactory look on his face. He thinks you to be subdued. But now you’re nothing more than a cornered animal with no other choice of escape. You’ve got nothing left for you, nothing to hold onto. 

As much as you’d thought you’d bonded with Arthur, you were still nothing more than a job to him. You were nothing more than a commodity to be traded between men. You would never have a say over your life. 

You have nothing, you doubt you ever actually had anything left for you. You glance over at the man beside you and feel a cool dread blanket itself over you. Nothing left to lose. 

There’s a solid weight tucked into the bodice of your dress. Its cool metal has been warmed by your skin. Its handle curves around your ribs and it only has one bullet left. You reach down the front of your dress, fingers curling around the revolver you’d stolen from a dead man. 

Finch glowers at your inappropriate behavior “What are-” You pull the gun out, turning it on him. He jumps back in shock and throws his hands in the air on instinct. “Please-” you revel in his pathetic pleading only for a moment. Pulling the trigger a second time is surprisingly easy. The screams that ring out through the train car are less enjoyable. “Shit!” He cusses, hands coming up to try and staunch the flow of blood pouring from his stomach. 

You slip your hand into his blazer, stealing the money before he can object. You run out of the passenger car, leaping to the flat car with all the cargo. It will take a few minutes for them to catch onto what happened and figure out where you went. 

You don’t know what you’re going to do now. You’re stuck on a moving train, there’s nowhere for you to hide. You hadn’t thought when you’d shot him, you just wanted that smug look on his face to disappear. 

“Where is she?” You hear the guards shouting out your name, flipping over crates to find you. They’re still at the front of the train, but you don’t have long until they start moving back here. 

God, what have you done?

You just know, if you made it to that train station, you were never going to make it out. His men would be waiting there to transport you. You’d be watched every second of your life, you can’t do it again. You can’t be locked in a gilded cage, that’s not a life worth living. 

There’s no escape for you. Nowhere left to run, nowhere to hide. You glance over the left side of the train. There’s a slight dip into a deep ravine. The crashing water looks almost peaceful from up here. 

You don’t know if it would be a quick death but you know it would be merciful compared to what’s waiting for you at your last stop. You keep your eyes on the water, see yourself taking control of your life for the first time, and take a step up on the rail. 

Someone shouts your name from the right side of the train and you gasp, arms circling wildly as you almost go toppling over the edge. They shout your name again, panic laced in the tone. This doesn’t sound like Finch or any of the other guards. You whip around and find Arthur riding his horse beside the train. 

“What the hell are you doing, woman?” 

Your brows furrow in confusion and your eyes dart between him and the ravine. “Jumping! What the hell are you doing?”

His gaze narrows and he shouts to be heard over the rumble of the train tracks. “Stopping you from being a goddamn fool. Get over here!” You hear the guards getting closer as they storm down the rest of the train. 

You don’t have long to make a decision, you can already see his horse struggling to keep up with the speed of the train. There’s a bridge coming up in a moment, he won’t be able to go any further and they won’t be able to come after you. 

It’s a split-second decision, one that has you pushing off the railing of the car and rushing towards him. You don’t have time to doubt yourself or plan this out further, you take a running leap off the train, towards his outstretched arms. 

He barely catches you in time, jerking on the reigns of the horse and bringing him to a sudden stop before all three of you go tumbling into the water. Shots fire off on the train, but they’re gone before they can do any real damage. 

Your chest heaves as you dangle from his arms, fingers digging into his shirt desperately. Your heart is pounding so hard against your chest that you almost can’t hear what he’s saying, but you get the gist of it. 

“The hell were you thinking? Trying to jump off the damn train! You’re a fool, woman.” He tugs you onto the saddle the rest of the way. As much as he tries to sound angry you can feel his relief in the way he squeezes you close to him. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, head sinking into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent. 

He sighs, struggling between yelling at you more and just enjoying the fact that he got to you before you did something neither of you could recover from. “You’re welcome, just,” he pauses, holding you a little closer, “don’t be so damn stupid again.”

You laugh and it’s a little wet as tears start to pool in your eyes. “I’m not planning on it.” You sit up, easing away from him and glancing over your shoulder. You watch as the train grows smaller until you can only see a plume of smoke and nothing more. “What the hell are we going to do?”

He sighs and turns the horse around. You maneuver yourself around, facing forward and pushing back against him.  “I don’t know. Dutch ain’t gonna be happy about you comin’ back with me.” 

You bite your lip, a hundred different possibilities swirling through your head. You’ve never been able to make a choice before, faced with it, you’re overwhelmed with options. You can’t pick one so you blurt out the first coherent thought you have. 

“What if we don’t go back?”

Arthur stills behind you, “What?” His tone is low and filled with something you know means he’s ready to say no. 

“Just for a little while,” you rush the words out quickly, trying to fight for a chance to get him to listen. “We can send this to the camp,” you tug out the wad of cash you’d stolen from Finch and Arthur barks out a laugh. You feel his chest tremble behind you and it makes you grin. 

“Did you steal his money?”

“Your money, technically,” you correct, grinning over your shoulder at him. “Besides, he doesn’t need it anymore.” He gives you a concerned look but you just wave him off. “We can send the camp some money and go off on our own for a while.”

“I don’t know, kid.”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt, glaring at him. “It’ll only be for a little while, Arthur. Come on, I’m free for the first time in my life, enjoy it with me.”

He looks uncertain and you know it’s an odd notion to him, putting himself first instead of the camp or Dutch. You’re sure he’s never done it before. Breaking away from them instead of going about like the loyal soldier he is. 

“Just a little while?”

You nod, turning just enough to tuck the money in his pocket. “Just a little while,” you swear.

“John Marston!” You frown, turning away from the oven and glancing out the window. Arthur’s grinning by the gates of the horse pen, leaping over the wood, and walking out to greet someone. You abandon the stew, heading towards the door of your home. 

Outside are two horses, one with a woman and her son, and an abandoned one. The owner is currently bringing Arthur into a brief embrace, John, you presume. Arthur’s told you about him a bit. They weren’t always close but it was getting better before Arthur went away. 

Sometimes you feel bad, having dragged him away from everything he was familiar with. You meant it when you said you only wanted to be gone for a little while. You knew if you went back immediately there would be hell to pay with Dutch and you’d both be put to work. 

You’d be going from one owner to another. All you’d wanted was a few weeks on the road on your own. But a few weeks turned into six months and then a year, and it was Arthur telling you he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t stand what the gang was turning into. What Dutch was turning into. All you’d given him was an excuse to finally get out before it all blew up.

You walk down the steps of the home Arthur built, wiping your hands off on your apron. You give a brief wave to the woman you assume is Abigail. She waves back, slipping off the horse and helping Jack down. 

Arthur pulls away from John, turning towards you and motioning you forward. John gives you an apprehensive look. “Do I know you?”

Arthur gives him your name, throwing an arm over your shoulder and pulling you in closer. “That job Dutch got from Crane.” John’s face lights up with recognition and he smirks. 

“I see,” he shakes his head and gives Arthur a knowing look. “It’s always a woman with you, isn’t it?” You snort at how aggrieved Arthur looks. “Well,” John turns towards you and smiles, “nice to finally meet the woman that got him under control.”

“Nice to meet you too,” you smile lightly at him, pulling away from Arthur. “Are you going to be joining us for dinner?”

“No, he’s not,” Arthur answers at the same time John says, “I would love to.”

Arthur and John share a look you can’t understand. You glance past John and wave Abigail forward, “Come in, please. I’d enjoy the company.”

“Forgive my obstinate husband, he tends to linger where he ain’t wanted.” She brushes past him and you lead her inside your home. Leaving Arthur and John to bicker outside. Jack stays outside, smiling up at Arthur. You know he’s missed the boy, you’re sure he’s okay entertaining them for one night. 

Abigail helps you set the table while Arthur and John catch up over a bottle of whiskey. Arthur tried to pull out a cigar but you’d shut that down quick. He’d had a cough a little while ago and the doctor advised cutting down on tobacco if he wanted it to go away. You know it’s hard but you’re cracking down on how much he smokes. 

“We got the money you sent,” John’s telling Arthur as they come over to join you all at the table. Jack eagerly hops into the seat beside Arthur before you can snag it and you grin. “Dutch blew it all and wouldn’t tell us on what. He kept saying we still needed another score.”

John shakes his head and the distant look in his eyes makes your stomach churn. “You’re a lucky bastard you got out when you did, Arthur, truly.”

“Hosea?” Arthur questions and you grimace at the look on John’s face. You can see Arthur deflate as John shakes his head. 

“There was a bank robbery, Molly told the Pinkertons we were going to be there, he didn’t make it.”

Arthur’s hand clenches around the fork and you wish you could say something that would make him realize it’s not his fault. “I should have been there,” he mutters. 

“Wouldn’t have done anything, man. Hosea had given up in the end. We all had. It was so damn divided, the family was gone.”

“Still.” Arthur insists, glaring down at his plate like it had offended him. 

“No,” to your surprise it’s Abigail that snaps. “Dutch was gone and that bastard Micah just kept pushing him over the edge. The only thing you would have done is get yourself killed. You’re damn lucky Arthur Morgan.”

You’re sure he’ll still blame himself later. Reason a hundred times over that had he been there something would have been different. Even if it was him on the other end of the gun he’d be happier knowing someone else hadn’t died when it could have been him. You couldn’t stand that these self-sacrificing ideals Dutch had drilled into him were still present. 

But you know Abigail and John help ease the guilt slightly. It’s on Arthur to let it go entirely, though you doubt that will happen anytime soon. John picks up on the change in mood, he’s reluctant to let the night sour so soon. 

He turns towards you with a look that makes you feel like you need to prepare for trouble. “So you did all that to escape getting married. And then you marry this moron?” He motions towards Arthur and you can’t help but laugh. 

“John!” Abigail snaps but he only smiles at her. You can see the way she fights the twitch of her lips and it makes you smile in turn. 

You correct him, “We’re not technically married-”

“Might as well be,” Arthur argues, glaring at John. You reach across the table, taking his hand in yours and gently squeezing. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“Yeah, we might as well be,” you agree. “But it was never about not wanting to be a wife. I just wanted to have a damn choice. That’s what I got out here. I can hunt or cook. Sew or go out and make some money. And it’s a lot nicer being a wife out in the country than it is in the city, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Here’s hoping,” Abigail mutters. She glances towards Arthur, “That’s why we’re out here. We got word from a few people that you might be lurking around here. John’s thinking of getting a house, really settling down.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back in his chair and glaring at John. “That’s why you’re here? You want a handout,” he accuses. 

“No!” John snaps. “Dammit, Arthur, why you always gotta assume the worst of me?”

“Because it’s usually true,” Arthur mutters. “If that’s not what you want then what is it?”

John purses his lips and lets out a spluttering breath. “A loan,” he lands on, struggling to find the right word. 

Arthur barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the table and poking a knowing finger into John’s chest. “I knew it!”

John swats his hand away and glares. “Look, Morgan, I only need a little. Just to buy some animals, get started on the house.”

“What’d ya want Marston, my whole damn house?”

Abigail lands a gentle hand on your arm and nods to the porch. “They’ll be at it for a while.” You nod and leave the table, following her to the swing out back. She settles down on it with a sigh, gazing out at the trees that line your home. 

“You’ve got a nice life out here.”

You smile fondly, “I like to think so. We’re thinking about getting a few cows, maybe starting a proper ranch.”

Her face lights up at the idea and she laughs. “That’s what John wants. It’s unbelievable how similar they are, they’re too thick-headed to see it.”

You can still vaguely hear them bickering inside the house. You peer inside and see Jack sitting at the table, watching them both with an entranced expression. You can’t help but grin at the look on Arthur’s face. He’s laying into John but he looks happier than you’ve seen him in a while. 

You know he’s missing everybody, has been for a long time. Maybe if Abigail and John are close by he’ll have that sense of familiarity again. “The others,” you start, turning back to Abigail. “Charles and Sadie, what happened to everyone else?”

“A few of them are living good lives, some of them aren’t. Most of them are drifting, not ready to give up the outlaw life just yet.”

“It’s hard to watch the world change while you’re still stuck in the same spot.” You brush some hair out of your eyes and smile at Abigail. “Me and Arthur are gonna help you and John. But I’d like it if you were both close by. It would be nice to have someone familiar near us, we’re pretty lonely up here.”

She gives you a brief smile back, “I think that would be nice.”

John’s voice picks up from inside and you jump, “Oh that’s a load of bull-”

Abigail’s smile drops and she leans over your shoulder to shout, “Watch it!” at John. You laugh when you see the perturbed look on his face. She motions towards his son and Arthur gives John a smug look. 

“You gonna help him?” You ask Arthur as you settle into bed later. He opens his arms, pulling you into his embrace once you’re settled under the covers. 

“John?” You nod, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. “Yeah, ‘course I’m gonna help him. But there’s nothing wrong with jerking him around a little bit first.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, tucking yourself under his chin. You almost think he’s asleep but then he’s speaking up again. “We should really do it.”

You pull back, brows furrowed in confusion. “Do what?”

There’s a certain look in his eyes that causes something to swirl in your stomach. It’s not an unpleasant feeling, just an excited one, “Get married.”

You give him a bewildered look, shaking your head in disbelief. Nearly five years you’ve both been living out here and he’s never once mentioned getting married. You never thought you two actually needed it. You always knew what you were to each other, how much you meant to one another. 

You were each other’s salvation. There’s no telling what graves you would be laying in were it not for Dutch bringing you both together. You hadn’t thought he wanted to be married, he always told you he’d given those dreams up. “You really mean that?”

He shrugs like it’s the easiest decision in the world. “Might as well, right?” 

You shake your head, but there’s no fighting the way your lips curl up. “You’re a fool, Arthur Morgan.”

He nods, dipping his head down to press a gentle kiss on your temple. He treats you so gently, it makes you want to cry. But then he goes and says something ridiculous like, “Yeah, a fool for you,” and he makes you laugh. 

You tug him down, lips nearly touching his. “Yes,” you whisper, “I’ll marry you.” You were always scared of living a life like this. Being tied to one man for the rest of your time on earth. But he’s not some city man looking to make you into a pet. He lets you live, breathe, and be free. He’s a partner not a warden and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Red Dead Redemption 1/2, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[doeeyezz]

literally just came everywhere oops <333

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

Peace? Wishful Thinking (RDR Secret Santa)

Summary: You've been piling your losses within the gang, and what happens when you nearly lose Arthur again?

Warnings: Violence/injury, angst, and smut. The holy trinity.

Word Count: 4,115

A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! Especially to my @rdrevents Secret Santa recipient, @twola, who requested Arthur Morgan x reader with the prompt "The only thing I ask is that you outlive me, so I don't have to live another day without you." Hope you enjoy!

Pain spiked down your blood-streaked arm as your fingers spasmed open from it, dropping the six-shooter with a heavy thunk to the dirty wooden floorboards. 

Your chest rose in ragged, shallow breaths as your head spun and the rush of fear flooded your mouth with saliva, your stomach churning as the sting of the stab wound and nausea rolled into one. 

Gunshots still fired. The shout of men and the thundering hooves of horses echoed through the forest, though nowhere near the abandoned cabin you’d chosen for your spot of safety, thank God. 

But it wasn’t just your spot, it was also supposed to be his. Arthur’s. 

Your back hit the wall of the cabin as you attempted to catch your breath, eyes closing to fight off the dizziness of panic. Everything had happened at once. What was meant to be a simple stagecoach robbery went awry when that stagecoach turned out to be a group of Pinkertons. 

By some pure luck, you and Arthur managed to outrun them, but they were hot on your tail. Knowing they wouldn’t end their pursuit, Arthur quickly suggested you headed to the rendezvous point while he drew them away. You hated the idea and protested immediately, but there had been no room, or time, to argue. 

The state line of New Hanover and Ambarino was a woodsy and mountainous area with thankfully plenty of hiding places. There’d been a sharp turn that allowed just precious moments of an advantage. Arthur instructed you to disappear into the forest while he remained on the main path, and you did just that, urging your mare between the pines and over boulders. The gunshots behind you didn’t ease your concern, and you dared not to look back just in case they managed to see you through the brush. 

It was either a blessing or a curse that they chased you closer toward the rendezvous point the two of you scouted out just days earlier; an abandoned hunting cabin that none would be the wiser to. Far enough off the main path that no one would find unless they were specifically looking for it. 

Which is now where you stood, waiting, listening. Your hammering heart began to slow and you breath was slowly evening out. The only two windows in the cabin were filthy, only allowing the blurred shapes of the outside to be seen. 

But the sounds continued to lessen, giving way to the silence of nature. Slowly, you straightened, the movement causing your arm to burn once more. In the craze you’d been shot at, and you glanced over expecting to find a hole in your arm. 

By some luck it wasn’t that, instead just a nasty, bloody slit just below the curve of your shoulder. You’d been grazed. 

Breathing in a sigh of relief, it caught in your throat as you thought about Arthur. You knew he could outrun the law, he’d done so many times. But the Pinkertons had been hot on everyone’s trail since Blackwater, and it felt like their pursuit was slowly closing in over the past few months. 

Would he be captured, or worse? 

Another wave of nausea rolled over you at the mere thought of— 

No. You can’t think like that. Panic would only make the situation worse. 

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the now torn jacket from your body with intent to patch the wound. You then stepped outside only briefly to retrieve supplies from the saddlebags, and giving a cursory glance of the surroundings. 

Still no sounds, no angry lawmen on horseback. 

No Arthur either. 

Pursing your lips, you hurried back inside and got to work. It wasn’t deep, but it stung like a nest of angry wasps when you cleaned it. No need for stitches. 

As you applied a balm and then a bandage, a memory surfaced. 

Arthur had come back to camp one night in shambles, after having been kidnapped by the O’Driscolls. You’d known something was off even before the men rode out to meet with Colm. Both you and Arthur knew it, but there was no arguing with Dutch. 

And when they came back without Arthur, the feeling festered. Dutch had no straight answer as to where Arthur was, only pushing your concerns off stating he was fine, probably off elsewhere for a while. It was in Arthur’s nature to go off on his own, and you knew that...but, something in your gut told you otherwise. 

You’d argued, shouted, demanded that the entire camp go out to find him as the day grew into night, but Dutch wouldn’t let up. It was only by Hosea’s calming words that you were able to tamper down from almost outright punching the leader, albeit with frustration. 

And you’d been right. Arthur was right, when he appeared with one foot in the grave, too exhausted to even sit properly on his horse and his shoulder in shambles from a nasty gunshot wound. 

Berating Dutch was the last of your worries, devoting those next few weeks to restoring Arthur’s health. Though it didn’t come unscathed; Arthur had always been strong. He’d never been so badly wounded and the thought of losing him...almost sent you into a spiral. 

And he saw it, saw you barely holding yourself together every time you changed his bandages, every time you fed him stew when he just had enough strength to lift his head and swallow. 

He wasn’t shy about his affections the moment his strength began to seep back in, pulling you onto his cot in the night, pressing sweet kisses on your cheek, your lips, your neck and whispering small “thank you”s against your skin. 

And when his shoulder healed, there was no stopping him from taking it further. 

Three weeks later, it was as if nothing happened, the only reminder was the knot of a scar branding his skin. He’d been ready to go right back out and contribute once again. 

But those weeks changed you, a harsh remembrance that mortality wasn’t a toy to be carelessly played with. Every thought you had about him leaving camp, going on another heist, everything that was considered a daily life now shadowed. 

You’d lost people along the way. Hell, you knew what came with this life. How many of those died when escaping Blackwater and making your way up to Colter? Sean was killed not that long ago. Almost lost Jack to a crazy woman’s antics. A child. And Kieran...poor Kieran. Who was next? 

The losses were piling up, and yet...Arthur kept going. And every time he rode out of camp, he took a piece of your heart with him. 

The memories burned in the back of your throat as your vision blurred. Angrily you swiped the tears away before they could fall, focusing back to the present. Arthur had to be okay. He had to be. 

Your wound was patched up, and you had nothing else to do but wait. You weren’t sure how safe it was to leave, and you knew Arthur would make his way back here. He knew better than to head back to camp in case he was still followed. 

Ambarino was harsh, unforgiving territory. No doubt he’d lose the Pinkertons fairly quick in the terrain. 

And so you waited. 

And waited... 

Minutes ticked into hours. You’d paced the cabin at least a hundred times. You’d glanced through a window at every pass hoping to catch a glimpse of the silhouette of the horse and rider you knew so well. You’d attempted to eat, but the rock in your stomach just made you nauseous again. 

Encroaching thoughts turned your mind into a warzone. Arthur received a tip about this job and asked you to come with him, knowing how it bothered you to leave you behind. Stagecoach heists were nothing new; you’d done it hundreds of times both with and without him. 

It has to have been a set-up. There was no way it wasn’t. Unless someone got the information wrong. 

You sighed and kicked at a clump of dirt on the floor. There was no point in pondering what went wrong and why, especially now. 

The sky steadily grew darker with the passing time, and you didn’t dare to reach for one of the oil lamps just in case someone was in the area close enough to see it and come snooping. 

But what if Arthur was close, looking for the cabin? Would the light be enough to beckon him closer, or draw him away? 

Exhaustion suddenly hit like a brick wall, and you found yourself collapsing into a rickety chair. The bed in the corner, as dusty as it was, looked welcoming, but you wouldn’t risk sleeping when there were too many unknowns still in the air. 

The cabin was nearly pitch black, aside from the weak moonlight peering through the grimy windows. A hoot of a closeby owl was the only other presence. The quiet sneeze of your mare just on the other side of the wall. 

Your gun rested in your hand, your eyes staring at the faint outline of the door. You only had to wait for Arthur to come in, or a Pinkerton, or wait until morning to leave. 

You hoped the first would be the only option. 

You didn’t know when you fell asleep, only that the rattle of the doorknob yanked you out of slumber. Heart racing and the grip on your gun tightened, you threw your hand up just as the door swung open. 

A large silhouette took up almost the entire frame, standing only slightly stark against the pined background. Your heart lurched to your throat as your finger hovered over the trigger. 

“I’m armed!” you warned, attempting to hide the waver in your voice. 

A voice carried in the space between you. It was just one word; your name. 

A voice that was so familiar, you almost dropped your gun. 

“Arthur?” 

Your legs, as tired and wobbly as they were, brought you from sitting to standing, to striding across the small cabin in a matter of seconds. 

He met you halfway, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You sunk into his hold, relief flooding your entire being as fresh tears stung your eyes. 

His scent enveloped you, leather and tobacco and the slight earthy smell of his horse lingered on his clothes. He was warm, and you hadn’t realized how cold it was until that very moment. 

You looked up at him, his features slowly forming in the dimness. His blue eyes were bright, brows pinched as he searched your face. 

“I’m okay,” you confirmed. “You?” 

“Fine,” he said gruffly, and drew you in for a kiss, pressing his lips to yours. 

You melted immediately, leaning into his strong body, arms wrapping around his neck. His arms tightened around you, one hand leaving your waist to draw up your back, burying his fingers into your hair. 

The stark relief mixed with a heavier emotion, one that opened your mouth to Arthur’s silent inquiry. The kiss deepened then, lips and tongues and teeth clashing. He held you so close it was as if he was trying to absorb you into his body. 

Hell, you would do the same if you would. Your hands reached up to his head, clumsily knocking his hat off as your fingers found his soft locks. All that worry, concern, fear...melted into a heat that pooled into the bottom of your stomach. 

And Arthur was on the same wavelength. 

He backed you up, until the backs of your legs hit something solid. It caused you to fall back, hitting the lumpy bed. A cloud of dust swirled around you, and Arthur was anything but gentle. His roaming hands found the front of your pants, unbuttoning them and yanking the denim down from your hips. Your own hands busied themselves, unbuckling the gun belt from his waist then his jacket. 

The cool night air caressed the skin of your lower torso as more clothing was shed. You weren’t sure how long exactly before you were completely naked, but Arthur’s presence suddenly disappeared. You blinked in confusion, about to voice your displeasure when the glow of an oil lamp erupted into life, washing the cabin in a faint golden glow. 

Blinking again from the sudden light, you saw Arthur standing just above you. He was just as bare as you, your eyes first roving over his body. Dark blood spotted his forearms, but you saw nothing indicating injury. As your eyes dipped below his waistline, not shy about peering at his arousal, you then slowly brought your gaze upward, meeting his scrutinizing stare. 

“I needed to see you,” he murmured. “I needed—” he paused abruptly, eyes widening slightly and you knew what he was looking at. The bandage around your arm. 

“I was grazed,” you said. “That’s it.” 

The relief that took hold of him was immediate, washing away the tenseness in his muscles.  He then knelt before you, his callused palms sliding up and down your hips and thighs as he planted sweet kisses to your skin, working his way up to the aching space between your legs. His fingers were on you instantly, expertly finding the bundle of nerves nestled within the curls. You gasped as he rubbed, hips bucking against his palm. 

You spoke his name like a prayer, writhing on the dusty quilt as he played you like a fiddle. His other hand slid up the midline of your stomach, finding purchase on your breast. He rolled and pinched your nipple while his fingers prodded your entrance before invading your inner walls, causing a burst of pleasure to ricochet through your system. 

His thumb and fingers worked in tandem, his eyes never leaving your face the more you squirmed, sweet ecstasy ramping up almost too quickly. 

“Arthur, I—I’m close!” you whined, back arching and hips shuddering in his touch. 

“Let go, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice low and thick. 

And you did just that, the flame that burned in your core exploded like a firework, encompassing your entire body as you moaned your release, muscles tensing for a moment before it faded. 

Arthur eased his hands from you, and as you caught your breath and your heart slowed, you met his gaze. There was a glint of hunger in those beautiful eyes, one that you knew all too well. He leaned forward, planting his arms on either side of you, caging you between his body and the bed. 

His forehead pressed against yours, his breath almost as ragged as yours had been just a moment ago. 

“Need you,” he murmured. “Need t’ be inside of you.” 

You smiled, lifting your arms to find home around his neck again. “Then what are you waiting for?” 

He groaned, grabbing your hips and angling himself between your legs. He wasn't slow about his next move, plunging his hips forward and burying himself within you in one smooth motion. 

You gasped out loud, your nails scraping against his skin. That’ll be the only marks on him for a while, you decided, as any other coherent thought was lost with a deep kiss. 

His mouth moved on yours while he thrust again. It was hard and deep, absent of the gentleness he usually brought. No, this was fueled by carnal need and desperation. Driven by high emotions lingering from the failed heist, built up from the weeks of that slowly festering terror. 

But he was here with you now, together and real and—fuck, you were just...here. 

He pistoned in and out of you, his hands digging so hard into your flesh you’re sure there would be bruises later. But you didn’t care, especially as your nails scored down the expanse of his back. The marks left would be that reminder that you both made it back to one another tonight. 

His lips left yours to favor your jaw, then your neck, nibbling and sucking at the heated skin. It seemed his thoughts were aligned with yours. 

“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin. “Y’ feel amazin’” 

You returned that sentiment with a whine, wrapping your legs around his waist which only served to bring him deeper inside. His large frame twitched in your grasp, a deep grunt emanating from his chest. 

Every bit of your body was inflamed, nerves singing from the absolute need and desire surging through your blood. Nothing else mattered in that moment but him. Alive and well and safe...for the time being. 

That burst of reality hit you like a train, and you mentally shoved at its unwelcome invasion. You needed to take control, then and there. 

Your hands slid to his chest and you pushed, though kept your legs around him. Arthur seemed to understand and ceded, switching positions with ease. He stretched on the bed while still enveloped in your warmth. His gaze swept to yours with a heated stare, and you moved. 

Up and down and gyrating, riding him like a well-practiced bronc. He groaned deeply as his hands flew to the curves of your waist, twitching underneath to keep with your rhythm. 

God, you loved when it was like this. The power, the control of his pleasure from being on top of him. The way he melted underneath you. 

Arthur was all force. Built with muscle, angled planes and power. The way he exuded his prowess had you trembling in more ways than one. There was a time when you would admit he scared you, but never like this. 

Sure, you were a force to be reckoned with all your own. But to wield this man...this outlaw...this honed weapon, to your will like this— 

His hands cupped and squeezed your breasts as they bounced, drawing a gasp from you and pulling you from your thoughts. 

“So damn beautiful,” he rasped breathlessly. “Ridin’ me like you stole me.” 

A smirk crossed your lips at the same time a flush colored your cheeks, momentarily breaking eye contact. You stole him, alright. Stole his heart straight from his chest, just like he had yours in a vice grip. 

And you’ll keep it for life, despite what the others say or think. They can all fall off a cliff if it meant you and Arthur were never separated. 

You leaned forward, hands grasping the wrought iron headboard for support as you took him deeper, driving your hips against his over and over, watching as his face contorted. His grip went from your breasts to your hips again, snapping upward and bringing himself to eye level with you. 

Arthur held you hard, meeting your rhythm with equal haste. The cry you uttered was swallowed his fervent kiss, all lips and tongue and teeth. 

Your second release was barreling toward you, fast and powerful. Your entire body convulsed as it crashed into you, moaning like a whore, and Arthur’s deep groan indicated he felt your spasms. 

His pace increased, erratic and rough as you came down trembling from your high. The way his grip tightened and his breaths shortened, he was close too. 

Your hands left the headboard to cling to his neck, depending the kiss as his bucking never ceased. You knew the instant he gasped into your mouth when his climax hit, and you ground your hips against him simultaneously, pushing him inside you to the hilt. 

He froze, a deep grumble in his belly as he released, pulsating between your now drenched walls. Pulling his mouth back just a few inches, he let out a low, breathless curse. His forehead rested against yours, your chests heaving in tandem as you fought to catch your breaths. 

Silence encompassed the cabin, the only other movement the slight flicker of the oil lamp, casting dark shadows against the wooden walls. 

A moment passed, then two, as your breathing quieted and the sweat on your skin cooled. 

Arthur sat up straighter, his eyes flicking to yours. He gazed at you, half-lidded and face flushed beneath the stubble and slight streaks of dirt. You raised your hand to wipe one away, just across his cheek bone. 

There were no words at the moment, but the post-orgasmic bliss began to fade. 

“I thought the worst happened,” you admitted quietly, turning your face away. 

You felt his fingers against your chin. The touch was gentle but firm, guiding you back to look at him. “It didn’t,” he reminded you softly. “I made it back. I always do.” 

You nodded, but that lingering thought from earlier clouded your mind again. “But what if you don’t next time?” You asked, your chest beginning to knot. 

His brow furrowed. It wasn’t the first time you’d had this discussion with him, it’s happened more than once after his ordeal with the O’Driscolls. “You know it—” 

“Can happen, of course I know,” you said thickly. “But nowadays, it’s just…more of a possibility than ever, Arthur.” 

He was quiet then, his gaze breaking away and you knew he was thinking about the others.  

“It’s been nothing but one tragedy after another,” you continued. “And I…I can’t take watching all this play out, knowing that it may be you next.” 

Arthur grit his teeth at that, but the flicker of pain that crossed his expression meant it hadn’t been just your concerns alone. 

The words we should stop always rose to the back of your mouth but never landed on your tongue. How could you ask Arthur to leave his family and the life he knew for twenty years? When he didn’t even want to leave it for his once fiancée. 

But how much longer was he willing to go? 

You leaned in, resting your face against his bare shoulder. “I love you, so much,” you sighed. “I just want you...want us...to be safe.” 

His hand slid up your back to curl into your hair, and his head moved to place a kiss to your cheek. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice heavy. 

Your throat burned with unshed tears. You blinked, trying to force them away, but they ran hot down your cheeks. God, how many times would this conversation play out between you two? Until Arthur would stop trying to reassure you and just agree? 

“I wish we could just...go,” you said, finally releasing those words out. 

That statement hung heavy in the air, the tension becoming more palpable by the second. He shifted then, leaning back as far as the headboard allowed him to look at you. 

His gaze was searching, a small furrow in his brow. There was no taking back what you said, and you met his stare levelly, although your vision was slightly blurred by tears. 

“We...need to,” you said, voice thick. “Before we...before you get hurt again, or worse. Or if someone else dies, or—” 

He kissed you then, so deeply and passionately that it almost caught you off-guard. His hands rested gently on your cheeks, swiping away the tracks of tears. He pulled back then, his throat catching on a swallow. 

“I might be too wrapped up in this,” he admitted. “It’s too late—” 

“No, it’s not,” you cut him off. “Arthur, how close were you to losing your life last month? How many people have we lost recently? We almost died just hours ago! How much more will it take?!” 

He closed his eyes at that. You knew what all of those deaths meant to him, even Kieran’s, when Arthur merely tolerated his existence in the group. It was wearing him down even if he didn’t want to admit it. 

“I can’t take another funeral,” you continued, fresh tears stinging your eyes. “Especially not yours.” 

He shook his head at your words, as if trying to physically shoo them away. He was quiet for a moment, his face full of tense contemplation. Finally, he met your gaze again. 

“The only thing I ask,” he started, his voice steady. “Is that you outlive me, so I don’t have to live another day without you.” 

Those words twisted your insides. It was as if he was saying goodbye to you. 

“Arthur, don’t do that,” you said. “Please don’t.” 

He drew in a deep sigh, his expression pained. “I don’t know what else to say.” 

There were a million other things you could think of. To agree with your ideas, to assure you that the two of you could outlive all of this, not have to rely on breaking the law countless times over to live a life of peace. 

What started off as promised paradise slowly turned into poison, and you had to make him see that somehow. 

And that’s what you silently vowed to do. 

[frillydolle]

ok idk if u have done this before but what abt low honor arthur x shy/easily flustered reader…been thinking abt this for awhile

lowhonor arthur x shy female reader

꒰ 𝝑𓏲 ꒱ arthur is a little pervy , suggestive themes?

he was terrifying, mean, and even sadistic man. those rumoured whispers explained a lot about him in that way. there was no remorse from a man like him, no mercy, either. to be one of the worst men that's involved with the infamous gang. the most wanted man within the states, there wasn't a day that he didn't come back with someone's blood on his hands.

he was disgusting and vile. probably the most perverted man u have ever come across, too. his unannounced touching would often catch u off guard. the women in the camp always gave him a sort of a dirty or death state, knowing that kind of man arthur is now ever since the relationship ended between him and mary. that took a toll on him more than people thought.

not with u, though. he knew that gaze made u feel uneasy, made u squirm, almost like a coyote watching its prey. it's like he enjoyed it, too. u weren't the social butterfly. u kept to urself or the small group of girls u would do chores with or u would be often see talking the only man, arthur. to be honest, u were even sure how he felt about u, it's not like many spoke to u.

he made the man stay away from u, but that's a different conversation...

u didn't even need to turn around, knowing who it was coming towards u by their hard footsteps. “hey, babydoll. missed my favourite girl while i was away.” he says with that cocky smirk on his face, leaning against the pole behind u, totally not looking at ur rear while u hand washed some clothes.

“hi morgan, I've been okay.. keepin' busy like-” “good girl. as y'should be. wouldnt want ms. grinshaw gettin' mad atcha.”

she was a terrifying woman, ms. grinshaw.. but not as terrifying as arthur, of course. he was the worst. but arthur liked her a lot. he wasn't sure how to tell, and so he often showed her through his actions... like his weird, perverted touching and words.

he told u to come here, and once u were finished cleaning, of course, u made ur way over to him before he took u round the wagon, no one was there. this was strange but u did sort of like him.. u didn't know why. he was always odd with u, but u did find a small sense of comfort in him every time he brings a small gift to u as he comes back to camp.

“have i ever told ya how pretty y'look? 'course i have.." he says, his tone laced with roughness. his big hand soon glides down to ur waist, gripping the flesh so hard that it light leave a mark later, curse him.

“thank you, arthur-” u reply, feeling ur face rise with heat, squirming slightly under his intense gaze, all embarrassed. “y'know what else would make ya prettier? some little hickeys on yer neck, my girl.”

was he being honest?... well, of course he was. he was a very serious man, not the type to be funny unless it was one of sick jokes. anyway, he could do not that, the two of u were in camp! someone might see u both, ms. grinshaw might catch u or even dutch! and that woukd be a lot more embarrassing than how red ur face is right now.

“arth- we cant, i- we'll get caught- arthur!” ur gentle protests mean nothing as he took a hold of ur wrists, making u back up against the wagon. he inhaled ur scent of lavender and pine, made the man almost crazy.

“lemme mark ya up, so everyone can see how I feel 'bout ye. c'mon sugar, i might be gentle but dont count on it.”

god it was like u couldn't move or couldn't talk, u didn't know what to say, how to react. ur face was all flushed with his words, it wasn't a surprise that he'd be flirting with u now.

and soon, he began toying with the collar of ur blouse. soon that felt to unbutton the top few buttons before he inched closer to mark u up.

[joelmillerisapunk]

OHMYGODDDDD this was incredible 😭😭😭 the characterization of Arthur was everything and more. I could hear him talking see him. Omg im swooning this was delightful and beautiful and delicious 🤭

embers

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x f!reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You're engaged to be married to a man you've never met. Arthur Morgan is supposed to escort you across the country to meet him. You should keep your distance, but the dangers of the road bring you closer and closer together with each passing mile.

Warnings: smoking | drinking | canon-typical violence | allusions to rape | reader is a virgin | loss of virginity | descriptions of injury and medical procedures (Arthur gets stitches) | reader has hair that can be pulled | hand job | oral (m receiving) | masturbation (f and m) | mutual masturbation | dirty talk | voyeurism | exhibitionism | praise kink | fingering | (unprotected) p in v sex

Notes: So there's this post ... and It has been on my mind for months so I had to write this exact scenario with Arthur, naturally. Again, this is way longer than it was supposed to be, but working on this fic allowed me to daydream a lot, so I can't complain. As always, I wouldn't have been able to do it without Dani @alexturner, who pushed me in the right direction and came up with the ending (because I'm not good at writing those)!!

***

You’re not pretty. At least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could understand those words. Your mother, the maid she hired to look after you, the boys working for your father, the marm, the people in town. Since you were little, you’ve been hearing it over and over again. “It’s such a shame she ain’t pretty, what’s she gonna do with brains?”

The thing is, you also don’t feel very smart. If you were, you’d have found a way to leave your godforsaken town for one of the big cities in the east as soon as you could read the timetable down by the train station. You would’ve found a way to get out of this marriage your father arranged for you. Ambrose Longabaugh was his name. Ambrose Longabaugh. From what you have heard, he shares your lot: anything but handsome, but at least he has money.

No one was sad to see you go, save for your little brother, who held you tight and made you promise to come back if you didn’t like your betrothed. You had promised, knowing you were lying. It didn’t matter if you liked him or not, he was the man you were going to marry. You weren’t getting out of this. Your father had made sure of that.

Mr. Morgan is riding ahead of you, sitting in the saddle with his shoulders slumped, a cigarette dangling between his lips. You can smell the smoke on the crisp fall air, even though you’re trying to keep your distance. It’s not that he scares you – not as much as other men do, not as much as your future husband does – but you don’t like him very much. Your father is paying him to take you out west where Ambrose Longabaugh will one day take over his father’s cattle business. And Mr. Morgan is doing it without complaint, hardly acknowledging your presence. He talks more to his horse than he talks to you.

You let your eyes wander across the mountains around you and sigh. The first time you had seen them, your mouth had hung open in awe. Now you feel trapped by them. You can’t go back, and there’s only one way forward. You sigh again. No, you’re neither pretty nor smart.

“Break?” Mr. Morgan asks from up front. It’s only the fifth word he has said to you today; the others were good morning and let’s go.

“Yes,” you agree, not because you need it but because it gives you something else to do.

You stop near a small river with a shallow bank where Mr. Morgan can refill your waterskins. While he’s busy, you stretch your legs and pick up a few rocks from the riverbed to toss them into the water. The rushing of the water fills your ears, drowning out both thoughts and sounds. You take a deep, calming breath and close your eyes.

When you open them again, Mr. Morgan has taken off his lambskin coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s washing his face and neck in the cold water of the river, a wet stain forming on his collar, drops running down his lean, muscular forearms that are still tan from working outdoors all summer. Your face heats up with an emotion you don’t quite understand, and you turn away from him, pretending to be interested in some moss-covered rocks. You’re not supposed to look.

He startles you when he touches your arm lightly, making you turn around. You hadn’t heard him coming over the sounds of the river. His coat is back on, but you can see his neck glistening in a few places still.

“You shouldn’t wander, ma’am,” he says. That’s four more words for today.

You look around. “Indians, right?” you ask with a small laugh.

His face remains serious. “No. White men. Gangs. They like to hide out here.”

You watch his Adam’s apple move as he swallows and your throat immediately mimics his. “Then why are we taking this road if it’s so dangerous?”

He shrugs. You realize he hasn’t let go of your arm yet. “It’s fast.”

“My father –”

“Your father planned this route.”

You swallow again. “I’ll be careful, sir. Thank you.” He lets go of your arm then, and you walk back to your horse, your face now heating up with an emotion you definitely recognize: embarrassment.

You make camp later that day where the trees are standing close together. While he builds a fire, you pick at a pine cone you found on the ground. Somewhere in the distance you hear a howl, but you’ve learned that if it’s not loud enough to make Mr. Morgan look up from his task, then it’s nothing to be worried about. And he stokes the fire, eyes fixed to the flames.

After dinner, he hands you a small bottle and when the sharp taste of whiskey makes you cough, he smirks. So you take another sip, holding his gaze. He looks away first, pulls a torn-up pack of cigarettes from his coat, and offers you one. You accept, surprised.

“Don’t let my father find out you’re corrupting me,” you tease.

He only makes, “Hm,” in response.

The smoke from the cigarette burns your throat, just like the whiskey, but this time you manage to suppress the cough. “Do you have family, Mr. Morgan?” you ask, watching how he uses a branch to stoke the fire.

“No,” is his simple reply.

Now it’s your turn to make, “Hm,” before you add, “No one you’re sweet on?”

You don’t really care about the answer, why would you? But when he gives you another, “No,” a careful one, it makes your heart pound faster. Until he turns the tables.

“What about you?”

“Oh,” you say, “I don’t know, I haven’t met my fiancé yet.” And you don’t want to be thinking about him right now.

Mr. Morgan looks at you, his head cocked to one side. “Come now,” he pushes, as if you’re being evasive on purpose. “That ain’t what I’m askin’.”

You sigh. “It’s not? I’m spoken for. I have no business thinking about other men.” You don’t mean to be so frank, but the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. And you can tell from the look on Mr. Morgan’s face that he still thinks you’re not honest with him.

“Hm,” he makes, and you dread what might be coming next.

“I’m going to bed,” you tell him, putting an end to your conversation. He opens his mouth to add something, but you don’t give him a change. You lie down and pull your thin blanket over your body, face hot with embarrassment. The last thing you see before falling asleep is Mr. Morgan staring at the flames, a quiet smile on his lips.

Later that night, you wake up to shouts. What pulls you from your sleep entirely is a gunshot that reverberates through the forest. “Mr. Morgan?” you shout, because he isn’t sitting next to the fire anymore and you can’t see him anywhere. Then you hear a sound that makes your blood run cold, a snarl, a growl, but animalistic, wild, unlike anything you’ve ever heard. You jump up from your bedroll, ready to run, but then you remember Mr. Morgan’s warning. It’s better to stay here, in the light of the dwindling fire, than to take your chances out there. “Mr. Morgan?” you try again, this time a hiss, as you frantically search the darkness beyond your camp. It gets so dark out here at night.

A shout is your answer, a deep, “Hey!” Short and fast. The horses whinny, and you’re only now realizing they’re stomping the ground, tearing up the soil with their hooves, the whites in their eyes visible, ears pressed tightly back. You try to swallow your panic, but it gets harder with every passing second.

Then something moves between the trees and Mr. Morgan stumbles back into the camp, a gun in one hand, a torch in the other. He has a wild look in his eyes too, just like the horses, but when they land on you, he relaxes, his face assuming its usual, stoic mask. “Mountain lion,” he says. “It’s gone.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, your voice trembling.

“Chased it off,” he explains. “It ain’t coming back here.”

“The horses …,” you start.

But he walks toward the fire, toward you. “You did good,” he says, dropping to his knees next to you, so close, too close. You can smell the gunpower on him, and the sweat; you’ve never been so close to a man before, not even your own father. “Here.” He hands you the whiskey again. “It’s gone, I promise.”

You wish your hands wouldn’t shake so much. He grabs yours with one to steady, his warm skin like fire against yours, unscrews the stopper with the other, not with impatience but oh so gently. You manage to take a sip on your own, but he watches you intently for any signs of distress.

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he says, stowing away the bottle. “This land out here … it’s wild.”

You nod. Now that the initial burst of panic is dulled, you feel tears sting your eyes.

“But you’ll manage.” His voice is so calming. “You’re a brave girl.”

*******

The hooves of your horse pound out a slow, steady beat against the hard ground. You’re tired, every muscle in your body is sore, but you push on without complaint, following Mr. Morgan up a winding mountain and back down on the other side. The days are so similar they’re bleeding into one – the mountain lion … did it attack three nights ago? Five? You don’t remember. All you know is that your heart picks up speed when he looks at you, that every evening your conversation around the fire becomes a little bit longer, that you wish you could go on like this forever, never to arrive at your destination.

Sometimes at night, when you can’t sleep but you pretend to, you can hear him sing, sometimes to himself, sometimes to the horses. Your heart almost flies out of your chest when he does it. He hasn’t touched you anymore since the night of the mountain lion attack, but you wish he would. Even though everything else about him confuses you, you wish you could feel his skin against yours again; such longing, it almost consumes you.

Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Did your cousin feel like this when she ran off with that cowboy? Did your mother and father feel like this; is that why they got married? Are you supposed to feel like this when you meet your fiancé? Or is this something else entirely? Is there something wrong with you?

“Break?” he asks once the ground is beginning to even out.

“You know, you keep asking for breaks so much I’m starting to think you don’t want us to reach our destination,” you tease.

He just shrugs and stops his horse. You halt too and climb off, your legs steady when they hit the ground. It wasn’t like that in the beginning; the first few days he had to help you off your horse and you could barely stand. It’s astonishing what a difference a few weeks can make.

You stretch, then begin to walk up and down the path. It’s cold, sitting so still up on that horse, and you flex your fingers, trying to get some feeling back into them. Mr. Morgan, meanwhile, sits down on a tree stump to write in a leather-bound notebook. You’ve seen him use it before but you don’t quite know what it’s for. He’s probably tracking your progress or taking notes on the weather.

Careful to keep him in sight, you veer off into the underbrush, looking at the trees and the different kinds of plants growing on the ground. You pretend you can read the language of the forest, looking for tracks of animals or some mushrooms you might be able to eat. Just like you’ve seen Mr. Morgan do countless of times. When you do find something, you’re not sure what to make of it.

“Mr. Morgan?” Your voice is raised as you try to keep it steady.

You hear his footsteps immediately but you don’t dare to turn around, your eyes fixed on the sight before you. He stops next to you, and you can hear his steady breathing. The knot in your chest immediately dissolves.

“Hm,” he makes.

“What happened here?” you ask. Now the tremor in your voice is all too audible.

He hesitates just for a second, weighing his options, but then he says, “Some people were camping here, a family by the looks of it.”

“Where are they?” you ask, finally turning toward him. The cold, calculating look on his face sends a shiver down your spine.

“Ma’am …,” he says slowly.

“You can tell me. I can handle the truth.”

You look back at the burned-out wagon, the torn clothes hanging from tree branches, all that blood on a log next to a cold fire pit. You don’t need him to tell you. You just want him not to confirm your suspicions.

“They’re dead,” he answers. “Killed. For money.”

“All of them?” you ask.

He winces. “If there were women …”

“Can’t we help them?” You know you can’t, but you wish there was something you could do.

“Stay on the path next time,” he growls. “No more wanderin’ ‘round … ma’am.”

“Mr. Morgan …,” you try, but he’s already trudging back toward the horses.

You spend the rest of the day in silence, riding next to each other but avoiding each other’s gazes. You shouldn’t have called out to him; it was obvious what had happened in that camp. They were a group, and you’re just two people … your father couldn’t have known about the dangers of this journey, or he wouldn’t have made you go. He would’ve found another way. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. Because you don’t want to even consider the other option and what it would mean. When the sun slowly disappears behind the mountains around you, dread settles onto your heart, the heavy kind you haven’t felt since you were a little girl, afraid of the dark.

Finally, Mr. Morgan stops his horse. “We camp here tonight. No fire.”

“It’s so dark,” you whisper.

“The darkness ain’t what’ll kill you,” he growls.

You can’t sleep; of course not. So you watch him all night, sitting up straight next to you, not so close that you could touch him, but close enough so you’ll always see he’s there. He doesn’t sleep either but he sits very still, keeping his eyes on the path, making sure nothing evil comes out of the dark. And you wish all you had to worry about were mountain lions.

*******

Two days later, Mr. Morgan’s face is pale and you’re frozen through. You haven’t had a warm meal since you found that destroyed camp, and Mr. Morgan has barely slept. You haven’t talked at all, apart from the necessities. And still you haven’t left those mountains and woods behind you. At least the daylight makes you feel less afraid.

“Is it far still?” you ask when the silence becomes unbearable.

“A week,” he answers, looking up at the sky, “if it doesn’t snow.”

The weather is the least of your worries. “And how long before we’re past the mountains?” You hate them now as much as they awed you at first.

“Three days maybe.”

Three more days without warm food. You straighten your back. “Have you come this way before?”

“Yes.”

“Has anything ever happened to you?” You don’t know if you’d prefer confirmation or denial.

“You’re safe with me, so don’t you worry about that.” There’s something in the way he says it that makes your grip tighten on the reins.

“I’m not worried,” you lie. “Just curious.”

“Hm,” he makes before going back to observing the surroundings with caution. “Bad people are everywhere. Not just here.”

“That’s a grim way to look at the world.” You try for a teasing tone, but it sounds like you’re reprimanding him instead.

“You ain’t seen much of it then,” he replies.

“More than you know.”

He looks at you curiously, just for a moment. “You –” he starts, but a shout ahead on the path interrupts him.

“Hey!”

You almost jump out of your skin and stop your horse reflexively. That’s your first mistake. The second one is to shout, “Arthur!” Because it costs him valuable seconds, that distraction. He turns around to look at you, and then suddenly two men are on him, pulling him out of the saddle. Two more appear next to you, a young, handsome one with a dark mustache and darker eyes, and a man your father’s age, but scrawny, with a mouth full of yellow teeth that he exposes to you in an ugly grin. You pull on the reins and your horse dances nervously, ears pressed tightly against its head. And then you hear a shot.

A fifth man stands in the middle of the path, a smoking gun held high over his head. His thick, gray beard quivers as he shouts, “Everybody stay calm and no one is gonna get hurt!”

You look at Mr. Morgan for guidance and see him struggle against the two men who are restraining him by holding his arms tightly pressed against his back. His pants are dirty from where he hit the ground when they pulled him off his horse.

“Get her down from there,” the man with the gray beard barks, and before you can do anything, thin but strong fingers have closed around your arm and you tumble out of the saddle with a shout.

The man who is holding you stinks of rotting things and nicotine. He twists one of your arms until it is pressed flush against your back and uses his other hand to hold your chin, so you’re forced to look straight ahead at the man with the mustache.

“Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” he snarls, and the other man licks his lips.

“We just want your valuables,” Graybeard says to Mr. Morgan.

“We ain’t got any,” he growls.

“I’m sure you don’t,” is the calm answer as Graybeard starts going through the saddlebags of Mr. Morgan’s horse.

You roll your shoulders but the man with the rotting teeth only tightens his hold on you. His companion takes a few careful steps toward you. A lump is forming in your throat as you begin to realize just how dangerous this situation is. You try to kick back, like a horse, but you miss your captor. It only earns you a cruel laugh and a pinch to your cheek.

Somewhere to your right, you hear a dull thud and a pained groan coming from Mr. Morgan. You try to look at him, but you can’t move, not because you’re being restrained but because fear has taken over your body and you can’t do anything but relinquish control.

“Check her horse,” Graybeard orders, but the man with the mustache doesn’t move. He’s only a few steps away from you now, his eyes hungrily roaming over your body. “Now!” Graybeard barks.

“There isn’t -,” you start, but the man who is restraining you clamps a hand over your mouth. You could vomit when you taste his skin.

“There’s this,” the man with the mustache says, holding up a cheap necklace your mother gave you as a parting gift.

“Take it,” Graybeard orders.

“What about her?” the rotting man asks and shakes you.

“Her too,” Graybeard answers with a nod. “Shoot the man.”

“No!” you shout, even though it makes the disgusting man get more of his fingers in between your lips.

The man with the mustache stuffs your mother’s necklace into the pocket of his jacket, then walks over to you. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he grips your skirt and begins to pull it upward so your boots and then your drawers are slowly exposed. A hot tear rolls down your cheek but it only makes him smile.

“I bet you’re lovely.” His voice is deep, almost as deep as Mr. Morgan’s, but hearing him speak only fills you with revulsion. “I bet you’re all tight …” He lightly strokes your cheek, then uses his free hand to unbutton his trousers.

“No!” you shout again, but it’s muffled, and your feeble attempts to free yourself are met with an evil snicker.

Then you hear a shot and all the life goes out of your body. It’s done. You’re alone now. And if you’re lucky, you’ll soon be dead too. Two more shots ring through the forest, each one as painful as if you’ve been hit by the bullets yourself. The man with the mustache doesn’t even flinch. His trousers hang open now, and you can see dark hairs peek out from between the fabric, before he cups one of your breasts hard and licks a broad stripe up your neck.

The other man moans, low, wetly, and it’s the most disgusting sound you’ve ever heard. He lets go of you, but it’s too late; you can’t run anymore. A wet, dull sound is followed by another moan, and you know exactly what he’s doing. You’ve heard people talk about it, even though you don’t quite know what it means when a man touches himself. All you know is that you feel bile rise at the thought of it.

The man with the mustache freezes and looks behind you, his eyes wide with shock. Maybe they have a different bargain, maybe he wants to keep you for himself and feels threatened. But then, so fast he’s only a blur, Mr. Morgan rushes past you, grabs the man by his collar, and pulls him off you, landing a punch against his jaw. You blink a few times as both men go down, not sure if what you’re seeing is real or if it’s a vision your panicked brain conjured up to calm you. The man with the mustache lands a kick between Mr. Morgan’s legs, gaining the upper hand. He pulls a knife from his boot while he straddles your companion to pin him down, but Mr. Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He grabs the man’s arm and bites down until he lets go of the knife. You catch a glimpse of Mr. Morgan’s eyes and where you expected him to be all feral rage, he’s cold and calculating. It sends a shiver down your spine and you stumble back a few paces until you step into something soft that squelches on impact. You don’t have to look down to know what it is.

Despite the loss of his knife, the man with the mustache is putting up a good fight. He lands a blow in Mr. Morgan’s face, then scrambles off him, grabs the knife, and pushes himself upward. Mr. Morgan moves faster than you’ve ever seen him move, jumping up while dodging the glinting blade of the knife.

“Stay down, big boy,” the man sneers.

Mr. Morgan shoves into him with such force the knife ends up in the dirt again, right next to the two men. But this time, Mr. Morgan has the upper hand, landing blow after blow in the face of the other, grunting with grim satisfaction when he draws blood, continuing even when the man retches up blood and spits it in Mr. Morgan’s face. He doesn’t stop until the man doesn’t move anymore and his face is nothing more than a bloody pulp, entirely unrecognizable. Only then does he grunt in pain and rolls off his opponent, lying on the forest floor, breathing labored and hard.

*******

You make camp that night as far away from that spot as you could travel before the light faded. Mr. Morgan gets a fire going while you sit on a log, trying to hide your trembling hands in your lap. You haven’t cried yet but you know it’s coming. He hasn’t said anything yet, and you’re not sure he will.

In the flickering light of the fire, you can see the cuts and bruises in his face, the sleeve of his shirt drenched in blood. And when you close your eyes, you can see the five dead men, their broken bodies left in the dirt for scavengers to feed on. He did that, all on his own.

You force yourself to stand up and walk over to him. He’s not the man who calmed you down after a mountain lion attack anymore; you’ve seen him beat a man to death today with his bare hands. No, he’s someone new now, someone you have to get to know first. And when you crouch down next to him, he looks at you with dark eyes like he’s never looked at you before and you feel all the air being pressed out of you.

“Let me take a look at your arm,” you say, pulling it toward you by his hand. The dried blood on his knuckles is rough against your skin.

He doesn’t protest, just watches as you carefully roll up his sleeve to expose a deep cut, undoubtedly left by the knife. It must have happened so fast you missed it. Even though it’s not bleeding as much as it used to, each pump of Mr. Morgan’ heart pushes some more blood out through the cut.

“You need stitches,” you tell him.

Before you can second-guess what you’re doing or change your mind, you’re next to your saddlebag, looking for the sewing kit your bother gave you. Only you’ve never used it for something like this before. You don’t even know if it’ll work, only ever having read about it in books, but it’s better than doing nothing. You also grab the bottle of whiskey from Mr. Morgan’s bag.

“Drink this,” you order, handing it to him once you’re next to him again.

He takes one big swallow, then another one, his throat working to get the liquid down. You pretend not to notice. Then he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand while you stare at the cut with much more focus than necessary. Taking back the bottle, you pour some of its content on the cut, drawing a low groan from Mr. Morgan that heats up your cheeks.

Your hands are shaking as you try to thread the needle. “Have you ever done this before?” Mr. Morgan asks, his face stoic as if he’s ready to accept his fate no matter the answer you give him.

“Technically, no,” you answer, finally pushing the thread through the eye.

“Huh,” he grunts.

“But I’m very good at mending stockings.” You offer him a feeble smile and he nods. “This might hurt a little bit,” you warn before pushing the needle through his skin. Holding his arm in place with your other hand, you can feel his muscles flex at the intrusion, and a short burst of breath tickles the top of your head. He doesn’t complain.

“Have you ever been stitched up before?” you ask him to distract him.

“No,” he replies through gritted teeth.

“Oh, good. Then you have to believe me when I tell you I’m doing a very good job.” What’s wrong with you?

He grunts again, but maybe, possibly that sound could be hiding a laugh.

“Still, when we arrive at our destination, you should have a doctor look at this,” you instruct.

“Eager to hear from a professional how good of a job you did?”

Your cheeks ignite and you drop the needle. “Shit.” He is laughing now, a low chuckle, as you try to locate a glint in the flickering light from the campfire. Luckily, you don’t have to look far – the needle fell straight down and is lying between Mr. Morgan’s boots. You wipe strands of hair from your face, then wipe the needle clean on your dress before getting back to work.

“No,” you answer his question, forcing your voice to sound steady. “Because I have no idea how to prevent an infection. Or if I’m even doing this correctly.”

Mr. Morgan leans down, his big hand closing around the bottle you discarded earlier, and he unscrews the cap with his thumb and forefinger. “Looks to me like you’re doin’ fine.” A big swig, then another one.

You glance up at him just to see his face looking unusually pale. “Does it hurt a lot?” you ask carefully.

“I’ve had worse,” he answers, but flinches when one of your stitches comes too close to the wound.

You blink fast a couple of times, trying to shake the image of him on top of that man, punching and punching until no trace of life was left. The memory of the sheer brutality makes your hands feel clammy. No, this wasn’t his first time getting hurt, just like it wasn’t his first time killing someone. And now the same hands rest peacefully in his lap, cut and bruised, yes, but a far cry from the deadly weapons you saw today.

“Thank you for what you did today,” finishing up with two final stitches, then quickly add, “There,” and pet his arm before he can acknowledge your words of gratitude.

He lifts his hand from his leg and flexes his fingers. “Thanks for this,” he replies, examining the stitches.

Your gaze lands on his knuckles that are covered in blood, his own and that of the men he killed. “Do you want me to take a look at your hands?” you ask, your throat tight all of a sudden.

“I’m used to that.” He stretches out one of his legs so it rests next to you, close enough that you feel the ghost of a presence next to your hip.

“I’ve never met a man who was used to so much violence.” Your eyes are still on his hands, bruised darkly.

“It was either them or us.” He shrugs.

Us. “I was sure they had killed you when I heard that first gunshot,” you tell him, lowering your gaze to your own hands that have some dirt on them, some streaks of Mr. Morgan’s blood, but that look so clean compared to his.

“And break the contract with your father?”

You laugh. “A father who selected this route knowing full well about the dangers we would face?” The silence that follows your question is filled only by the crackle of the campfire and by the sounds of creatures moving through the woods. “I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you,” you finally say.

“This ain’t the first time I had to save someone,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“And how did those other people repay you?” you ask, eager for his answer. Being indebted to him puts you on edge.

“Money,” is his short reply.

“I don’t have any,” you say, feeling a tug at your heartstrings. But maybe that doesn’t matter; maybe when you arrive, you could talk to your fiancé. He’ll want to reward the man who defended your honor and saved you from a horrible fate. Still, you wish there was something you could be doing for him right now. “There’s also other ways,” you say, very slowly.

“Hm,” he makes, a sound that has started to fill you with a certain warmth for reasons you can’t quite explain. Then he shifts, moves his legs a little further apart. And you’re there right between them, looking up into his face that betrays nothing except for the smallest glint in his eyes.

You’ve never even kissed a man, but you’re not stupid. You know what certain gestures and movements mean. You’ve watched your father’s hands when a woman walked past them, you’ve attended dances where everyone around you was getting drunk … growing up on a farm, you’ve seen things. But you also know that those things are wrong and they should only be happening between husband and wife behind closed doors, no matter what everyone else is doing.

It's getting harder to breathe, and you feel a tug low in your stomach, almost like an ache. You’ve never felt anything like this before and you can’t quite place it, but the way he looks at you, mouth slightly opened, his eyes deep and dark, only fuels that sensation. And when you think back to this afternoon, it becomes so strong it makes you shift on your knees.

“You’re a pretty little thing.”

It’s the second time today someone has said that about you. Whereas the first time made your skin crawl, the second time makes your cheeks heat up and your breath get stuck in your throat. You notice that Mr. Morgan unbuckles his belt, eyes locked to yours, and you make sure your gaze stays on his face. It’s only when he groans and his eyelids flutter shut that you look down and see he has his hand wrapped around himself, moving it up and down his length with sure strokes. Something in you is released at that sight.

“Here, let me,” you offer, shuffling closer on your knees until you’re trapped between his legs.

Before you can think better of it, you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock. It’s warmer than you expected, feels heavier than you thought when you move your hand up in the same move you saw him use. He groans again, louder this time, and removes his hand, resting it on your arm. You tremble.

Back home, you were taught that what a wife does in the bedroom is fulfilling the duty to her husband. It sounded neither pleasant nor enjoyable, and so far, you’ve managed to push the thoughts of what is awaiting you at your destination from your mind. But your mother couldn’t have meant this, because this doesn’t feel like duty at all. You stroke the tip of his cock with your thumb, he tightens the grip on your arm in return, and you feel a surge of pride well up. No, your mother couldn’t have been talking about this.

Eager to try more, you twist your wrist on the downstroke, then lower your head and kiss the tip of his cock. He growls this time, and his hand lands on the back of your head, pushing you down. You have no choice but to open your mouth further and take him in. The weight of him presses down against your tongue, the tip of him brushing the back of your throat makes you gag as tears shoot to your eyes. He grips your hair, pulls you off, then pushes you back down again, and you got it. It’s not so different from the hand.

Steadying him at the base with a tight grip, you pull off him again, but let your tongue run along the underside, the sharp taste of him filling every corner of your mouth. It will take some getting used to, but you’re determined to get this right, and from the way his hand trembles at the back of your head, you have a feeling you might be.

You close your eyes, focusing on taking him as deeply inside as possible because he seems to enjoy that. Sometimes, when you think there isn’t any room left, he pushes you onto his cock that little bit further and then groans contently, a sound that tightens parts of your body you didn’t know could tighten. You run your tongue over the tip of him, hum around him when your mouth is full of him, just to find out what kind of sounds you can draw from him. If this is what it’s like, you can’t imagine why anyone would call this a duty.

Mr. Morgan stiffens and pushes his hips upward so you take even more of him into your mouth. This time you can’t help the gagging sound pushing past him. But instead of forcing you to take more, he grips a handful of your hair and pulls you off. Your mouth feels strangely empty for a moment, even though his taste lingers, and you blink in confusion. Was that it?

You lick your lips and look up at him expectantly, waiting for him to say something. But he’s quiet, only placing his forefinger under your chin to tilt your head back a little more. For some reason, that gesture leaves you breathless. And you know why a second later when his lips lock onto yours and your breaths mingle, and you suddenly understand why people would kill for this. Why he killed for you.

You can’t help the moan that comes out of your mouth, don’t even realize at first that the sound is coming from you. His hand glides to the back of your head to grip you and hold you in place, and you push yourself toward him, one hand on his arm, the other on his thigh. He licks into your mouth and you try to mirror him, feeling a strange sense of pride when he opens up for you.

He pulls away, holding you in place by the hair at the nape of your neck. “Did you like havin’ me in your mouth?” he asks and his voice is so low you barely recognize it.

“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” you answer, and you also almost don’t recognize your own.

“Oh, you’re somethin’,” he says with a wicked smile, then stands and pulls you with him.

Your legs are trembling and your knees threaten to give way when he kisses you again, pressing his entire body to yours. Just when you think you could spend eternity like this, he closes his arms around your backside and lifts you up, so you don’t have any chance but to sling your legs around his middle. You squeal against his lips, but he just carries you past the campfire toward your bedroll. Beneath your palms, you can feel the muscles in his shoulders and arms flex and tighten with each step. Something in your stomach flutters as you remember he's strong enough to beat a man to death.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re kissing his jaw and neck, biting down on a tendon that’s jutting out with the effort of keeping you in his arms. When he rumbles deep in his chest, you flick out your tongue to lick across the spot in apology, but he drops you to your feet. You both stand there for a second, looking at each other with heaving chests. His hands come up to grip the neckline of your dress, and he pulls, a tearing sound echoing through the trees. Your torn dress crumbles to the ground around you, exposing your undergarments, and even though your first instinct is to cover up you don’t because he pulls his shirt over his head to expose his naked chest beneath, and that sight is enough to distract you from any embarrassment you might be feeling.

His pants are next, and then he stands before you stark naked. You try to touch his stomach with a trembling hand, but he grabs your wrist and pushes you down to the ground. With precise movements, he pulls off your drawers, taking your shoes with them, then tears open your corset to expose your breasts. Your breath hitches when he cups one in his calloused hand and squeezes, making pleasure spike through your body.

You kiss him again, lean into his touch, and then you discover you can make him tighten his hold on you by licking over his bottom lip. You can make him press his hard length against you by moaning in pleasure. It feels so, so good to have this effect on him, to be able to do that to him without words. Never, in a million years, would you have expected that giving yourself to a man would feel like this, would make heat blossom at the base of your spine, would make you ache between your legs. You shove your fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss, and he sighs against your lips, a sound that makes your knees weak. How can all of this make you feel so good yet fill you with a hunger you don’t know how to satiate?

You run your nails over his scalp, testing to see what other sounds you can elicit from him, when he suddenly shifts both your bodies, pushing you to the ground while caging you in with his body. Your heart hammers in your chest so hard it’s almost painful, but even when your back is uncomfortably pressed against your thin bedroll, you still crane your neck to keep kissing him. God, why can’t you get enough of him?

With a sharp slap against your knee that sends another spike of pleasure through your body, he pushes your legs apart, then draws back to look at you. His lips are red and swollen, and both shadow and light are dancing across his face in quick succession. You reach up to touch his cheek, but he catches your wrist and pins it down next to your head with so much strength it steals the breath from your lungs.

“You’re the prettiest little lady I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles.

You feel your face heat up, but he doesn’t notice how flustered you are. With his free hand, he grabs himself, then lines himself up between your legs. You watch, eyes wide, breathing so fast your head is starting to swim. What comes next is a pressure that is not painful but not quite pleasurable either. And the more it pushes, the more it hurts.

“Stop,” you say, your voice not more than a whisper.

Either he doesn’t hear you or he’s ignoring you, but he continues to push up into you, and now it’s so painful you’ve lost all sense of pleasure entirely.

“Stop,” you try again, bracing your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off you. He’s too strong for you. “Arthur, stop!” you bellow.

And he hears you. He immediately withdraws, and you scramble to sit up, pulling away from him as best as possible on the small bedroll.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks, and the concern in his voice makes you look at him.

“Yes,” you answer, hugging your knees to your chest. You wish you weren’t so naked.

“Have you ever …?” He doesn’t need to finish the question for you to know what he means.

You shake your head.

A deep, red flush creeps up his chest and neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t –”

“It’s alright,” you interrupt him, his apology embarrassing rather than harming you. “You didn’t know.”

“The way you were kissin’ me …” He trails off again.

Your ears prick up at the compliment. “It all felt … good,” you stutter. “More than good. It’s just …”

“I can … we can slow down,” he offers. “If you still want …”

You look at him, kneeling before you, his skin glowing orange in the light from the fire. His dick is slowly softening between his legs, goosebumps are covering his arms, but he is showing you all of himself without shame. That bold display of his body makes your blood heat up again, but you hesitate. Touching his naked skin is one thing, giving yourself to him entirely is something you’ve been warned of your entire life. And yet … now that you’ve pushed through the initial shock, you slowly realize your body is demanding to feel him again.

You nod. “Yes. I still … I want you.”

Your cheeks are fever-hot, but the way his eyes light up is worth the embarrassment you feel. Arthur moves toward you, loosening the hold you have on yourself, and you relax, dropping your knees, letting him come even closer. He smirks, his eyes darting to your lips and then back up again before he leans in for a searing kiss, and it feels like the last few minutes didn’t happen at all. Without breaking the kiss, he reaches for your wrist, then slowly guides your hand between your own legs, while you tremble in anticipation. He doesn’t touch you, but when he presses your own fingers against all that heat and wetness, you moan deeply.

Arthur breaks the kiss first. “I want you to play with yourself,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

“I don’t …,” you start, suddenly unsure.

“Yeah, I know.” He kisses your neck. “You’re gonna figure it out though.”

You take a deep breath and nod, and when he captures your lips for another kiss, you move your fingers over yourself in a motion that makes pleasure shoot through your entire body. A shaky pant escapes you and lands on his mouth, turning his lips into a smirk even while he’s kissing you.

“There you go,” he whispers.

You find a rhythm and pace that makes you feel like you’re about to explode but that doesn’t light the final fuse, and he continues to kiss you for a while before drawing back to watch the hand between your thighs. Any shame you could have felt is replaced by pure lust when you see the arousal in his eyes; you shift to open your legs further, and he raises his eyes in surprise. You shift under his searing gaze and moan when you notice his hand closing around the base of his cock.

You’ve never felt like you’re feeling right now, completely in control but also like you’re surrendering yourself to him. It’s so addictive it makes you wonder how people don’t want to feel like this all the time. “It feels so good,” you groan, struggling to get the words out because your teeth are clenched.

“You’re so pretty,” is Arthur’s answer as he moves his hand up and down his length.

You can’t help but believe him. “I love you strong you are,” you return the compliment, and before you can think better of it, you raise your free hand and cup your breast, squeezing your nipple.

His eyes lock onto your chest. “Fuck.” Pleasure shoots through you from the tip of your toes to the top of your head. “You’re such a good girl,” he adds, and it makes your heart flutter so painfully you feel like it’s about to fly out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demand, not recognizing yourself at all.

Arthur shifts closer until he’s right between your legs, fisting himself eagerly. You can smell the sweat and arousal on him, a scent so overpowering you wish you could bury your nose in his skin and inhale it forever. “My pretty, brave girl,” he says, and when you lower your gaze, too overwhelmed by what his words make you feel, he grips your chin and lifts your head. “Oh no, you’re gonna look at me.” You blink once but don’t lower your head again. “Yeah, that’s it.” He smirks. “Look at you … so eager to please me. You should see yourself right now … goddamn prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

You do lower your gaze then because it feels like too much. Your eyes land on his cock, on the tip that’s glistening wetly, and you lick your lips, remembering the feeling of him in your mouth.

“You want me inside of you, don’t you?” Arthur asks, and you nod. His rough, calloused hand closes around your throat and you can’t help it – you move your own hand faster, a crescendo building in the pit of your stomach. “Use your words, pretty girl. I know you can.”

You swallow hard, knowing he can feel your throat move against his grip. “Yes, I want you inside of me.” Your face doesn’t heat up this time as you realize you’re not only saying that to please him. It’s exactly what you want.

He rewards you with a deep kiss, then mumbles against your lips. “Are you ready?”

You hesitate. “I’m not …”

But Arthur doesn’t let you finish. “Let’s find out together.” He leans back. “Finger yourself.” The way his eyes darken when he says it isn’t lost on you.

You shift and move your hand lower, his eyes fixed to your movements. He has stopped moving, his hand grabbing his cock, holding it between his legs. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers in anticipation at the same time as he licks his lips. And then you push the tip of your finger inside of you, past the initial resistance, deeper and deeper until you can’t go any further.

“Breathe,” he instructs and you exhale sharply. “Did that hurt?”

You shake your head before remembering he likes to hear your voice. “No.”

“How does it feel?” he wants to know.

Carefully, you pull your finger out until only the tip remains inside of you, then you push it back in. “Good,” you manage. “Really good.”

“You’re sweet when you can barely talk,” he says with a smirk and the muscles inside you clamp down on your finger. You moan and close your eyes, unable to keep them open. “You like that, don’t you?” You hear him shift closer. “You like hearing my voice. Bet you’d like me to talk you through it, too.”

Your chest rises and falls rapidly as you feel something building inside you. It’s like a wave that will drown everything out. You lean back further and further until your back connects to the ground, until you can raise your hips to meet your finger, trying to get it as deep inside you as possible.

Then his hand is covering yours and he pushes you to the ground, stilling you. When you open your eyes, you’re met with his, dark with lust, and you’re rewarded with the sight of his chest, flushed so deeply red it looks almost purple. His cock is leaking onto his fingers. “Not yet, sweet girl,” he says in a voice that sounds familiar to the one he uses to calm down his horse. “You’re doing so well, but wait until …”

Arthur removes his hand from yours, but then you feel the tip of his finger right where yours is disappearing inside yourself. You steel yourself for the pain you’re about to feel, but when his finger joins yours, stretching you open, all you feel is pleasure so intense it makes it hard for you to stay conscious.

“Fuck,” you groan, a short outburst, almost like a bark.

“You can say that again.” Arthur’s voice is so husky it’s almost impossible to understand. He cups your hand with his, and then moves the both of you in tandem, pulling back out and pushing back in. You tentatively meet his thrusts by rolling your hips and he growls. “Look at you, spread open just for me.”

You don’t know why his words make you feel like they do, but the muscles between your legs are working hard to keep both your fingers buried as deeply as possible. That earns you a smirk from him and you smile back in return.

“I think you’re ready.” He grips your hand tightly and pulls the both of you out, making you sob. To calm you, he cups your cheek and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna fill you right back up again.” All you can do is nod.

He positions himself above you, stroking himself a few times, then lining himself up. It’s easier for you to relax this time because you know what to expect, but when he breaches that resisting wall of muscles, you still feel a burn and hiss.

“Shhhh,” he makes and kisses your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

And then he’s inside of you, stretching you open as much as you can take. His eyes flutter shut and he groans, shifting to adjust himself. “You feel perfect.”

“You’re … you’re big,” you manage, drawing a chuckle from him.

He shifts again, then pulls back out before slamming back into you, making you see stars. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he apologizes immediately.

“No,” you press out through gritted teeth. “Do that again.”

He does, and you grip his arm, burying your nails in his muscle, slinging your other arm around his back. There’s a strange taste in your mouth and you only slowly realize it’s blood from biting down on your bottom lip. He kisses you, licks over the wound, pulls a sharp moan from you. And then he slams into you so hard you scream, clawing at his skin, leaving bloody streaks down his arm and back. The pain only seems to spur him on and when you pant, “Harder,” he doesn’t hesitate.

You clench around his cock in return and he whispers, “I like you like this.” You feel yourself clench again and he groans. “You’re perfect,” he repeats. You kiss his neck, then bite it, until he pushes you back down. “I bet you’ve never had an orgasm before, have you?” You shake your head and he mimics that motion, tapping your bottom lip with his thumb. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“No,” you manage to say, your voice hoarse.

He rocks into you, not as hard and fast as before, but it makes you pant helplessly nonetheless. “Yeah, I thought so,” he mumbles more to himself than to you.

“Please,” you whisper.

He smirks down at you, then shifts his knees ever so slightly to change the angle. Suddenly, he’s brushing against something deep inside of you that makes a sob erupt from deep in your chest.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” he teases, but there is a strain in his voice now, as if he’s struggling to hold onto something.

“Please,” you repeat louder, unable to fully grasp the meaning of his question.

Arthur’s thumb is back on your lip and then he pushes it inside your mouth. You swirl your tongue around the tip eagerly, then suck on it, grazing your teeth over his skin. His breathing turns ragged, and the warmth of pride erupts in your chest. With a wet sound, he pulls his thumb out from between your lips and pushes his hand between your bodies until it comes to rest on that small spot you were toying with earlier. You howl and twitch and your whole body erupts. You spill over, you lose sense of where and who you are, you’re shaken by forces beyond your control. All the while, Arthur pounds into you, strokes you inside and out, and you think you hear him say, “That’s it, just let go. You’re so fucking beautiful – just let go.”

As soon as you feel like you can breathe again, he pulls out of you, leaving you aching and empty and cold. Through hooded eyes, you watch as he moves his hand up and down his cock fast until he spills all over his hand and the edge of your bedroll, gaze not directed downwards, but staring at you with insatiable hunger in his eyes. And you return that gaze just as hungrily, wondering what it would feel like to taste his release on your tongue.

Arthur stands unsteadily and retrieves his coat from the other side of the campfire. You feel the cold of the night now and hug your knees to your chest, still trying to make sense of the world. “Now, no more of that,” he says when he gets back, draping his coat over you, the weight of it making your limbs grow soft. He lies down next to you, pressing his front to your back, one arm possessively slung over your chest, the other shoved under your head for you to use as a pillow.

*******

The morning sun is warm on your face as you ride through a slowly thinning forest. The plains and your destination cannot be far from here. Your thoughts are though; they’re still somewhere behind you, stuck at a campfire, busy chasing the feeling of the man next to you between your legs.

When you reach a fork in the path, you stop your horse and look off to your right, back into the forest and the mountains. “What’s back there?” you ask.

Arthur stops his horse next to yours and looks down the path. “Never been over that way,” he answers.

“Do you want to find out?” Your voice is firm, but you don’t look at Arthur.

He’s quiet at first. “Your father –”

“– already paid you,” you finish the sentence.

Arthur nods. “Alright,” he says, then looks back at the path you just put behind you, then off to your right again. “Let’s find out what’s over there.”

***

arthur morgan taglist: @cjillian97 | @hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmsstuff | @imaginativefanatic | @joelmillers-whore | @misspearly1 | @spacecowboyhotch | @tortor-mcgee | @wickedscribbles

perma taglist: @alexturner | @amneris21 | @din-jarhead | @harriedandharassed | @martellthemandalor | @nyfeeer | @nobodys-baby-now | @od-ends | @pedrorascal | @radiowallet-writes

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 3: OF TRUE AND FALSE MEMORIES

synopsis: you hitch a ride to the heartlands. hopefully your driver doesn't mind you leeching for just a while longer.

word count: 3.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: hey ummm merry christmas eve here's an early present. also zion as a concept of faith is mentioned but i am not a zionist trust it's just that joshua graham is unfortunately a mormon 🙏

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @fathermarama , @its-yummi (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

You know the trail to Dead Horse Point well by now. Something is a bit different – but still, Joshua and Daniel and the Dead Horses and Sorrows welcome you and your mules, Rook and Bishop, all the same.

Follows-Chalk, Drumming-Storm, and a few other Dead Horses crowd the mules, offloading everything you had on them: books, kettles, blankets, guns (and accompanying black powder), tobacco, and alcohol. They mostly crowd Rook, as she’s the heavyweight of the two and carries more – Bishop’s more of a riding mule. The Dead Horses wander off soon after, arms full, taking everything to its respective place. 

Joshua approaches you, adjusting the bandages near his eyes to see you better. “You’ve got on well.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “Happy Trails treats me well. I’m their employee, but I’m also their friend.”

“Yes, but this?” Joshua gestures at the people putting up what you’ve brought. “All this product? They must have put a lot of trust in you.”

“They put more trust in my steeds,” you say. “Both got some burro in them. And they can kick as hard as them, too – especially Bishop.”

“That, I don’t doubt,” Joshua says. 

You watch as Rook shakes her coat out, causing her carrying gear to jingle. Bishop wanders closer to Joshua, nudging at his shoulder and nipping at the bandages that cover Joshua’s arm. Joshua lifts his arm (slowly – again, he’s bandaged all over) and pats the side of Bishop’s face.

“They like it here,” you say. “Maybe it’s something about the canyon. Or maybe they just like you.”

“Zion is a godly place,” Joshua says. His voice, though deep and abrasive, carries a heavy tone of affection. “Wherever man may be, he always dreams of Zion. These creatures may share our same dreams.”

“That’d be nice,” you hum softly. You reach out and place your hand under Rook’s jaw, and she leans forward into your touch. Her big, brown eyes blink slowly as she looks at you, then around the campsite, like she’s appreciating the sight.

“We should probably get going,” you say. You look over at Joshua. “I need to load up on daturana and datura hide. That’s what Happy Trails wants in exchange, anyway.”

“Go talk to Winding-Path,” Joshua says. “She knows what you’re owed.”

When you look to your right, Follows-Chalk is hurrying over, a hand raised and a smile on his face. The painted markings on his face crease and stretch with his smile – rather than spider legs creeping up his cheeks, they look like laugh lines.

“Hoye!” He greets. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, too,” you say. You reach out to grasp his hand, and as soon as you brush it – 

A bump in the road jolts you awake. You let out a small, confused sound, then settle. 

You’re in the back of a wagon, crammed between folded-up lodgings and kitchen supplies. Your knees are drawn to your chest, and your back is to the wooden side of the wagon. 

Before packing up and making yourself fit into the space left on the wagon, you weren’t really told much of anything. From what you’ve gathered, the men (“men” being the young-ish, able-bodied ones) robbed a train, and now you and the gang have to flee. It seems like you fit right in, because they have a penchant for pissing off the wrong people, just like you.

“Hey, you’re finally awake!” Hosea calls from the front, where he sits next to Arthur.

“Yeah.” You shift and take a quick, deep breath as you rub the sleep from your eyes. “Yeah, I’m up.”

“We’re nearly to the Heartlands,” Hosea says. He turns so that he’s facing you with his arm resting on the back of the seat. “You ever been there before?”

“No,” you say. You sway with the trail in the dirt road and the way Arthur drives. 

“We’re settling up in Horseshoe Overlook,” Hosea says. “It’s near a livestock town called Valentine – all mud and morons, if I remember right.”

“Huh,” you hum. You look away from Hosea and around you. 

It’s different from when you were up in Colter. It’s warmer, for one. The trees aren’t dredged in snow – instead, their branches are covered in leaves, each one green and upturned. Grasses and flowers sprout from the dirt ground, which is now soft and malleable instead of frozen and cold to the touch. Everything is just nicer. 

For a minute, you just listen to the sounds around you. It’s calm. Birdsong fills the air, and you can see animals bounding through the trees of the forest and grasses of the valleys (for the first time in a while, honestly – cities don’t lend themselves well to wildlife). 

What was that dream about? You wonder silently. I was… in the Dead Horses’ camp. But that place is completely fictional, even in this… timeline? Coma-fever-something dream? I don’t even know at this point.

You hear the sound of moving water and look to the front. Arthur is guiding the horses into a stream, which the rest of the caravan has cleared without a problem. 

In the middle of the water, you feel a shock and hear something break. You clutch to the side of the wagon and feel that the driving is a little… off.

“Get us out the stream,” Hosea says. “You gotta keep us moving, but calm.”

Did you just ask Arthur to be calm? You shout in your head. Arthur is the epitome of everything that isn’t calm! He barely feels things, and when he does, he’s meaner than a gas station tweaker – and he’s not even on anything!

Arthur (yes, carefully, you’ll admit) pulls the wagon out of the stream. Just as he does, you feel another shock and a shift. You scramble to hold onto a canister as it nearly falls out of the back of the wagon. 

“Ah, shit!” Arthur curses. He draws the wagon to a stop.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” Hosea says. 

You move and shift the items so that they’re pushed further up the wagon, where you were sitting just before. You hop off the back of the wagon. Sure enough, the wheel has just popped itself right off. 

“You alright back there?” Bill calls from up ahead. 

“Does everything look alright?” Arthur snaps as he hops off the driver’s seat. 

You can see Javier shift in his seat in the wagon ahead of yours, trying to get a better look. “Well, what’s going on?”

Arthur walks closer to you, accessing the damage. He throws a hand up in the air and groans. “I broke the goddamn wheel!”

“Alright!” Hosea chimes. “Let’s get it fixed.” 

“You need help?” Javier calls. 

Hosea waves him off with a hand. “I reckon we can handle it.”

You quickly step back as he and Charles make their way to the back of the wagon. Arthur hoists up the wheel so he can roll it towards the wagon. Hosea and Charles pick up the back, and Arthur forces the wheel back into place. 

You hurry over and pick up a crate, putting it in the wagon. You hop up into the bed of the wagon and take a small chest from Charles, placing it where it belongs.

“Hey, look at you.” Arthur says as he checks the back of the wagon. “You ain’t so useless after all.”

“O-oh,” you say after a second. “You’re talking to me?”

“I am.” He looks up at you. The brim of his hat casts a harsh shadow that partly obscures his eyes. “Did I… offend you, somehow?”

“No, no!” You laugh nervously and take another crate from Charles. “I just wasn’t sure. Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” Arthur hums. 

“Hold on,” Hosea almost hisses. 

You look over at him, and he’s looking to the side. You follow his eyes and see three figures on the ridge of a cliff, each perched on a horse. You can barely make out their facial features, but they look like Native Americans.

“What you think?” Arthur says lowly. 

“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn’t have seen them,” Charles says. 

“Poor bastards…” Hosea raises his arm and waves, but doesn’t call out to them. “We really screwed them over down here.”

Yeah… You think to yourself, still looking at the figures on horseback. It’s not much better in the future, either. I’d tell you all the details, but then I’d be put in an asylum.

“Come on,” Hosea says. “Let’s not push our luck.”

You take your eyes away from the figures. Instead, you help Charles pack up the last of what’s meant to go in the back of the wagon. 

As Arthur and Hosea hop on the front of the wagon, you make yourself comfortable on top of a trunk. Charles sits across from you on a rectangular crate. 

“Not too far now. Stay on this trail,” Hosea instructs Arthur. “We’ll follow the river, then cut left inland.”

You look around as Hosea starts telling Arthur about how the poor the natives were treated in this area. “Stolen clean away from them it was, every blade of grass,” he says. Even though it’s wrong (reprehensible, even), you understand why white men wanted this country. It’s breathtakingly beautiful – or maybe it just looks that way because it’s not what you’re used to. It’s not asphalt and smog and a concrete jungle in place of real land that lives and breathes.

“I heard some of the army out here was particularly, uh…” Hosea thinks for a second. “Unpleasant about it.”

“Unpleasant?” Charles echoes. “How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?”

“You… say please?” You try to joke. “And thank you?”

“Something like that!” Hosea laughs. “That’s the perfect way to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our blockheaded driver here.” 

You cringe a little. You don’t really want to be roped in while Hosea’s insulting Arthur so freely and carelessly. 

“Hey, don’t blame nothin’ on me,” Arthur says. “Never forget, y’all – this here’s a conman, born and bred. Just ‘cause it sounds fancy don’t mean he knows a damn thing ‘bout what he’s talkin’ ‘bout.”

A nice pseudo-quiet settles over all four of you. (Pseudo because while it’s true that none of you are talking, the noise of the forest around you fills that silence well.)

“So…” Arthur starts. “Charles. What happened to your tribe?”

“I don’t even know if I have one. Least, not that I can remember,” Charles says. “My father was a colored man. They told me he lived with our people for a while – a number of free men did – but… when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much.” 

His expression hardens a little. “All my life I’ve been on the run.”

You feel your face twist a bit and a pang of empathy. Empathy – not sympathy. You don’t feel pity for Charles. You know a feeling familiar to his. Maybe you weren’t literally pushed from your land, but you sure as hell know how it feels – skipping from shelter to warming center to temporary housing to shelter.

Addicts, even child addicts and children of addicts, are liabilities. You were a liability.

Charles’ voice brings you from your thoughts. “A couple years later, some soldiers captured my mother. Took her somewhere. We never saw her again. We drifted around. My father was a very sad man, and the drink had a mean hold on him. Around thirteen… I just took off on my own.”

His eyes flit over to meet yours. “What’s that look for?”

“Sorry.” You duck your head and look off to the side. “It’s just… I understand.”

You leave it hanging at that. Then, you look at Charles out of the corner of your eye. He’s waiting for you to continue. You glance at Hosea and Arthur. Neither have turned around to look at you, but you can tell they’re waiting, too. 

“My dad wasn’t around. Like, at all,” you say. “And my mom liked to go to trap houses to get stoned out of her goddamn mind.”

“Trap houses?” Hosea echoes. “What d’you mean by that?”

A cold shock shoots down your spine as you remember that, yeah – this is 1899! And you’re from the future! And you can’t let slip that you’re from the 21st century!

“A trap house is a house where people go to buy and sell drugs,” you say as you think of a lie. “Sorry – it’s slang from the Frontier, I guess. Hasn’t made its way eastward yet.”

“Huh,” Hosea hums. “And what did you do before you found yourself here? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The dream! The dream! Your mind screams at you. Remember the dream!

“I worked for a company called Happy Trails Caravan,” you lie. “Had two mules – Rook and Bishop. I spent most of my time travelling alone, and delivering to the tribes in the Mojave.”

“And how was that?” Hosea asks. “I can’t imagine travelling all the time leaving a lot of room for friends.”

“Oh, yeah. It was nice, but still a little lonely,” you say. “I started doing more local runs across the north of the Mojave around six or seven years ago. Made friends with some of the tribes in Zion Canyon. I started working that job when I was maybe… fourteen? And spent around a decade going cross-country before I did more local deliveries.”

“That was about the age we found young Arthur here – maybe a little older,” Hosea says. “A wilder delinquent you never did see! But he learned fast.”

Arthur scoffs. “Not as fast as Marston, apparently.”

You and Charles exchange a look and he speaks up. “I don’t understand. What’s the problem between you two?”

“Eh…” Arthur shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

You cup a hand by your mouth and half-whisper to Charles. “Marston’s the wolf guy, right?”

He just nods in response. You drop your hand and lean back, looking around at the scenery again. Arthur leads the wagon right by the wall of a sheer cliff drop. You look up at the ridge and the trees silhouetted there. 

“We still headed the right way?” Arthur says. 

“That depends,” Hosea says. “Are we still heading west, in search of fortune and repose in virgin forests, as we planned? No. Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law, eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.”

You smile to yourself a little. You don’t really know him all that well, but so far, Hosea’s shaping up to be one of the people you can trust. If not, he’s a nice storyteller, at least. You guess that counts for something.

“You know this area?” Charles asks. 

“A little. I’ve been through a couple of times. There’s a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine.” Hosea hooks his thumb over his shoulder at you. “Was telling them and Arthur about it earlier. Cowboys, outlaws, working girls. Our kinda place.”

“O’Driscolls?” Arthur asks. 

“Probably them too,” Hosea says.

“Pinkertons?”

“Let’s hope not.” 

“And this place we’re going…” Arthur shifts, giving the reins a light snap. “Wait, what’s it called again?”

You turn and watch the riverbed pass by as they continue to talk. The place is called Horseshoe Overlook, like Hosea told you earlier. They talk about the Blackwater job and about Dutch doing things that weren’t like him. (That confuses you a bit. He’s a nice guy, as far as you can tell. But everyone has their limit, and from what you can infer, the ferry was Dutch’s limit.) A few more sentences later, you get the distinct feeling you shouldn’t be listening in on this conversation. Instead, you turn to Charles. 

“Are you doing okay?” You ask. 

“I’m fine,” Charles says. “Do I… not look okay?”

You laugh awkwardly and scratch your cheek. “No, no. I’m just… asking to be polite.”

His eyebrows draw together a little and he frowns a bit. “Okay.”

You inhale deeply and draw your lips into a thin line, then nod, then look away. 1899 is such a weird year to be alive. Or… to be in a coma in? Like, you’re in a coma and your coma dream is set in 1899. This is so confusing.

Javier’s voice from up ahead breaks your thoughts (and keeps you from going into a spiral, really). 

“There you are, brother!” He points further down the trail. “Head in there and follow the track for a bit.”

“Thanks,” Arthur says. 

“Hey, slow up,” Javier calls. “I’ll jump on.”

Javier catches up as Arthur slows down. He hops up onto the tailgate step, holding onto the side of the wagon for extra support. You give him a smile and he nods in return. 

“Any trouble getting in here, Javier?” Hosea asks from up front. 

“No, it went well,” Javier says. “This is a good spot.”

“Excellent!” Hosea says. “I think this’ll work for us. For now, anyway.”

You lean to the side and watch as Horseshoe Overlook comes into view. It’s a nice spot, like Javier said. Some of the grass has already been worn down from all the recent moving around the people and the horses have been doing. A few tents have already been set up, but not all of them.

“Here we are, folks,” Hosea says. “Home, sweet home.”

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea!” Dutch calls from inside the camp. “This place… is perfect.”

Hosea climbs off, and you take that as a hint to get off and start unloading. Charles looks inside the trunk you were sitting on before and tells you that it’s bedding. You take it from him and head over to the tents. 

Most of the rest of the day passes like that. Everything needs to be unpacked and worked on. There was a small interruption when Dutch got up on his soapbox and gave a quick speech about everyone pitching in. He told the gang their fake backstory – that you and the rest of them are a group of itinerant workers whose factory got shut down up north. 

Evening comes quietly and quickly, and night follows it. The sheer drop on the outskirts of camp serves as a nice place to sit and think. 

The stars are so much more bright than they are back in your time. (Your time? Or is it real life? Waking life? Who knows? And, at this point, who cares?) They twinkle and blink and almost seem to dance. They group together and look like they’re spilling from one center source. The moon is nice and full on the horizon. You can see the craters and indents in her surface. It’s like you’re looking up at millions of silver nails driven into dark blue velvet, with the white head of a spike serving as the moon. It’s beautiful, for lack of better words. 

“Hey.”

You gasp and tense, glancing over your shoulder. It’s Arthur. 

You return to looking up at the sky. “Jesus… What do you want?”

“Charles told me to ask you if you’ve eaten,” Arthur says. “Well? Have you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”

Even though you think the conversation is over, you can still feel Arthur behind you. It seems that these people either don’t know how to end a conversation or it’s just different in 1899. 

“The stars.” You glance over your shoulder at Arthur, then away again. “I’m… I’m looking at the stars. If you were curious.”

“Uh huh?” Arthur hums. “And what’s so fascinating about them stars?”

“It’s just that, uh… I couldn’t see them as well out west,” you say. “Where I’m from. Here, I can see them so clearly. They look so real.”

Like I could just reach out and touch them… I mean, this is a coma or something like that. Maybe I could. Maybe I can. 

“I mean, I know they’re real,” you say, your voice laced with laughter. “I’m not – I’m not stupid. They’re just pretty. That’s all.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur says. 

He steps forward into your peripheral vision. You glance at him, then away, like a child after they’ve been scolded for staring. You push down the instinct to shrink away and look at him.

He takes out a hand-rolled cigarette and puts it between his lips. He strikes a match with the bottom of his boot and lights it. The cherry of the cigarette lights up his face, casting warm light and soft shadows. 

“You want one?” Arthur asks. 

“Huh?” You blink, then look away. “No. No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“If you say so,” he says. 

You can see Arthur look up at the stars out of the corner of your eye. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then exhales the smoke through his nose. The cherry of the cigarette flickers, then resumes glowing softly. 

You join him in looking up. Sure enough, the stars are still there, and the stars are still real. All seem to spill from a single source. The moon is a little higher above the horizon – no longer touching it, but hovering in the sky. 

 Usually, you’d never get moments like this. You’d usually work from sunrise until sunset and pick up extra shifts and overtime where you could. It’s nice to see the world like this. Natural. Raw. Even if you have to ignore Arthur’s presence extra-hard, you still manage to enjoy the moment. 

Everything’s just so slow back… then? Back now? Back now. Everything’s so slow back now. It’s like a break. A break from the jackrabbit-style, too-quick, so-fast-it’ll-give-you-a-heart-attack type of living you’re used to. A forced break, but a break nonetheless.

Breaks are nice. You watch a star flicker, twinkle, then blink into darkness. 

Maybe you should take breaks more often. 

[hihomeghere]

Baptized by Fire

After running from your past you find yourself facing certain death out in a blizzard. Thankfully you’re rescued, but what happens when you have to ride out the rest of the winter with the two men who rescued you? An RDR2 AU where Arthur followed Charles to Canada. No Y/N. All five chapters combined into one fic

Word Count : 22k

Warnings/tags : Abuse, bruises, blood, guns, death, religious themes, nudity, oral m!receiving, unprotected piv, cursing, allusions to sex, skinning animals for meat, smoke inhalation, dead body, mention of gunshot wound, reader has female genitalia and is referred to as ‘she’, cursing, Arthur had TB but survived and now has chronic issues because of it, let me know if I missed any

Dividers by @saradika

Minors do not interact!

You had never cared for the cold. Why your family had decided to settle where the ground was covered in frost and snow most months out of the year was beyond you. You tried your hardest to spend as little time outside during the winter months. Taking as long as possible to complete your tasks inside before venturing out into the cold, even if it cost you a beating. Now you found yourself completely at a blizzard's mercy. The wind was nearly deafening, the force of it causing you to stumble through the thick blanket of snow. Your boots doing little to keep out the cold, having lost feeling in your toes shortly after you ran from the one place you had called home. 

If you could even call it ‘home’. The events of the last day playing over in your mind. Your fathers words echoing in your ears.

“Damn stupid child!” He yelled, his words slurred as he stumbled towards you. You ran to get out of his grasp, his hand grabbing a hold of your hair. You yelped, tears stinging your eyes as you were pulled back into his chest. Your scalp ached as he pulled your head back at an unnatural angle. “You never done me any good, never!” He hissed in your ear, his breath reeking of liquor. You felt the hot tears roll down your cheeks as you clawed at the hand holding your hair. Successfully digging your nails into his flesh as he cried out in pain, throwing you to the floor. 

“Fucking bitch!” He spit, his foot landing a blow to your ribs, leaving you gasping for breath. “It’d do you good to learn some damn respect!” He spit, turning his back to you as he went to grab another bottle. You clutched at your side, sucking in any air that you could use to fill your lungs. Each breath burning like hot coals.

Your hands grabbed for anything to help you get back to your feet. Wrapping around the back of a chair as you pulled yourself to your feet. What happened next was a blur. You didn’t even realize you had grabbed the shotgun off the mantle until it kicked back. Your arms aching as you stumbled backwards. Your finger falling off the trigger as your back hit the wall. Your eyes fell upon the body of your father, gasping on the ground. Blood pooling under him as his mouth opened and closed like a damn fish. 

The gun slipped out of your grasp as your hands flew to cover your mouth. Bile spewed between your fingers as it shot up your throat and out your mouth. You gagged and spit, collapsing in on yourself as you sunk to the floor. Tears stinging your eyes as you retched.

You don’t know how long you watched him. Each slow breath was accompanied by the sick gurgle of blood. At some point the sound stopped, along with his heart. Whether it was minutes or hours later you didn’t know. What you did know was something made you run. It could have been the sickly stench of blood, or his cold unblinking stare. Perhaps it was the knowledge that there was now no undoing what was done. That you had fought and now you were fleeing.

You had left the house with only the clothes on your back. A terribly foolish thing in hindsight. Now you were going to meet a similar fate as your father, freezing to death out in the cold. At least someone would find your fathers body, yours on the other hand would be lost until spring. Even then, it was more likely for an animal to find it than a person. The thought of some animal gnawing on your bones sent a shiver up your spine that had nothing to do with the freezing temperatures. You clutched your hands together, trying to rub feeling back into your fingers, but to no avail. Your legs would no longer move, fighting against the signals sent by your brain. 

Up ahead sat a dark figure on a horse, a pale horse. The snow seemingly parted around him as he approached.

This was it. Death had come to claim your soul. You would die frozen and a murderer. God have mercy on you.

-

If you were in hell, the flames of damnation were much more pleasant than painful. The crackling of the fire was almost comforting, and the heat was heavenly. You blinked your eyes open, the flames in the fireplace dancing before you. You relished in the feeling of the warm pelts draped over your bare body. Bare body? Your cheeks burned as you pulled the furs tighter around you. Whoever had rescued you, if you could call it a rescue, you hadn’t decided yet- had stripped you as well. 

“Charles, she’s awake.” A gruff southern voice cut through your thoughts. Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, fear shot through you like a lightning strike as your eyes landed on a man sitting in a rocking chair. 

A man had rescued you. A man had stripped you.The fire no longer eased the trembling of your body as you scrambled backwards. Backing yourself into a corner.

His lips were set in a thin line, light stubble dusting his face. His blue eyes pierced through you as you meet his gaze. Something about him seemed so familiar, although his piercing gaze made you lower your eyes. 

The other man’s, Charles, heavy footsteps caught your attention as he walked over to the unnamed man. Dark skin, long hair, chestnut brown eyes. A scar that ran along his cheek like a lightning strike. Not one but two men.

“So she is.” He said to his partner, eyeing you like you might bolt any second. Which you had thought about, but you could still hear the storm raging outside. It would be a death wish to go out in that again, you realized that now. “Excuse me miss?” Charles asked, raising his eyebrows as he tilted his head slightly.

You swallow thickly, only realizing how damn dry your throat was as you tried to speak.

“Where am I?” You asked, trying to put on a false front of confidence as you pulled the skins tighter around your body.

“About a mile north of where I found you out stumbling in the snow.” Charles answered, taking a tentative step toward you.

“Where are my clothes?” You asked, your stomach dropping as he inched closer. You pulled the furs tighter around your naked body, knowing full well that either of them could easily overpower you. If they wanted to carry out some sick and twisted torture, you would be at their mercy. 

Charles raised his hands in a small surrender, “There, had to hang them up to dry.” He said, motioning to a primitive clothesline near the fire. Something you must have missed when crawling away from them. “The fire wouldn’t have done you any good if you were in those wet clothes. It’s why we… well you know.” He said, “They should be dry by now, you were out for quite awhile.” Your eyes flick between the two men and your clothes. Charles takes two steps back, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor of the cabin. You scrambled forward, snatching your clothes off the line before retreating back to your corner. The other man scoffs, crossing his arms as he looks out the window at the storm.

“The hell were you doing out in the middle of a goddamn blizzard with nothin’?” 

“Arthur-“ Charles' warning tone cut through the cabin as he met Arthur’s eyes.

“It’s an honest question.” He huffed as he looked up at Charles, his jaw set. “No one would go out into something like that if they weren’t runnin’ from somethin’.” He said, giving Charles a look. You swallowed thickly, pursing your lips as the two men seemed to communicate without speaking.

“What were you doing out there then?” You asked, breaking the tense silence. “Were you running from something?”

“I wasn’t the one who was out there.” He hissed, turning his fierce gaze back to you.

“I was.” Charles answered, so he was the one who rescued you.

“If it was me I would have left your sorry ass out there.” Arthur mumbled, Charles shot him a glare before he looked back at you. 

“I got lost.” You said, pulling your warm clothes against your body.

“Yeah no shit.” Arthur huffed, “But that don’t answer my question. What were you doing out there in the first place?” He said, narrowing his eyes. 

“I-“

“She’s been through enough hasn’t she?” Charles cut you off, his baritone voice raising as he glared at Arthur. Arthur clenched his jaw, matching Charles glare. A moment passed as the two glared at each other before Arthur’s shoulders softened, letting out a sigh as he sat back in the rocking chair. Whatever unspoken argument they had had, Charles had won. “Why don’t you put some clothes on and we can have a civilized conversation.” Charles said, shooting Arthur a look.

You stared at the two men, frozen in their gaze.

“Oh for Christsake.” Arthur huffed before turning his head away from you. Charles followed suit, averting his eyes. You hastily put on your clothes, the residual warmth from the fire seeping into your bones. 

“You can look now.” You said, once you were fully clothed. Arthur let out a sigh, his gaze falling on you once more. 

“You’ll have to put up with us until the storm passes.” Charles said, crossing his arms as he looked at you. Sensing your unease he spoke again, “I know you have no reason to trust us, but we did save your life. Not to mention, if we wanted to hurt you we would have by now.” He said with a small shrug. You couldn’t deny the truth. They had seen you naked and at your most vulnerable, and they had done nothing to harm you. In fact, they had done everything to help you.

You were a fool for thinking you could survive on your own. You had no money, leaving all your possessions at your fathers house. The only clothes you had were the ones on your back. You regretted not thinking it through, not having a plan, but you didn’t regret taking that shotgun off the mantle.

“I won’t- I won’t be a burden to you two.” You said swallowing thickly. Arthur scoffed under his breath. “I can cook, clean, and mend anything that needs it.” You said, reinforcing your statement as your cheeks burned.

“It won’t be necessary.” Charles said, shaking his head.

“I insist.” You said cutting him off as you caught Arthur’s eye.

“If she insists, let the little lady help out.” Arthur said, leaning back in his chair with an amused smile on his lips.

-

Over the next couple of days you learned all the ins and outs of the small cabin. There was a main great room, with two bedrooms off of it. 

Charles had given up his bed, letting you take over one of the bedrooms. Said he wouldn’t mind sleeping on a cot in Arthur’s room. You had assumed the two men had been living together longer than they’d had this cabin. They had most likely been sharing close quarters for awhile. Charles' style seemed to be minimal, the only personal items being a family picture and a few beaded necklaces. The room was hardly lived in, you supposed it was only used to sleep in. You didn’t dare ask to go into Arthur’s room, not wanting to spread what little hospitality he had towards you too thin.

Arthur had hardly warmed up to you over the few days you had been stuck together. He didn’t leave his chair often, and when he did he grumbled about his pains. Something about the cold caused his body to ache, you didn’t push for more information. Because of this he moved the rocking chair closer to the fireplace, which was always lit. You’d catch him staring off into the flames, an almost melancholy expression on his face. 

You did your best not to be caught staring at the handsome man, he didn’t take too kindly to you ‘watching him’.

Charles wasn’t necessarily more talkative than his counterpart, but he didn’t mind your eyes on him. He tried in his own ways to loosen the tension between the three of you. He had taken you up on your offer to cook, although he couldn’t seem to stay out of the kitchen. Whether that be helping you chop up vegetables, or just to share your company. 

Although he would leave for an hour or two every day to tend to the livestock they kept. you had learned that that was why Charles had been out in the storm that night. One of their cows had escaped the barn, instead Charles had brought you home. 

“Charles.” Arthur pleaded, his voice low as he stood nearly chest to chest with Charles. He had been in the middle of putting on his snow gear when Arthur had stopped him.

“How many times do we gotta have this conversation?” Charles sighed, shaking his head. You pretended not to notice the tense moment between the two of them. 

“I’m fine.” Arthur huffed, his hand brushing against Charles only for a moment before he crossed his arms, taking a step back. 

“You're not.” He huffed, “It’s about as cold as Colter out there. We hardly survived that last time and now with your-“

“Fine.” Arthur snapped, storming back to the rocking chair. Charles sighed, hesitating by the door before he continued suiting up.

“I’ll be back in an hour or two.” Charles said to the two of you. You gave him a small smile, Arthur on the other hand pretended he hadn’t heard him.

It was silent after Charles left. Arthur scribbled away at his journal while you tidied up around the cabin. You didn’t mind the work, you hadn’t wanted to take advantage of their kindness. You were dusting the mantle above the fireplace, clearing away tiny spiderwebs. Gently moving two hand carved wooden sculptures. One a bison, the other a buck with a great set of antlers. When your eyes fell on a rather detailed drawing of a small family. A man, with dark hair and jagged scars across his face. The woman with as equally dark hair, her hand resting on the shoulder of a young boy. 

“Is this your family?” The question left your lips before you had the chance to think twice about opening your mouth. 

Arthur’s expression darkened as he raised his eyes from the page. 

“Sort of.” He grumbled, letting out a sigh. He got up, walking over to you before taking the drawing off the mantle. He stared at it for a moment before his gaze shifted back over to meet yours. “My brother.” He said pointing to the man with the scars, “His wife and son.” His jaw was clenched tight as he set the drawing back in its place. 

“What happened to them?” You asked, looking up into his stormy blue eyes.

“What happens to all of us.” He sighed. 

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, looking up at their smiling faces. He grunted, but it quickly turned into a nasty dry cough. He doubled over, holding onto the mantle as he sputtered. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, your brows pulling together as you placed your hand on his shoulder. He tensed under your hand, his body shaking as pounded on his chest.

“Fine.” He said, clearing his throat. You removed your hand from his shoulder, feeling a deep pull in your belly as you stepped back. You bumped into his chair, catching yourself on the wooden back. Your eyes fell onto the open journal on the seat. Arthur followed your gaze, scrambling to close the book.

“Oh I-“ Heat flooded your cheeks, “don’t worry I can’t read.” You chuckled nervously as you looked down.

“You can’t-“ Arthur stuttered, his eyebrows pinched together as he looked at you in disbelief. “No one… no one ever taught you?” He asked. 

“No, no my father he-“ You bit your bottom lip, your gaze on the wooden floor, “he didn’t think a woman should be educated.” You mumbled. 

“What a goddamn simpleton.” He growled, clenching his jaw. His expression set into a scowl as he stood there with his hands on his hips. You raised your head to meet his eyes, a nervous smile on your lips as you tried to play it off.

“It’s alright.” You said, shaking your head, wishing that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. It would get you out of this pointless conversation. It wasn’t like you could attend school, not at your age. 

“No it ain’t alright.” He huffed, closing his eyes as though it was physically paining him. “You- you ought to know how to read and write. Everyone should.” He said, shaking his head. He coughed again, although this time it seemed almost forced. It was quiet for a moment. The only sound was the crackling fire as the two of you avoided each other's gaze. 

”I could teach you.” He mumbled.

“You could?” Your eyes widening at his offer.

“It ain’t nothin’.” He said, crossing his arms, looking off to the side. “We can start tomorrow.”

“Thank you- I mean it, thank you Arthur.” 

“Don’t thank me,” He said, shaking his head as he picked up his journal. “I haven’t taught you anything yet.”

The cabin door swung open, the howling of the wind only intensifying without a barrier. Charles quickly entered, shutting the door behind him as he wiped snow off of his clothes and hat. He glanced between you and Arthur.

“Storm might break tonight.” He said, pulling off his gloves as he set them down on the kitchen table. 

“Finally some good news round here.” Arthur said, sitting back down in the rocking chair.

-

The three of you sat down for supper at the wooden table in the middle of the cabin. You and Charles had managed to put together a nice stew. Thankfully the two of them understood the power of stocking up for winter. Something your father on the other hand did not. By early spring your clothes had normally begun to be too big on your frame, needing to be taken in to fit you. If you were to stay the rest of the winter you had no doubt you would have the opposite problem. The thought of staying with Arthur and Charles had become more and more appealing every day. Especially now that you might have the chance to better yourself. Learning to read and write, the thought of being able to pick up a book and actually understand the words. A smile twisted at your lips as you tried to hide your eagerness. 

“I was thinking about bringing the tub in.” Charles said, breaking the silence as his spoon scraped along the bowl. “Might take awhile to fill it but it’d be worth it.” He said, shoveling a spoonful of stew into his mouth as he shrugged. 

“Is it still on the porch?” Arthur asked, his tone almost aloof as he leaned back in his chair. Charles nodded, not raising his head to meet Arthur’s piercing gaze. 

“Do you suppose I could wash up, too?” You asked, looking from one man to the other. They shared a look, before turning back to you.

“I don’t see why not.” Charles nodded, “You can take the first bath.” Returning his attention back to his bowl. 

-

Arthur retired to his room as soon as the last bucket of hot water was added to the tub. Giving you privacy as he awaited his turn in the water.

You stood beside the tub, hesitating as you looked into the steaming water. You would have to wash your clothes in the tub along with your body. While you hadn’t necessarily been thinking when you ran out into the blizzard. You wished you would have had some forethought to pack a bag. It wasn’t like you could just hang your wet clothes by the fire and walk around the damn cabin naked. The thought of the two men seeing you like that once more sent heat throughout your body.

“Everything alright?” Charles' deep voice cut through your thoughts as he set the bucket down.

“I-I don’t have any clean clothes.” You said after a moment, rubbing your arms. Charles' head perked up at this, his eyebrows raising.

“Of course,” He said, his expression returning to a neutral one, “I can get you some of ours to wear while you clean yours.” He got to his feet, “Don’t undress just yet, I’ll be back.” He said before walking into Arthur’s room. You let your hand fall into the water, testing the temperature. Almost letting out a small moan as the warmth enveloped your hand. You couldn’t wait to climb in.

Charles returned with a sheepish smile, holding a flannel shirt and pants.

“I doubt you’ll fit into the pants but it’s the best we could do on short notice.” He chuckled, handing them to you. You grabbed them, your fingers brushing against his, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“Thank you.” You said covering the hitch of your breath with a small cough.

“You’re welcome.” He said with a small nod, turning his broad back to you as he walked back to his room. “Knock against the wall once you are done.” He said before heading inside.

You set the fresh clothes beside the tub, your fingers unable to work as fast enough as you shedded your own. Unable to wait any longer, you stepped into the warm water. Your nipples hardened at the sudden shift in temperature.

This time you couldn’t contain the pleased hum that left your lips as you sank down into the water. The burn was pleasant on your sore body, easing the ache in your ribs. You grabbed the soap off the chair beside the tub. Lathering it up in your hands before you scrubbed your body. The marks along your ribs were no longer an angry purple. Now they were fading into a pale yellow. 

You were thankful neither Charles or Arthur had said anything about them. It was embarrassing enough to take those beatings. Pointing them out would have been like rubbing salt in the wound. 

But there would be no more beatings. No more. You were free, you could start over. You started to form a plan, cleansing yourself of your old life so you could start anew.

A baptism of fire. Once you could read and write, or once the snow melted enough, you would return home. You would bury your father, or feed him to the wolves, and start your new life.

You were thoroughly pruney when you got out of the tub. Quickly dressing and rushing to ‘your’ room. You knocked against the wall once, running your fingers through your hair as you prepared for bed. 

You felt like a new person as you climbed under the mismatched quilt. You could hear Arthur, or maybe it was Charles, moving around in the living room. No doubt getting undressed and getting into the warm water. The wind no longer howled at the window, Charles was right about the storm breaking.

Although now you could clearly hear voices whispering in the main room. You knew you shouldn’t have listened, should have just ignored it and went back to bed. 

Instead, you pulled back the blankets and slipped out of bed. You crept over to the door, pressing your ear against it.

“Don’t call me that.” Arthur huffed, his voice muffled by the door 

“Why not? It’s not like she’s here.” Charles responded.

“Enough about her, can’t we just- just enjoy our time without her.” He grumbled. Your brows pinched together, a frown tugging at your lips. You didn’t think you were that annoying. You had tried to be helpful, you thought that they might have even been thankful for what you had done. Instead they couldn’t wait to get rid of you.

“Fine.” Charles said, letting out a sigh. You could hear the water sloshing around in the tub. “We can’t send her out on her own.”

“You think I don't know that?” Arthur hissed, “But she shouldn’t- she shouldn’t be here with us.”

“And why not?”

“Because she’s good, Charles.” He paused, coughing. “She’s good and you know the kind of people we are.” It was silent, the only thing you could hear was your breathing. 

What did he mean ‘kind of people they are’? They had been nothing but respectful and hospitable people. Or so you thought. 

“We aren't those people anymore-“

“You were always a better man than me- my sins, I can’t just-“ you heard a splash, “wash the blood off my hands.” You covered your mouth, dampening the small gasp that left your lips. A killer, you were staying with criminals. Although, were you any different? You were a murderer, killing your father without a second thought.

“Stop.” Another pause, “We did what we had to survive.”

“Don’t give me that shit-“ he’s overcome by another coughing fit. “What I did- that was for my own gain, and I’m paying for it every day.”

“Enough.” Charles cut him off, “Enough about her.” 

You pulled back from the door, crawling back to your bed as silently as possible. You had heard enough. This didn’t change anything, you reminded yourself, your plan was the same. Once you were able, you would leave this cabin and never look back

It wasn’t the normal glaring sunlight that woke Charles up that morning as he blinked awake. It was the howling of the wind, damn near rattling the windows. The storm was only getting worse, the snow piling up outside their small cabin. He let out a small groan, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Arthur was curled around him, his arm wrapped lazily around Charles waist. His lips parted like two rose petals as a snore left them. He chuckled softly, partaking in his favorite pastime, studying Arthur. How his skin was weathered by the sun, his cheeks lightly dusted with freckles. How hair never grew over his scar on his chin. Trailing his eyes over the crooked bridge of his nose, never set right after being broken more times than he wanted to know.

Charles’ heart warmed in his chest, caught aflame by the sight of his lover. He ran his thumb over Arthur’s lip, smirking as his brows furrowed in his sleep. Arthur let out a small groan of protest as he turned his face into Charles’ chest. 

“C’mon now.” Charles said, chuckling softly, “We ought to get up.”

“Who says?” Arthur mumbled, his words muffled against Charles’ bare chest

“I do.” He laughed

“When’d you become such a hard ass.” Arthur teased, smirking as his bright blue eyes found Charles.

“When did I meet you again?” He asked, pretending to ponder the question. Arthur rolled his eyes, moving his hand from Charles' waist up his chest. Lightly brushing against his nipple. “You start that again and we’re never gonna leave this damn bed.” He warned.

“That’d be quite a shame.” Arthur smirked, leaning in to nip at Charles’ earlobe. “Why don’t you ride me this morning, partner.” He hummed, pressing open mouthed kisses down Charles’ throat. 

A pleased hum rumbled through Charles' chest, his large hands gripping Arthur’s bare waist. He could feel Arthur’s growing erection, hot and heavy against his thigh. The soft velvety skin seeking friction against his body. 

“Damn it,” He sighed, leaning his head back against the pillow. “Later.” He growled, grabbing a handful of Arthur’s ass. Arthur’s brows pinched together in a small wince, something Charles picked up on immediately. “Was I too rough last night?” He asked, his playful tone replaced by concern as his brows pinched together. 

“You know I liked it.” Arthur grinned, “Just sore s’all.” He shrugged, kissing Charles' collarbone. 

“Arthur-“

“Oh don’t you ‘Arthur’ me.” He huffed, rolling his eyes, “I ain’t some damn porcelain doll.”

“I know you aren’t, you stubborn fool.” Charles said, rolling his eyes, “Doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to be concerned about! I’m fine, I swear it!” Arthur said, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Now get going big fella or we won’t get nothin’ done today.” Arthur said, shooing him out of bed. 

-

“I shouldn’t be gone long.” Charles said as he put on his gloves, feeling Arthur’s eyes.

“I’ll be here.” Arthur sighed. If his gruff voice wasn’t an indication of his displeasure of being left, yet again, the not so subtle pout of his definitely was. His journal sat open on his lap, his fingertips darkened by the charcoal as he sketched away at the paper. Charles nodded, pulling his hat down as he braced himself for the cutting wind. Opening up the door, his hand shielded his eyes as he trudged through the snow. With each step he sank further into the white powder, his legs already aching. The wind biting at his cheeks and nose as he made his way to the barn. 

His stomach dropped as he saw the open door. He picked up his feet, rushing inside the barn. He counted the cattle even though he knew that damn bull was long gone.

In his haste to sink into Arthur’s body last night he must not have shut the barn door all the way. They had been having trouble with this damn beast ever since they purchased him. Constantly plowing through fences and running off. Arthur had got so damn angry last time he had threatened to kill the bastard.

Charles made sure the rest of the cows were there and fed before he trekked back to the house. 

“Damn bull got out again.” Charles huffed as he closed the door to the main cabin. The heat from the cabin burned his face and hands.

“You shittin’ me?” Arthur asked, letting out a frustrated huff. 

“Wish I was.” Charles said, shaking his head.

“You gonna go after ‘im?” Arthur asked, getting to his feet, “Want me to ride with ya?” Charles could tell how bad he was itching to get out of the cabin. Arthur couldn’t stand to be cooped up for too long, something ingrained in him with how often the gang used to move around. 

Although Charles had put his foot down about Arthur going out when the weather got bad. Last time Arthur had ventured out to tend to the livestock he came down with something. Not as bad as the tuberculosis, but it scared Charles all the same. 

He was holed up in bed for a week, a fever burning through him and coughing up a lung. By the time his fever broke, Arthur had soaked all the sheets they owned with his sweat.

He didn’t give a damn how much he pouted, there was no way Arthur was going out in this storm.

“Don’t know if it’s worth it.” He said crossing his arms, “Only thing that damn animal has brought us is a headache.” He ran his hand through his hair. 

“We could always just butcher him, find that little bastard and make a new rug.” He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“Suppose we could.” Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m gonna head out, see if I can pick up his tracks.”

“Take Buell, poor boy could use the exercise.” Arthur called over his shoulder. Charles nodded, walking over to Arthur. He bent down, cupping his cheek before pressing his lips against his. It didn’t matter how many times they collided like this. Charles always managed to steal his breath away, leaving him gasping for more. He wondered if Charles was his ruin and cure all at the same time. 

Arthur smirked as he pulled away, “I haven’t forgotten about your promise from this morning.” He said, gently tugging at his hair.

“I won’t be long.” Charles promised, his own smirk stretching across his face.

He had picked up somewhat of a trail. He supposed that that damn bull had gotten out shortly after he and Arthur went to bed. The snow had covered most of the tracks, and what it didn’t, the wind washed away. 

Buell snorted, pawing at the powdered snow as Charles urged him forward. 

“C’mon boy.” He said softly, patting the steeds' thick neck. His hands ached in his gloves, but at least he hadn’t lost feeling in them yet. He narrowed his gaze, his eyes watering as he looked across the frozen countryside. 

He caught sight of something, something much smaller than a bull. His heart leapt into his throat as the small being collapsed in the snow. He dug his heels into Buell’s side, the horse instantly picking up speed as they raced towards whoever was stupid enough to be walking around in a blizzard.

He jumped off, gathering the person in his arms. A woman, whose clothes were covered in icicles. Her eyelashes nearly frozen together with tears. 

He tore his coat off, a shiver running down his spine as he wrapped it around her. If he didn’t get her out of this cold, and fast, she’d die. 

He slung her over his shoulder as he mounted Buell. Maneuvering her into a bridal style carry as he rode back towards the cabin. 

“You find ‘im?” Arthur asked, not raising his head from his journal as the cabin door swung open. Still not over getting left behind, again.

“Not exactly.” Charles huffed, rushing towards the roaring fire. He laid the woman down on the rug, biting the fingers of his glove as he tore them off.

“Jesus Charles!” Arthur exclaimed, his journal clattering to the floor as he stood. 

“Help me get her clothes off.” Charles ordered, working the buttons of her blouse through the eyelets. 

“Oh dammit.” He sighed, frozen as he stared at the woman.

“You want a dead body on our hands!” Charles barked, shooting Arthur a glare. “Help me god dammit.” Arthur sank to his knees, pulling the woman’s frozen skirt off her body. 

“Furs, she needs furs.” He mumbled, stumbling to his feet as he raced to their bedroom. Charles’ heart sank as he bared her upper body. 

“Shit.” He mumbled, tracing his finger against the dark purple mark.

“Oh hell.” Arthur said as he returned, his eyes falling on the young woman. “Now who would…” He clenched his jaw, rushing over to the woman. Wrapping her in the furs and blankets, trying to avoid glancing at her naked body.

“Poor girl.” Charles sighed, shaking his head as he ran his hand through his hair. 

Arthur cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his chin. 

“I’m guessin’ you didn’t find the bull.”

“You’d be right.”

-

You ran the brush through your hair, knowing you couldn’t hide away in your room all day. Although you had no idea how you were supposed to face Arthur and Charles. Not after what you had heard last night. 

The two men were killers…but so were you. They didn’t know you knew, and they didn’t know about your sins.

But if they were bad men, why did they treat you, a vulnerable woman, with so much care? Why did they respect you and your anatomy when they could have taken advantage of you time after time?

It didn’t matter, you would just ride it out until the snow melted. You would just have to try and keep your distance. Although that seemed impossible, especially when there was nowhere to escape from them other than this room. And it didn’t help that you were completely engulfed by Charles' scent. If only you had some other clothes to wear.

You cinched the belt tighter around your waist, cuffing the pants at your ankles. It would have to do for now.

You opened the door, feeling like an absolute fool as you stepped into the main room. 

“Morning sleeping beauty.” Charles chuckled, his lip twitching upwards as he glanced over at you. 

“Funny.” You said, heat flooding your cheeks as you looked down. 

“Don’t tease the poor girl Charles.” Arthur said with a small smile, one of the first ones that actually seemed genuine from him.

What had happened between last night and this morning? 

“So, you still wanna learn to read?” Arthur asked, setting his journal to the side. 

Right! You had almost forgotten.

“Yes.” You nodded, unable to stop the grin that spread across your lips. Your worries melting like warm butter the longer you were around them.

“Well, first thing you gotta learn is the alphabet, all the letters.” He said, leaning against the table, his hand resting on his hip.

“You two have fun.” Charles chuckled, shaking his head as he left to tend to the animals.

“Now, there are twenty six letters.” Arthur said, turning your attention to the paper spread out on the table. “I’ve put them all in order.”

“There’s an order?” You asked, looking up from the papers.

“Yeah, course there’s an order.”

“But why?”

“Well cause-“ He paused, his brows furrowed as he looked down, “cause that’s just the way it is. Now it starts with the letter a.”

-

“Alright, which one is b?” Arthur asked, leaning forward as he quizzed you. Your eyes moved over the letters until you found it, tapping it with your finger. “Good! Now point to the letter r.”

You smiled at his praise, pointing to ‘r’. “Well ain’t you quick.” He chuckled, shaking his head, “God, it took almost a week for Dutch to teach me.”

“Was he your teacher?” You asked, your elbows resting on the table as you leaned forward. He faltered, his shoulders tensing before he nodded. 

“Sort of.” He said, clearing his throat, “Guess I was probably about ten years younger than you. Too bullheaded to actually pay attention to anything he had to say.” His voice softened, an almost melancholy sense to it. “You’ll probably be reading in another week or so.” He said.

“You think so?” You asked, unable to hide the excitement in your tone.

“Sure.” He nodded, “You’re a natural.” You beamed looking up into his eyes. He stared back, an expression you couldn’t quite place on his face.

Charles opened the door, returning from doing the chores. Arthur looked away, ending watever moment the two of you had.

“How was class today Mr. Morgan?” Charles teased as he took off his winter coat.

“Well she’s a hell of a lot smarter than me, that’s for sure.” He said giving you a small smile as he shook his head.

“I have a good teacher.” You smiled, looking from Arthur to Charles.

“Yeah?” Charles asked, his own smile spreading across his lips. “We got a scholar on our hands, Arthur.” Heat blooms in your cheeks as you bashfully lower your head. 

“Did ya make sure the barn door was closed?” Arthur teased, smirking up at Charles. 

“That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble one day.” Charles chides, his words lacking any edge as he rolled his eyes. “Do you think you’re too tired for a different kind of lesson?” Charles asked, turning his attention to you.

“What kind?” You asked, straightening your back.

“Picked up a rabbit's tracks back near the barn, you ever skinned an animal?” He asked, a glint in his eye. You shook your head, your stomach flip-flopping.

“Oh come on girl, it ain’t that bad.” Arthur chuckled, his hand squeezing your shoulder as he passed you. Arthur’s touch did little to ease your nerves. “You gonna go get it?” Arthur said, crossing his arms as he leaned up against the table. Trying, and failing, to act nonchalant.

“Was thinking about it.” Charles hummed, “Would you go with me?” He asked, taking Arthur’s bait.

“Always.” Arthur grinned, grabbing his blue coat off the hook. “We’ll be back.” He nodded to you before the two of them headed out the door. 

It was the first time you had been left alone in their home. They trusted you enough to leave you alone in their home. You bit your lip, trying to stop your giddy smile from spreading. You piled up the papers, in alphabetical order, before setting them off to the side. 

-

You had successfully tidied up the cabin by the time they came back. Laughing as they opened the door, their cheeks flushed from the cold.

Arthur tossed the rabbit carcass onto the table, shrugging off his coat. 

The thought of learning a new… skill. Had been exciting at first, but now that the dead animal was in front of you, the only thing you wanted to do was cringe. 

“Oh it ain’t that bad.” Arthur chuckled, walking past you. In a better mood than you had seen him in all week. Spending an hour or two chasing down a small animal in the freezing cold would have had the opposite effect on you.

Charles sat down across from you, “It really isn’t that bad.” He smiled, handing you a hunting knife. You hesitantly took it, staring down at the unmoving animal. 

“Is this a skill I really need?” You asked, looking back up at Charles. 

“You don’t have to.” He said with a small shrug. 

“No- no I need to.” You said, shaking your head. You didn’t want to let either of them down, “What do I do first?” 

“Pinch the hide and make a cut near the base of its neck.” He instructed, nodding towards the rabbit. You swallowed thickly, pinching the back of the rabbits back. You sliced through its skin, grimacing. 

“Now what?” You asked, swallowing thickly as you looked down at the unmoving rabbit. 

“You’ll want to tear the opening- no not with the knife.”

“Well what else would I tear it open with then?” You huffed, setting the knife down on the table. Your breath coming quicker, your chest pounding against your ribcage.

“He means with your fingers.” Arthur called over his shoulders, a dry cough leaving his lips.

“You’re joking!“ You gasped, gawking at Charles. He barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Come on now sweetheart it isn’t that bad.” He grinned, quirking his brow. “Just put your fingers in the cut and pull.”

“And pull?” You gawked, “No- no, no, no, no.” Your legs shaky as you stood from the table, the lump in your throat growing “No I can’t.” You said, shaking your head as you wiped your hands off on your- Arthur’s- trousers.

Both the men burst out laughing, their voices ringing in your ears as the walls of the cabin closed in on you. Your breath started coming fast, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked down at the rabbit.

The memory of your fathers unblinking gaze forced itself to the front of your mind as you stared into the animal's cold dead eyes.

You rushed out of the cabin, bile moving up your throat as you pushed the door open. You swallowed hard, the cold air cooling your flushed cheeks. You leaned against one of the wooden beams of the porch. Digging your nails into your palms, the dull pain grounding you as your mind seemed to drift farther and farther away. 

Your father wasn’t a man to have many friends, who would want to be around a man like him? Would anyone have stopped by the house yet? You rarely got any visitors and not with weather like this. 

On one hand you wanted his body to be found, mainly so you wouldn’t have to think about the alternative. His body decomposing into the wooden floor of the kitchen. On the other hand, who would they suspect for his murder? A gunshot to the chest at that close of range could hardly be called an accident. Certainly not if you confessed to being the one who pulled the trigger. You could pin it on a robbery gone wrong. You ran for your life and got lost out in the woods, unable to return until the snow melted. It wasn’t entirely false. But if they didn’t believe you, you’d be hung for sure. Were a few moments of freedom worth your life? Although, how much of a life was it? You had experienced more living in the past week than you had in years. You had moments of actual joy, happiness. Although that thought only made you feel more conflicted, your stomach sinking like a rock.

“Hey.” Charles' voice cut through your constant flow of thought. The door of the cabin shut behind him. “Are you alright?” He asked, hesitantly stepping towards you, reminiscent of how he had approached you the first time you had met. 

“Fine.” You nodded, looking out at the snowy landscape. He sighed, walking up beside you.

“I can tell that you’re not ‘fine’.” You could see he was looking at you from the corner of your eye. 

“I’ll be fine.” You amended your statement, sparing him a glance. The two of you looked at each other for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something you didn’t want to give up.

“I’m sorry about the rabbit.” He said, his voice low and gentle. “I sprung it on you, that was my fault.”

“It’s not-“ You groaned, feeling tears prick your eyes as you covered your face with your aching hands. He kept quiet, letting the two of you sit in silence while you gathered your thoughts. He didn’t rush you, he waited patiently, as though the tension or the cold didn’t bother him. “It’s not about the rabbit.” You wiped at your face with the sleeves of your flannel. Sage and lavender filled your senses, the familiar and unmistakable scent of Charles.

“Was Arthur right?” He asked.

“About what?” You sniffled, looking up at him

“That you were running from something.” He answered, raising his brows. You pursed your lips, returning your gaze to the frozen landscape. Your frustration only growing at his uncanny ability to read you. 

“My father is not a kind man.” You said after a moment, making sure to refer to him in the present tense. “I had to get away.” You said swallowing thickly. Although you didn’t know if you were trying to convince him or yourself.

He nodded, “You did the right thing.”

“You don’t know that.” You scoffed, shaking your head, “You don’t know me.” Your words were unnecessarily harsh, you regretted them as soon as they left your lips.

“I think I do.” He said, his brows furrowed. Although his eyes held no anger towards you despite his tone. “I think we're more alike than you realize.” He turned his gaze away from you, wiping the snow away from the wooden railing.

“What does that mean?” You asked, narrowing your eyes. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

“You are daft sometimes.” He smiled.

“Did you come out here to insult me?” You huffed. The cold did little to help your mood as you started to shiver.

“Is that what you think I came out here to do?” He asked, sighing as he looked over at you. “We are all running from something. Some of us have just been running longer.” He shrugged. You purse your lips, sticking your hands under your armpits to try and warm them up. 

“My father was a kind man until we lost my mother.” Charles said, staring up at the night sky. You softened, your brows pinching together as you looked over at him. “I suppose any man would lose part of themselves if they lost someone like her.” A low sigh left his lips. His voice carrying an undeniable sense of sadness. 

“I’m sorry.” You said softly, you wished you could do something to comfort him. Something that wouldn’t cross a boundary between the two of you. You hoped your words of condolences were enough. 

“Arthur and I started running around the same time in our lives, maybe that’s why we get along so well.” He said with a dry chuckle, a far away look in his eye. “Maybe that’s why we get along as well.” He suggested, his eyes near obsidian in the low light as they found yours. Like steel striking flint, a spark caught between the two of you. Warmth spread throughout your body despite the freezing temperatures. You couldn’t tell whether the goosebumps springing up on your arms were from the snowfall or from him. You didn’t understand it, didn’t understand how a man you had met nearly a week ago could make you feel things you hadn’t felt in years. How they both made you feel things.

Now that was a dangerous thought. 

“Are you not cold?” You asked, trying to snuff out whatever flame was now growing inside you.

“You’re the one who ran out here.” He said with a sly smile, “C’mon, supper won’t cook itself.”

 -

“How often do you boys go hunting?” You asked, nearly moaning over the rabbit stew. The two men smirked at each other before turning their attention back to you.

“Now you know we wouldn’t have had this meat if we hadn’t dressed that rabbit.” Arthur hummed, raising an eyebrow. 

“Dressed? If anything you two undressed him.” You said, your brows furrowed as you looked up from your bowl. Charles bit his lip, trying to hide his smile. Arthur on the other hand, didn’t even try to hold in his laughter. Heat crept up your neck as you looked between the two men. “I’ve said something foolish haven’t I?” You mumbled looking down.

“Not foolish, just funny.” Charles said with a kind smile.

“I’m guessin’ no one hunted much in your family?” Arthur asked, although he could have guessed that from the way you went white as a sheet while looking at the rabbit. You shook your head, shoveling another spoonful into your mouth.

“My father… he was- is a man that doesn’t know much about the outdoors.” You shrugged, hoping they didn’t catch your small slip up. “The only meat we ever got was from the butcher, if we had the money.” Which you never did. Most of the time you had to get creative just to eat something edible for supper. If that meant cutting eyes out of old potatoes you would do it. 

“This man sounds like the simplest of the lot.” Arthur huffed

“Arthur.” Charles warned, looking between the two of you. 

“No Charles it had to be said.” He said, setting down his silverware with a clang, “First the man says women shouldn’t be educated, which is the biggest load of horse shit I’ve ever heard. Now she tells me he don’t know how to provide for his family, neither?”

“Arthur, it's okay really.” You mumbled, swallowing thickly as heat flooded your cheeks. 

“No it ain’t.” He growled, “A woman like you deserves the best in life, not some good for nothin’ father.” You bit your lip, looking down at the table. Your stomach twisting, as shame and gratitude fought for dominance in your head.

“Guess it’s a good thing you found me then.” You said, trying to ease the conversation into a new subject. An emotion flashed across Arthur’s face, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. 

“Yeah… yeah I guess it was.” He said, picking up his spoon as he began to eat again. Charles watched the two of you with an almost knowing gaze. Although you didn’t know exactly what he knew. 

“I never did thank the two of you for saving me.” You said setting down your utensils. “Thank you, I mean it. You could’ve left me but you- well you saved my life. For that I will be forever in your debt.” 

“Well we couldn’t have left ya to freeze out there.” Arthur mumbled, looking down at his bowl as he ate. Although it seemed like he was purposefully avoiding your gaze. His words a far cry from his earlier sentiment of saving you,

“You’re welcome.” Charles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

You nodded, your expression mirroring his as you looked at him from across the table. That warm fuzzy feeling settled in your stomach as the three of you ate. A dangerous thought entered your mind, one that had been slinking forward for days.

You didn’t want to leave. 

You were comfortable, happy here with them. So they had made a few mistakes, hadn’t everyone? Like Charles had said, they weren’t those people anymore. Whatever that meant you believed him- or you wanted to believe him.

You had to go. Before you got in too deep. Before these confusing feelings grew too large to be ignored. You would have to return home.

You’d been up since the sun rose. Its soft rays danced upon your eyelids, rousing you out of your sleep. You had hardly moved, watching as the beams of light crept up the walls. You had heard Arthur and Charles stir. Their door opened and closed, their heavy footfalls on the wooden floor alerting you to their presence in the room. Soon enough the rocking chair began to creak, Arthur no doubt settling down with his journal. His hands gripped the small piece of charcoal as it glided across the parchment. His brows knitted together in concentration, eyes downcast, never leaving the precise strokes of the pencil. 

You groaned, pushing the heels of your palms into your eyes. Spots dancing in the darkness of your vision. Christ, what was wrong with you? You rolled over, bringing your knees into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your body, trying to get Arthur off your mind. 

The cabin door shut, grabbing your attention. Charles was off to tend to the animals. Wrapped up in his thick coat, stomping through the snow towards the barn. You could clearly see him in your mind. His cheeks flushed, his plump lips parted, hot breaths of air leaving them. 

You pushed your face into the pillow, muffling your cry of frustration. You couldn’t even escape them in your mind. 

A deep, almost nutty aroma filled your senses. You raised your head, your brows furrowed as you tried to place the smell.

Coffee. You rolled out of bed, putting on your clothes from yesterday. You needed to get your hands on some new clothes, maybe they had some scraps of fabric. You didn’t care what they looked like at this point, you would wear a potato sack if it at least fit you. 

Cinching your belt around your waist you exited your room. 

Arthur raised his head as you opened the door, his eyes flitted from you towards his open journal. 

“About time you joined us.” He mumbled, shutting his journal as he tossed it onto the rocking chair.

“It's not a crime to sleep in is it?” You asked, raising your brows as you walked over to the fire, “I didn’t know y’all had coffee.” You hummed, closing your eyes as you savored the scent. 

“Didn’t sleep well last night.” He grumbled, heading into the kitchen. He pulled out two metal cups, thrusting one into your hands. He held the cup steady in your hand as he poured the rich liquid into it. Although his hands were calloused, they were surprisingly gentle against yours. 

You swallowed thickly, nodding your thanks as you brought the cup to your lips. You didn’t trust your voice. You could feel the heat from his hand lingering on your own.

“So,” You started, clearing your throat, “What are you gonna teach me today Mr. Morgan?” You teased, trying to hide your nerves as you sat down at the table. 

“Well Miss, I suppose we should continue working on the alphabet, unless ya know it by heart?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned over the table. His arms nearly bulging out of his sleeves. 

“I mean, not by heart.” You said looking down into your cup. 

“Well lucky for you there’s a- a bit of a trick to learning it.” He said clearing his throat, the tips of his ears tinged with pink. 

“Yeah?” You asked, copying his stance as you leaned forward. “Well what is it?”

 He sighed, pursing his lips as he wiped at the table with his hand. “Well it’s… it’s a song.” His expression soured as he watched the grin spread across your face. “No I don’t wanna hear it.” He groaned.

“Oh c'mon Arthur, sing for me.” You chuckled, placing your hands under your chin.

“You damn witchy woman.” He huffed, shaking his head. Although his words lacked any fire, “Why don’t I just keep it to myself huh? I am the teacher here.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now that ain’t fair.” You pouted, sitting back in your chair.

“Life ain’t fair darlin’.” He chuckled, his deep baritone shooting straight to your core as you looked up at him. His teeth glinted as his lips pulled back in a wolfish grin. “But I suppose, just this once, I’ll humor ya.” He relented, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.” 

He cleared his throat, lowering his gaze as he very begrudgingly began to sing you the abc’s. You couldn’t help but find it charming, the way his cheeks flushed as he sang the letters to the tune of twinkle twinkle little star.

“… won’t you sing with me.” He finished, letting out a sigh that sounded more like a wheeze as he looked up at you. “What? Do I got somethin’ on my face?” He huffed.

“No, nothing.” You chuckled softly, shaking your head as butterflies fluttered around in your gut.

“Go on, you try it.” He said, crossing his arms.

“Seriously?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, seriously, this is your lesson for the day and I wanna hear those pipes girl.” He smiled, sitting down across from you, “Now go on.”

You huffed, steeling yourself as you looked down. If you didn’t look at him it wouldn’t be as bad. All you had to do was be able to sing through the alphabet, it couldn’t be that hard. Arthur cut you off before you got halfway through 

“You missed a letter.” He said, your eyes widening as you looked up at him.

“No I did not!” You scoffed.

“Ya sure did.” He nodded, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

“You’re makin’ it up so I have to sing that stupid song again!” You huffed, crossing your arms as heat flooded your cheeks.

“Now that is a mighty strong accusation.” He chuckled, shaking his head, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Ya missed ‘M’. Start again, we ain’t quittin’ til you get it right.” 

You probably sang that damn song twenty times before Charles got back. Which only added to your embarrassment. 

“… won’t you sing with me.” You finished, your words slightly muffled by your hands covering your face.

“Atta girl!” Arthur chuckled, starting to clap.

“No- no clapping.” You groaned as Charles laughed.

“Good job.” Charles smiled, giving you a nod.

“If I never have to sing that song again I’ll die a happy woman.” You said, shaking your head as you peeked through your fingers. Unable to stop your own smile from spreading across your face. 

Charles walked over to you, still wearing his thick winter coat. 

“So, you wanna get out of here?” He asked, leaning against the table. You raised an eyebrow at him, not entirely following. “My lesson wasn’t exactly… fun yesterday.” He said with a shrug. “I want to make it up to you.” 

“Can I ask what it is?” You asked, crossing your arms. 

“If you want to ruin the surprise.” He said, an easy smile playing on his lips. You huffed, biting your lip as you looked up at him. 

“I don’t have a coat.”

“Oh, take mine.” Arthur said, not looking up as he gathered the papers from your ‘lesson’. “Keep ya real warm.” 

Oh sure it would keep you warm, wrapped up in Arthur scent as you spent one on one time with Charles. 

“Alright.” You said hesitantly, slowly getting up from the table as you went to put your boots on. You laced up your boots, not missing the subtle smirk Arthur gave Charles. You put Arthur’s coat on, the thing was giant on your frame. Completely engulfed in Arthur scent. Charles nodded, opening the door and leading you outside. 

The snow was a thick blanket on the ground, but at least it hadn’t snowed since the storm had ceased. 

“Will my toes fall off before I see my surprise?” You asked Charles as the two of you walked through the thick powder.

“I doubt they will.” He hummed, the deep sound rumbling through his chest. 

He led you to the barn. It was a bit warmer inside at least, but the smell of livestock was a bit overpowering. 

“Is this the surprise?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Patience.” He said, visible hot puffs of air left his mouth as he closed the door. “This way.” He said, leading you further into the barn. 

Tied up against the wall, stood two beautiful horses. They munched on some hay, bobbing their heads as Charles approached.

“Come here.“ He smiled, offering you his hand as he walked up to the gray spotted one. “She won’t hurt you.” You let him pull you closer, his hand enveloped your own as he pulled you over to him. He laid your hand on her neck, her skin rippled underneath your touch as she flinched.

“Good girl.” He mumbled, smiling softly at the two of you. You pet the horse, smiling as she stood there. “This is Taima.”

“She’s beautiful.” You said softly, “I suppose this was a good surprise.”

“This isn’t it.” He said, finding your eyes, “I want to teach you how to ride.” Your eyes widened slightly.

“But I don’t have my own horse.”

“You'll be riding her, I’ll ride Buell.” He nodded to the golden coated horse.

“I- are you sure? I don’t know what I’m doing.” You sighed, shaking your head.

“No one does before they’re taught.” He shrugged, “It’s an important skill to have, since you’ll leave us one day.” His words left a bad taste in your mouth. You were excited to learn new things but at the same time, each lesson was just one step closer to leaving Arthur and Charles.

“Who taught you?” You asked, letting out a big breath as you changed the subject.

“My father.” He said, looking over the saddle, adjusting it slightly. “You’ll start on Taima, Buell is… spirited.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “He needs to get out more, stretch his legs.” He said mainly to himself as he ran a gloved hand down Taima’s flank. “Climb on.” He said, patting the saddle. You bit your lip, letting out a breath as you put your foot in the stirrup. You swung your leg over her back, feeling her skin ripple as your legs settled on either side of her.

“Now you’ll want to find your balance.” He instructed, moving to stand next to you. “You want to be as balanced in the saddle as you are standing. Your body should be a straight line from your shoulder, hip to heel.”

“Easier said than done.” You sighed, trying to find your balance as you hung onto the horn of the saddle. 

“You’re afraid.” He said, shaking his head, “They can sense your fear. Try to relax.” 

You huffed, trying to find your balance and keep your body a straight line. You moved forward on the saddle, tipping to your left side. You reached out, grabbing Charles' shoulder.

“Hey,” He said softly, his hand moving to your waist, “I got you.” He nodded, your heart leapt into your throat as he steadied you.

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you regained your balance. Once you felt confident enough you let go of his shoulder and grabbed the reins.

“We’re not going anywhere just yet.” He chuckled, smiling up at you, “Give me those.” He said, holding out his hand. You handed him the reins, letting out a surprised squeak as he started leading Taima around the barn.

“I thought we weren’t going anywhere yet!” You gasped, staring at him with wide eyes.

“We haven’t left the barn have we?” He asked with a sly smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“You’re awful.” You groaned, trying to maintain your balance as Taima moved around the barn. You moved your hips in time with each step, keeping your body as straight of a line as you could.

“You’re getting it.” He chuckled encouragingly, looking back at you over his shoulder.

“Well you didn’t give me much of a choice did you?” You huffed, a smile spreading across your lips. 

“Suppose I didn’t.” He shrugged. Your hands and feet were positively frozen by the time Charles ended your lesson. You were glad to be back inside near the fire. You ripped your gloves off, walking over to the fire to warm up. 

“You two have fun?” Arthur asked, looking up from his journal.

“You know, it wasn’t half bad.” You smiled, your hands and feet burning from the sudden shift in temperature. A warm smile overtook Charles’ expression, making his rosy cheeks even brighter. 

“Better than the last ‘lesson’ Charles taught you?” Arthur teased, looking back at Charles.

“I certainly hope so.” Charles huffed, picking up Arthur’s coat that you shed near the door as he hung his own coat up.

“I’d have to agree.” You hummed, grinning at the two men. “I uh- I was wondering if perhaps you had some more clothes you don’t wear as often? I know I must be getting unpleasant to be around.” You chuckled sheepishly, you had been wearing these clothes for a couple days now. You doubted you smelt like roses.

“You know, I think we might have some clothes neither of us fit in anymore.” Charles nodded, rubbing his hands together as he walked into their room. He returned with a couple shirts, well worn by the years but they would do.

“Thank you, I’ll go change.” You nodded, getting to your feet and heading to your room. You were glad to have some ‘new’ clothes and honestly the pants were growing on you. You weren’t nearly as cold as you normally were back home, but that could also be due to the fact that these conditions were better than back home. This cabin had become your very own slice of heaven on earth. 

You walked back out into the main room, glad to be in some new clothes. 

“Those fit better.” Charles smiled, looking up as he started to prepare supper. Arthur looked up, his neutral expression slowly working into something that you would describe as anger. 

“That’s my shirt.” He said, his face reddening as his jaw ticked.

“I thought Charles said these were clothes you didn’t fit in anymore.” You said, looking down at the blue shirt. 

“Arthur, you don’t fit in that anymore.” Charles said, setting down his knife. His brows furrowed as he looked at the two of you.

“That don’t mean it ain’t mine.” He huffed, slamming his journal shut as he got up. 

“I- I’m sorry.” You mumbled taking a step back, your heart clenched painfully in your chest as he strode towards you. You flinched, your stomach dropped as you prepared yourself for a blow, a blow that never came. 

You hesitantly opened your eyes, Arthur stared down at you with a pained expression.

“Oh darlin’ I-“ He started, but you didn’t hear much of anything else. Blood rushed to your cheeks as you felt the familiar prickle in your nose. Tears started to sting your eyes as you turned on your heel and ran back into your room. You could have died from how damn embarrassed you were. You tore his shirt off, the rest of your clothes following. Your skin felt raw as you climbed into bed, throwing the covers over your head. 

Just when you think you might be figuring them out, something so simple as a shirt made all your progress to mean nothing. You’d make them take you home tomorrow. You at least knew the alphabet now, that was a start. You could teach yourself how to read, you didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone. If you rationed the rest of the food in the pantry at home, you'd have enough to last you until the first week of summer now that father is dead.

Father. Dear God what state would his body be in now? Would you have the strength to drag his body out of the house? Would you even be able to with the level of decomposition?

Christ, you didn’t want to think about it.

You could hardly think of it as home now, it was only his grave. This was home. This cabin, here with Arthur and Charles. Or were they home?

No. No they weren’t. 

You didn’t leave your room the rest of the night. You tried your best to ignore their whispering on the other side of the door. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were talking about. How many more times would you lose control like that? Why did your mind have to play such cruel tricks on you? Arthur wouldn’t hurt you. Neither of them would. That nagging thought started to whisper in the back of your mind. But they could. They had hurt people before, killed people before. You had heard them admit it when they hadn’t known you were listening. You doubted theirs hadn’t been in self defense either.

But a sin was a sin. No matter the circumstances.

The rays of sunshine streaming through your window had woken you. You didn't even remember falling asleep as you rubbed your eyes. You climbed out of bed, no sense in delaying whatever awkward conversation was bound to be had. You put your clothes back on, tying the string of your skirt.

You gathered up the clothes they had lent you before leaving your room. Arthur wasn’t sitting in his normal spot, instead he was standing in front of the fireplace. He looked almost nervous. At his feet was a rather large trunk.

His head snapped in your direction at the sound of the door opening. His adam's apple bobbed as he watched you. You set the clothes down on the table, neither of you spoke. 

“Charles already left.” He said after a moment, clearing his throat. 

“I guessed that.” You mumbled, running your hand along the wood grains of the table. He cleared his throat again, his hands on his hips as he looked down at the trunk. 

“M’sorry about last night.” He said softly, raising his eyes to look at you. “I’d- I’d never hurt you.” He swore, his words carrying an undeniable weight to them. You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I uh- I have something for ya.” He said, opening the trunk. Inside was a bunch of clothes in different conditions. “You can do whatever ya want with ‘em. If ya wanna tear ‘em apart and make somethin’ new or just… Hell, I don't know.” He sighed, running his hand down his face.

“Thank you Arthur.” You said with a small smile, ending his misery. He nodded, giving you a sheepish smile.

“You can keep the trunk, too.” He added, coughing slightly. 

“Oh, well thank you.” You said, “I’ll uh, I’ll need help moving it into my room. Looks heavy.” You chuckled walking over to him.

“Well it ain’t light that’s for sure.” He nodded a small smile spreading on his lips. “Charles and I’ll haul it into your room when he gets back.” He nodded, walking past you.

You sat down next to the trunk, looking through it. There were definitely some salvageable things in here, and the things that weren’t you would make into something new. You dug through the trunk, your fingers brushing up against a round wooden frame.

You sat back on your haunches, pulling the frame out of the bottom of the trunk. A woman with a kind smile stared back at you through the photo. Her hair pulled back into a bun at the nape of her neck. 

“Arthur,” You called looking up at him. He turned, his eyes landing on the photograph.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He said softly, walking over to you. You handed him the frame, his finger trailing over the woman’s face. “Thought I lost it.” He mumbled, his lips turning upwards.

“Who is she?”

“My momma.” He smiled, looking over at you. “God I- I thought I left it back at camp.” He said, shaking his head. He got to his feet, placing the frame on the mantle. 

“What else is in here?” You asked, pulling the clothes out onto the floor. Arthur sat down across from you, helping you pull out the contents of the trunk. He grabbed a few photographs, his eyes softening.

“Copper.” He chuckled as you peered over the trunk. Your own smile grew as you looked at the photo of a dog. The next was a photo of a man who looked similar to Arthur. He held up a sign, but you couldn’t read it just yet. “My pa.” He nodded, flipping to the next photo.

This one had three men. A dark haired man in the middle, an older man to one side of him and… was that Arthur?

“Is that you?” You asked, only able to look at it for a moment before he pulled it away.

“You don’t need to see that,” He muttered, getting to his feet as he walked over to his journal. He opened it to a random page, putting the pictures inside before closing it. The tips of his ears tinged pink.

“Oh you were cute!” You chuckled, shaking your head. You pulled out another frame, your smile falling as you looked at the beautiful woman. It was obvious she had money by looking at her clothes and jewelry. Status most likely, too. You knew Arthur had a brother, but you highly doubted this was his sister. 

Your gut clenched, jealousy burning through you as you looked down at Arthur’s past love. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. “She’s pretty.” You said softly, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at Arthur.

He turned his head towards you, his eyes landing on the photo. His expression fell slightly as his feet moved towards you. You freely handed him the frame, happy to get it out of your sight. But then your eyes landed on one last photo. Young Arthur and the woman. You took the photo, tearing your eyes away from it as you held it up for him. 

“You were a cute couple,” You said, grateful that he took it from your fingers. Easing the burning in your belly. “Although I think the beard suits you more than the clean shaven look.” You said, trying to ease the tension in the room. He chuckled slightly, his hand on his hip. 

“Yeah well… you know how it goes.” He sighed, clearing his throat, “Her daddy didn’t like me much and… she married a nice fella.” He shrugged, placing the frame and photo face down on the table. “Guess everything works out how it ought to in the end.” He said, his bright blue eyes finding yours. 

“Suppose so.” You said breathlessly, your heart thumping against your ribcage. The air gained a sudden thickness, like right before a lightning storm. Just waiting for the first bolt to light up the sky.

Charles came in like rolling thunder, flinging the door open as he walked inside. He took off his snow gear, hanging up his coat. 

You glanced away from him, feeling warmth bloom in your cheeks as you started to put the clothes back in the trunk.

“Ah, you found the clothes.” Charles said, his breath heavy as he took off his boots. “I uh- have some sewing supplies if that’s something you’d be interested in.” He said, standing at his full height.

“I’d like that.” You nodded, “I can mend anything the two of you bring me as well.”

“Might take you up on that.” Charles grinned, his eyes taking on an almost amber shine in the fire light. Your heart skipped a beat as he caught your eye. 

You had only felt like this once many years ago. Back when love was easy and you were too young to know better. But you had never felt this way about two men before. At least not at the same time. 

The day passed quickly, you held off on your lessons. Spending your time taking in the trousers they had given you to fit better. Along with mending a few holes in Arthur and Charles’ shirts. They had hauled the trunk into your room, setting it at the foot of your bed.

“I’ll hate to leave it.” You said softly, folding the clothes neatly in the trunk.

“What d’ya mean?” Arthur asked, furrowing his brows as he stood in the doorway.

“When I go home.” You said looking up at him, “I couldn’t possibly carry it back when it was a struggle for the two of you.” You said, shaking your head. Arthur went eerily quiet, when you raised your head to look at him he was gone. 

Sleep evaded you most of the night. You laid in bed, tossing and turning until you couldn’t take it anymore. You’d brew some tea or something to help you at least relax. You opened the door into the main room, nearly jumping out of your skin as you saw Arthur’s silhouette. Your hand flew up to cover your heart as you caught your breath. 

“You scared me half to-“ He cut you off with a soft snore. You padded over to him, a smile tugging at your lips. He looked so peaceful, the deep lines smoothed out on his forehead and between his brows. You could have stood there all night admiring him, but your eyes were drawn downwards. In his lap sat his journal, open to the page he was working on.

You swallowed the gasp that threatened to leave your lips as your eyes landed on the drawing.

It was you. A sketch of you, with your head slightly turned down as you sewed. You had never seen anything like it, each little detail was accounted for in the drawing. 

What did it mean? Was he only sketching, something he did often. But he didn’t often draw you. Hell he never drew you, or so you thought. It was mainly animals or flowers you saw when you were able to catch a glimpse. 

What did this mean? Were you just a different model to draw? Your mind was going a mile a minute trying to make sense of this. Meanwhile your traitorous heart sang as the thought entered your mind that maybe, maybe Arthur could have feelings for you.

Only you didn’t just have feelings for Arthur, Charles had captured your heart as well. You couldn’t choose between the two of them if the moment presented itself. 

You took one last glance at the sketch and then at Arthur. Your heart pounding as you looked at him, the crease between his brows smoothed out by sleep. Your fingers itched to reach out and touch him. To run your fingers through his honey brown hair, or caress his cheek. To feel his stubble against your palm, or the soft kiss of his lips. 

You shook your head, clearing your mind of these thoughts. You returned to your bedroom wide awake, knowing you would not be getting much sleep tonight. 

Charles didn’t sleep well that night, he didn’t understand why until his hand reached out to the cold side of the bed. Reaching for Arthur’s warm freckled back to bury his face in. Only to find the cool sheets in his wake.

It was barely light, the sun just peeking over the horizon. Casting a bright ochre glow across the sky, slowly engulfing the dark blue. He could see clouds darkening in the distance as he rubbed his eyes, putting on his trousers and shirt. 

He walked out into the main room, softly closing the door behind him. Arthur sat in front of the fire, wrapped in a plaid blanket.

“You’re up early.” He said, waking over to him, his arms crossed as he waited for him to take the bait.

“Sun woke me up.” Arthur mumbled, a weak lie, staring into the fireplace.

“Did you come to bed last night?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow as he stepped in front of Arthur. Arthur huffed, mirroring Charles’ stance as he crossed his arms. 

“No.” Arthur grumbled, lowering his eyes. Too tired to think up a lie, besides Charles would see right through it. Charles sighed, walking over to the mantle. He leaned his elbow against it, enjoying the warmth after leaving the cold sheets. “She’s still planning on leavin’.” Arthur huffed, his jaw ticking. 

“I know.” Charles nodded, looking down. A low sigh leaving his lips. 

“Well what are we gonna do?” Arthur asked, leaning forward in his seat as he clasped his hands together.

“What do you suggest we do?” Charles asked, looking down at him. “Tell her she can’t leave? Hold her here as some prisoner?”

“No dammit.” Arthur huffed, rubbing the space between his brows. “But we can’t- we can’t let her go back to her bastard of a father. You remember those bruises, how she nearly jumped out of her damn skin when I walked toward her the other night?”

“Keep your voice down.” Charles warned, letting out a frustrated sigh “You think I like it any more than you do? You think I haven’t wanted to track that bastard down!” He asked, narrowing his eyes, “I’m trying to buy us more time, just like you. But we can’t stop her from leaving.” Arthur clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached, he hated when Charles was right, which was more often than not. 

“I- I just don’t want to see her hurt.” Arthur said after a moment. Charles sighed, looking down at the wooden floor.

“I don’t either.” He said, walking over to stand in front of Arthur. He reached down, grasping his shoulder. “But we can’t keep her here if she wants to leave.” Arthur kept his eyes low, his hand coming up to cover Charles’. He ran his thumb over the back of his hand, seeking comfort in the subtle motion. 

“And what if she wants to stay?” He asked, his voice tight. “We just pretend we ain’t… we ain’t the way we are?” He squeezed Charles' hand. 

“I won’t live like that.” Charles said, shaking his head, “I’m not ashamed.” Arthur’s stomach clenched, partly in affection and partly in dread.  Arthur got up, walking past Charles. He stood in front of the fireplace, crossing his arms as he stared down into the flames. A whirlwind of emotions rushing through him. 

“Do you love her?” It sounded more like a statement than a question as Arthur whirled around to stare at Charles. His jaw dropped along with his stomach as a scoff left his lips. 

“Damn it, I love you Charles.” He growled, taking a step closer to the man. His hand wrapped around the back of Charles’ neck as he pulled him close. “You.” He reiterated, squeezing his neck gently.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Charles said, his dark eyes almost obsidian as he stared into Arthur’s. “Do you love her?” His voice was level and deep, no hint of anger or jealousy. Arthur sighed, pressing his forehead against his. He knew no matter what he said, no matter how hard he lied, Charles would see right through his bullshit.

Charles nodded, his hand squeezing Arthur’s waist. “You love me and you love her?” Again, phrasing a damn question like some statement.

“You know I do.” Arthur huffed, his tense stance deflating as the truth was revealed. A moment of silence passed between them before Charles let out a soft laugh. 

“You’re not alone, partner.” Charles said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. Arthur furrowed his brows, his eyes flitting across Charles' face. Taking in his spreading grin. 

“You’re kidding?” Arthur asked, tilting his head slightly. Still not fully believing him. Charles shook his head, grinning at Arthur. Arthur pulled him forward, crashing his lips against his. 

“You think we still got time before she wakes?” Arthur asked breathlessly, threading his fingers through the hair at the nape of Charles’ neck.

“You think you can be quiet?” Charles chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Can you, big boy?” Arthur smirked, his cock twitching in his pants. Charles pulled him forwards, the two of them walking back into their bedroom. Arthur closed the door behind him with his foot, tugging his shirt over his head. Charles followed suit, unbuttoning his pants before stepping out of them. Arthur moved forward, gripping the hem of Charles’ shirt as he pulled it upwards. As soon as Charles’ skin was bared, Arthur wasted little time to cover him in open mouthed kisses. His hand reached into his thin trousers, pulling him out. Charles felt a shiver run up his spine as Arthur smeared pre-cum over his head. Stroking him until his dick rested against his stomach, thick and heavy. 

A wolfish grin took over Arthur’s expression as he pushed him to lay back on the bed. He grabbed himself through his pants, squeezing his cock as he tried to give himself some relief. Before he settled between Charles’ thighs. He ran his hands up the strong trunks. His thumb rubbing against the lightning strike stretch marks along his hips.

“Ever tell you how damn handsome you are?” Arthur asked reverently, his mouth nearly watering as he looked up at Charles. 

“Most days.” Charles chuckled breathlessly, his pupils blown wide as he looked down at Arthur. He chuckled along, his breath ghosting against Charles' shaft. “Stop teasing.” He huffed, fidgeting under Arthur’s gaze.

“Don’t think you’re in a condition to make any demands there, Mr. Smith.” Arthur said, wrapping his hand around him, squeezing him at his base. Charles sucked in a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“C’mon Arthur.” Charles pleaded softly.

“I gotchu sweetheart.” He cooed as he began to stroke him. Lubricating his hand with the precum that dribbled out of Charles’ tip. Normally Arthur would prolong each moment shared between the two of them. Back at camp, it was always quick exchanges if they got the chance. At first it had been exhilarating, sneaking around under the cover of darkness or the thick trees. The only time he would really get to take his time is if they paid for a room at a hotel, which never happened. Their hands covering their mouths, muffling their moans and spewed curses. It got old quick, always within grasp of each other but unable to act on their urges. After Arthur’s diagnosis, they wanted each moment together to last a lifetime. Not knowing how much time he had left until Arthur’s lungs failed him. They got lucky, little by little he got better. But that didn’t mean they didn’t like to take their time. 

Arthur loved pulling the sweetest whimpers from Charles' lips. The way his brow would furrow, his plump lips parting as he grabbed at Arthur. Whether his hands grasped his hair or his ass, they always pulled him closer. 

But they didn’t have time for that now, he just wanted to make Charles cum. Hell he didn’t even care if he got off, he could live with the ache for a while. He wrapped his lips around his head, fondling Charles’ balls as he relaxed his jaw. Charles was by no means a small man. Charles grunted, his hand flying to Arthur’s shoulder, steadying himself as he tried not to blow his load too soon. 

“Fuck Arthur-“ He hissed, gritting his teeth as he strained his head upwards. Arthur hummed around him, hollowing his cheeks as he took more of him in his mouth. Enjoying the salty taste of him on his tongue. Charles was hanging on for dear life, it had been too long, and he was too pent up. The slightest touch from Arthur would have sent him over the edge. Not to mention how perfectly his lips were wrapped around his cock, his blue eyes meeting Charles’. 

“I’m not- shit- I’m not gonna last.” He breathed, deep and ragged as he dug his dull nails into Arthur’s shoulder. Leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin. Arthur braced himself, holding onto Charles’ thighs as he slid down further on his length until his nose was pressed up against his dark pubic hair. Then the bastard swallowed around Charles and he was gone. His body seizing up as he painted the inside of Arthur’s mouth with his seed. He bit down on his hand, trying to muffle the moan that threatened to escape his lips. His eyes rolled back into his head as Arthur drank down everything he had to give him. Spent and boneless, Charles laid back against the bed. Arthur chuckled, pulling off him and wiping the corners of his mouth before climbing onto the bed beside him. 

Chatles rolled onto his side to face Arthur, a blissed out smile on his lips. 

“What?” Arthur asked, his own smile spreading on his lips. 

“You’re sure I’m the only man you’ve ever been with?” Charles asked, a shit eating grin tugging at his lips.

“Shut up.” Arthur huffed, rolling his eyes as he playfully shoved Charles. “C’mere.” He said, pulling him back towards in and into his arms. 

They weren’t planning on falling back asleep, but the post sex bliss drug Charles under and Arthur wasn’t far behind him. They woke maybe an hour later, Charles couldn't exactly tell as he rubbed his eyes. Pulling himself out of Arthur’s embrace, he shook him awake before getting dressed again.

“Surprised the cows haven’t broken out of the barn yet, you’re never this late getting them fed.” Arthur chuckled, shaking his head as he threw his shirt back on. 

“Well, I haven’t gone out there yet, maybe they did break out.” He grinned looking over at Arthur.

“At least we got the girl this time. Maybe she’d be the one looking instead of the one being found.” Arthur said as he finished buttoning up his shirt. He pulled Charles towards him, his and wrapping around his waist as he pressed his lips to his. “Just one more.” He said softly, his other hand cupping Charles’ face. His thumb running over the jagged scar on his cheek. 

Charles smiled, leaning into his hand before they begrudgingly separated. Arthur walked out first, as to not draw suspicion if she was already out in the main room. They hadn’t heard her get up yet, but just in case. Charles waited a few minutes before he walked out of the bedroom. Arthur was feeding the fire, placing a few logs on top of the burning embers. Charles headed over to the coat rack, reaching for his coat when he noticed that Arthur’s blue coat was missing. He furrowed his brows as he continued to put on his gear, lacing up his boots. Your boots were gone, too.

“Think she got an early start.” Charles called to Arthur, “Probably out there with Taima already.” He said, shaking his head. 

“She’s really taken to her.” Arthur hummed looking up at him, “Be careful for Taima’ll like her more than you soon.”

“Think she might already.” He chuckled, “She didn’t warm up to me that quickly. I had to work for it.” He put his hat on, stepping outside. The cold nipped at his face, the wind had begun to pick up. Charles saw your boot prints down the porch, but as he followed them he noticed they didn’t lead to the barn. They lead to the south. They led to where Charles believed your fathers house was, where your home was. His stomach dropped like a rock, his mouth running dry as he turned back towards the cabin.

He flung the door open, not bothering to take off his boots as he ran to your room. You weren’t there. You hadn’t taken anything, leaving all the clothes you had been given tucked away in the trunk. 

Charles could hardly breathe.

“Charles, what the hell is going on!” Arthur asked, panic laced in his tone.

“She’s gone.”

-

You’d never been much of an early riser. Today however, something had pulled you from your sleep. Although it wasn’t the best night of sleep anyway. You had tossed and turned, your subconscious playing tricks on you as Charles and Arthur invaded your dreams. 

You rubbed your eyes, putting on your trousers and buttoning up your shirt. Perhaps you’d tailor a few of the shirts Arthur gave you after your lessons. You left your room, your brows furrowed as you looked around for Arthur. It wasn’t like him to sleep in late, and Charles’ hat and coat were still hanging by the door. The animals would need to be tended to soon, and he would never let them go hungry.

Arthur must have gone to bed late last night, after… after sketching you. Your heart fluttered at the memory, his large hands resting on his open journal. 

You shook your head, clearing the image from your mind. Well, no matter, you would go wake them up yourself. You walked over to the closed door, your ears perking up as you heard rustling from inside. You raised your fist to knock when you heard an unmistakable moan.

You froze, your hand inches from the door. You couldn’t have moved if you wanted to. No matter how loud the voice in your head screamed at you to get away, your feet were firmly planted. 

Maybe you had just heard wrong, maybe it was a groan or an innocent sound made while sleeping. 

“I’m not- shit- I’m not gonna last.” The voice was muffled, but it was Charles. You gulped, your stomach dropping into your feet as you quietly reeled back from the door. Your hand reaching for purchase on the table as the life you had imagined crumbled around you. 

They didn’t have feelings for you. They had feelings for each other. 

You swallowed thickly, your mouth going dry as the pit in your stomach grew. God, you were a fool. How could you have not seen the signs? The lack of items in Charles ‘room’, the unspoken words that passed between them. You had been intruding on them this whole time. 

You wiped your nose off on your sleeve, tears stinging your eyes as you rushed back to your room. You wouldn’t force yourself in their space anymore. You had burdened them long enough. You tore off Arthur’s clothes, putting your blouse and skirt on. Charles said the cabin was a mile north of where he had found you those few weeks ago. Had it only been a couple of weeks? It felt like you had spent a lifetime with the two men, you wanted to spend your lifetime with them.

Enough of that, you wiped away the tears that rolled down your cheeks. They were foolish dreams to begin with. You couldn’t have one without losing the other, and you wouldn’t have done that. If only you had known neither of their hearts were available. The love that you harbored for the two men was wasted.

You were afraid to go out of your room, afraid you’d have to face them one last time. Luckily they were still in their room when you finally worked up the courage. The only other time you had laced up your boots so quickly was when you had left home. You opened the door, wincing as the wind blew into your face. You couldn’t go out there in just your skirt and blouse. You hesitated by the coat rack, your hand resting on Arthur’s coat. 

Perhaps some day you’d find a way to return it, although you knew that was wishful thinking. You threw the coat on, blinking away tears as you surrounded yourself with Arthur’s scent. Your hands lingered on Charles’ coat, and before you could stop yourself you brought the fabric to your nose. Inhaling his scent for the last time. You tried to commit it to memory, knowing you’d recall the smell when you were alone. Swallowing past the lump in your throat you took one last glance around the cabin. Your heart clenched in your chest as you pushed the door open. The cold wind hit you, cutting against your face like tiny blades. You held your hand up, shielding your face as you walked down the steps. Your feet sinking into the snow, the white powder rising above the tops of your boots. A shiver ran down your spine as you pushed forward, trying to ignore the coldness that seeped into your body. You looked over at the barn, considering for a moment if you should take one of the horses. You shook your head, knowing you are nowhere near close to riding on your own. Especially not in the snow like this, without Charles. Not to mention there would be no way to return Taima or Buell once you reached your father’s house. If you were thrown, you doubted they would know how to return home. You didn’t need another death hanging over your head, one was enough.

Your hands started to cramp, matching the freezing temperatures as you forged forward. You stole a glance over your shoulder, knowing you shouldn’t have. The cabin was still in your line of view, a beacon that called you back, called you home.

Your eyes began to water, you wished you could have blamed it on the cold but you knew that wasn’t true. You wiped away the moisture in your eyes, turning away from the log cabin and returning to your trek.

-

“How far do you think she made it?” Arthur asked, shoving his fingers into his gloves before putting on Charles’ coat.

”Hopefully the mile back to her father’s,” Charles huffed, pushing his arms through one of their shared coats. It didn’t offer the best heat, but he’d be damned if he had to think about you and Arthur facing the elements. “Tracks seemed fresh, she left this morning, not last night.” Thank god you hadn’t been so foolish as to leave under the cover of darkness. If you had got lost out there… he didn’t want to think about it.

“Damnit, why’d she go?” Arthur huffed, his voice tight and pained.

“I don’t know.” He said, shaking his head as he put his hat on. “Let’s just hope we find her.” The two men left the cabin, racing to the barn. It didn’t take them long to get the horses ready, their hooves plowing through the snow as they followed your trail.

-

You urged your numb feet forward, puffs of hot air leaving your lips as your father’s house came into view. Your hands itched as you tried to move your fingers. Climbing the stairs on shaky legs, you realized in your hurry that night you had left the door open. Snow covered the inside of the house, blanketing the furniture. Your stomach churned the further you ventured into the house. You stopped short as your eyes landed on your father’s body. You clamped your jaws shut, muffling the strangled groan that threatened to leave your lips. You turned away, moving as quickly as you could to the fireplace. Your traitorous hands stung like hell as you grabbed one of the logs. Tossing it into the fireplace you stumbled to your feet, searching for a box of matches. You breathed hot air onto your fingers, hoping to coax some movement back in them.

You struck the match against the side of the box three times before a flame burst forth. You tossed the stick onto the log, sinking to your knees as you watched the fire grow.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as feeling returned to your hands and feet. You hung your head, your body wracked with sobs. Everything that had been building for the last month came to a head. You got to your feet, rising with a newfound purpose as you walked towards your father’s carcass. Swiping the box of matches off the side table, you light one. Standing over his body, you dropped the match, watching as it fell and caught against the wooden floor. 

It doesn’t spread as fast as you’d like it to, so you light another, dropping it onto the kitchen table. Smoke starts to fill your lungs, stinging your eyes and throat as you light off every single remaining match. You cough and spit as you move backwards, into your room. Laying down on your bed, pulling Arthur’s coat tighter around your body as you try to recall Charles’ scent or his smile. 

-

They’re lucky, the tracks are deep and nothing has come by to cover them. Arthur’s breath has gone ragged, another thing for Charles to worry about as they urge the horses faster. 

“There!” Arthur yelled, cutting himself off with a dry cough. Black smoke rises in the distance,  too much and too dark for a simple chimney fire. 

“Shit.” Charles mumbled, cracking the reins as he barreled forward. Arthur followed, a resounding ‘hyah’ leaving his lips as they flew across the frozen landscape. 

Charles' heart dropped as he pulled up short, Arthur stopped next to him as both their eyes landed on the scene ahead of them. 

Thick, black smoke billowed up into the air, as bright orange flames began to engulf the house. Arthur jumped off Buell, calling your name as he rushed towards the house. Charles followed him, grabbing his arm as he pulled him back from the burning house. 

“The hell are you doing?” He yelled over the crackling of the fire.

“You’re staying here!” Charles yelled, pushing him backwards.

“I can help damnit!” He growled, fighting back a dry cough.

“I can’t lose both of you!” Charles huffed, grabbing the lapels of Arthur’s coat. The two shared a heated glare, only to break apart at the sickening sound of part of the roof caved in.

“Go! Go get our girl!” Arthur yelled, pushing Charles off of him. Charles ran up the steps, rushing into the house. A body caught his eye, he almost crumpled right then and there. He rubbed his eyes, stumbling over to the body. He swallowed thickly, wetting his dry throat as his eyes landed on the man.

Your father, a hole in his chest. The fire hadn’t killed him, you had. Served him right.

He turned away from the corpse, his voice raw as he yelled for you. He burst through one of the doors, his eyes landing on you. Curled up in bed, wrapped in Arthur’s blue coat. His heart was in his throat as he moved forward, smoke strangling him as he pulled you into his arms. 

Arthur stood unmoving as he watched in horror as the house crumbled. Yelling for both you and Charles. Breath returned to his lungs as Charles walked out of the door, your tiny frame in his arms.

“Is she alive?” He asked, catching Charles as he stumbled forward. They both dropped to their knees, brushing the soot from your hair. Charles was unable to stop the ragged cough that wracked through his body. Spittle built up in the corner on his lips as he braced himself on the cold ground.

Arthur ripped off his gloves, shoving them onto your cold hands as he leaned over you. His ear over your heart, praying to anyone listening that he’d hear the rhythmic thumping. Your chest refused to rise, he grit his teeth so hard his jaw ached as he parted your lips. Breathing air into your mouth. His chest burned, the sharp ache returning in full force. Charles pulled him off of you, taking over for him.

“Please, please darlin’ breathe.” Arthur mumbled, grabbing your gloved hand.

Your eyes snapped open, gasping for air as Charles pulled back.

“Oh, thank god.” Arthur let out a ragged relieved breath, not noticing the biting cold seeping through his pants as he sat back in the snow. Charles held the back of your neck, supporting you as you coughed and sputtered.

“Get the horses.” Charles muttered, wiping away the spittle at the corner of your mouth. Everything felt so hazy, like you were looking through the smoke that had filled your former home. You watched as Arthur brought the horses over, taking Arthur's hand as he helped you get on Taima’s back. You wrapped your arms around Charles, hanging onto him.

“Tighten your grip.” He huffed, grabbing your arm and pulling it closer around him. Arthur’s brows furrowed as he glanced back at the two of you one more time before getting onto Buell.

The ride back to the cabin had been much too quiet. The tension was almost suffocating, as the only sound came from the horses as they huffed and snorted. Along with Arthur’s badly hidden coughs. Charles was stiff as a board in front of you as your head rested between his shoulder blades.

You wondered if you'd ever get the stench of smoke out of your hair, your clothes. Well- Arthur’s clothes- his beautiful blue coat now dusted with soot. 

You still didn’t understand why they had gone after you. They were happy before you came along, you were an inconvenience, a pest. 

Perhaps it would have been better if Charles had never found you out in the snow. If you had died along with Father. Now you owe Charles two life debts. 

Charles and Arthur had pulled the horses up to the front of the cabin. 

“Help her inside, I’ll put the horses away.” Charles said, his tone indicating there would be no arguing with him. Arthur nodded, swinging his legs over Buell. He passed the reins over to Charles before holding his arms up for you. You held onto his shoulders as his hands landed on your waist, gently pulling you off of Taima’s rump and down beside him in the snow. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest as the two of you walked into the house.

Arthur helped you take off his coat. You wondered if it would ever be that bright blue again, or if the dark black stains would forever be sewn into the fabric. 

That dull cough broke through the silence as Arthur shuddered, holding onto the table as he tried to catch his breath. Your heart clenched painfully at the noise, guilting eating you up inside. As soon as he caught his breath, Arthur moved to the fireplace, striking a match as he started to get the fire going. You sat down in one of the chairs, taking off Arthur’s gloves and laying them down on the table. At least you had returned them to their rightful owner now. 

The fire started to crackle, slowly growing in the fireplace. You stared into the flames, playing the events of the day over again in your head. Seeing Father again, striking match after match, feeling the heat through your bedroom door. The thick, smoky air and how it seemed to weigh heavily on you. Making it harder and harder to breathe, until everything went dark. 

“C’mere.” Arthur said, pulling you out of your thoughts as he beckoned you over to the fireplace.

You warmed your body by the fire, your hands burning at the sudden shift in temperature. Your whole body felt as though it was thawing. Arthur walked over to the front door, hanging his-Charles- coat up on the rack. 

The door swung open as Charles stomped inside, slamming the door close behind him. 

“Got the horses situated?” Arthur asked, turning to face him. Charles grunted in response, taking off his coat and gloves. “Should probably bring the tub in,” Arthur added, feigning nonchalance as he very obviously tested the waters. “The both of you will be needing a bath.” Charles leaned against the table, gripping the edge. 

“The hell were you thinking?” His voice came out a low growl as his eyes found yours. You clenched your jaw, shame blooming in your cheek as you lowered your gaze. “You have nothing to say?” He asked with a small scoff. “You could have died! Hell, Arthur ain’t doing much better.” He said, throwing his arm up as he motioned to Arthur. 

“Charles I’m fine-“ Arthur started, before Charles cut him off.

“Don’t.” He warned, fire burning in his dark obsidian eyes. “We were worried sick.” He huffed turning on you.

“I didn’t ask you to come after me.” You whispered, hot frustrated tears pricking your eyes. 

“What?” He asked with a low hiss, his brows furrowed.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for you to save me then and I didn’t ask for it now.” You sounded absolutely pathetic, your voice cracking as you spoke. You couldn’t help the tears that broke past your waterline and rolled down your cheeks. You watched as the tension slowly melted off of Arthur’s shoulders. However, Charles wasn’t letting you off so easily.

“You didn’t have to!” He huffed, shaking his head. “God, what was going through your head?” 

“Now let’s all just settle down-“ Arthur cut in, holding his hands up as though trying to calm a spooked animal.

“Why do you care anyway? You have each other, you certainly don’t need me intruding on the two of you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Charles huffed, straightening up, his arms crossed over his broad chest. You pursed your lips, looking between the two of them. Charles breathless moans playing over and over in your head.

“I- I heard the two of you.” It was like all the air was suddenly sucked out of the cabin. Both Arthur and Charles froze, the only sound was the crackling fire as you stared at them. 

“H-How much did you hear?” Arthur asked, clearing his throat as he took a step forward. The wooden floor creaked under him as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Charles.

“Enough.” Blood rushed to your cheeks as you looked away from them, that uncomfortable feeling building in your gut. You could hear one of them shift, moving back and forth on each foot. 

“Well, we know your daddy didn’t die of the cold.” Arthur said suddenly. Your head shot up, staring at the two of them with wide eyes. Charles gave Arthur a look, which he ignored. “So what are you gonna do?” He asked, pursing his lips.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything!” You scoffed, shaking your head. Your brows furrowed as you looked from Arthur to Charles. “I don’t- I don’t have a problem with whatever you two do, whoever you are.” You said crossing your arms as you looked down at your feet. 

“We don’t blame you for what you did.” Charles said, holding up his hand. His voice had taken on a much softer tone than before. Glancing over at Arthur before he spoke again, “We just- we won’t say anything if you don’t say anything.” 

“I’m-“ You let out a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean to it just- it just happened.” You whispered, your voice breaking.

“And no one blames you for it, sweetheart.” Arthur said softly, “There’s no doubt that bastard got what he deserved.” 

You sniffled, wiping away the tears that slipped down your cheeks with the back of your hand. 

“We haven’t… we haven’t been fully truthful with you.” Charles said, leaning against the table. Arthur stiffens, looking like a scolded child next to Charles. “Arthur and I… we ran with a gang, it’s how we met.” He admits. “You’ve probably heard of the Van Der Linde gang?” Your eyes widen, so that’s what Arthur meant when he said he had blood on his hands. 

“I was with them for longer than Charles.” Arthur spoke up, taking a step closer. “Since I was fourteen, Dutch and Hosea, they took me in and in return I gave them my blind loyalty.” He spit, shaking his head. “I ain’t a good man. I’ve done a lot of bad things but I’m- I’m trying to be better.”

Suddenly it clicked, like the final piece of a puzzle. You knew where you recognized Arthur from. You and your father had traveled to the United States, a few years back. You had been standing in the train station, looking up at the flyers on the bulletin board. You had seen his wanted poster, his scowling face staring back at you from the paper. 

He looked much more handsome in person. 

“I ain’t much better.” You mumbled, shaking your head. “My father didn’t deserve to die. No one does.”

“Ain’t much better?” Arthur scoffed, “Sweetheart, he deserved what he got, and more.”

“It was self defense.” Charles cut in, “You were only protecting yourself.” 

“It still wasn’t right!” You shook your head, “What am I gonna do now? I don’t- I don’t have anything. Everything’s likely gone, burned up.” You put your head in your hands, “Oh god I’m such a fool.”

“Hey,” Arthur’s voice was soft as he gently pulled your hands away from your face. “You don’t gotta worry about any of that right now, ya hear?” You nodded, sniffling as you looked up into his deep blue eyes. “Charles and I… We’ll be here for you, if you want to stay.” He said hesitantly.

“I-“ you bit your lip, chewing a piece of skin off. “I shouldn’t.” Arthur swallowed thickly, nodding as he pulled away.

“If that’s what you want.” He said, resting his hands on his belt. It wasn’t what you wanted. It was the last thing you wanted. To be alone again, to be without them again. Hell, you probably wouldn’t survive on your own.

“We won’t force you to stay.” Charles said softly, looking down at the table, “But at least stay a couple nights.” He raised his eyes to meet yours. “I’ll- I’ll take you to town in a couple days if you’d like.” He offered.

You knew it was the best decision, stay a few more days and then find something to do once he took you to town. 

“Alright, thank you, I’ll stay for a few days.” You nodded. They both physically relaxed, like they were both hanging on to every word. 

“Alright.” Arthur nodded, clearing his throat as he nodded. “We’ll uh- we’ll get the tub and water going.” 

-

You sat at the table, watching as they melted the snow in a kettle above the fireplace. Pouring each pail of hot water into the tub. They offered you first bath, another kindness on their part. You assumed they would probably share once you were done.

Heat flooded your cheeks at the image you conjured up in your head. Both Charles and Arthur, naked in the warm water. Bathing each other, touching, kissing. 

You cleared your throat, looking back down at the grooves on the wooden table.

Little did you know that Arthur and Charles were trying to come up with a plan. Some way to convince you to stay more than a few nights. Some way to convince you to stay forever. 

“Before Charles there…” Arthur spoke up, his cheeks a deep rose as he looked back at you. “There was Mary. The woman in those pictures you found.” You nodded, swallowing thickly.

“N’ Charles, well he-“

“We fancy either sex.” Charles spoke up, tired of beating around the bush. He met your eyes, his dark obsidian pools boring into yours.

You looked between the two of them.

“I’m sorry I- I don’t understand.” You said furrowing your brows slightly. 

“Darlin’ we-“ Arthur cut himself off with a sigh. Your heart skipping a beat at the petname.

“We want you to stay.” Charles said, finishing Arthur's sentence.

“Now I- I’m real grateful for your hospitality but I-“ You sighed biting your lip, “I don’t wanna intrude-“

“Who said you would be?” Charles asked, pouring the last pail into the tub. Steam gently rising off of its crystal surface. “We want you here.”

You pursed your lips, looking from Charles to Arthur. Your stomach clenched as you saw the pure yearning in both of their eyes. 

No. No you wouldn’t get your hopes up. 

“We want you.” Charles said, his deep voice sending a shiver down your spine.

“What?” You asked, your mouth going dry as the implications set in.

“We want you if- if you want us, too.” Arthur said, looking up at you.

“H-how would that even work?” You asked, knowing this offer was too good to be true. No one ever wanted you. Sure, some boys did, for a roll around in the hay and then they’d never look your way again. 

But Charles and Arthur were nothing like the boys in town. They- they made you feel alive. Not only for two seconds or minutes, it wasn’t some passing fancy. Your blood seemed to sing around them. Like they had breathed life into your very essence. 

“We both… care for you. You care about us, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do.” You answered way too quickly, your heartbeat pounding in your ear. 

The tension was near suffocation as the three of you stood there, staring at each other. 

“Then why not see where this goes?” Charles asked, taking a step towards you. Your heart thudded against your ribcage as you struggled to take in a full breath. You had to be dreaming, or perhaps you had perished in the fire. For there was no feasible way that this was actually happening. 

“Okay.” Your soft reply surprised yourself as much as it surprised them. A small, boyish smile spread across Arthur’s face. A relieved, almost disbelieving huff leaving his lips.

Charles moved towards you, slowly, giving you a chance to move and put distance between the two of you if you wished.

But there was nothing more that you wanted than to touch them. Feel the heat of their bodies against yours, under your fingertips. Your feet were glued to the spot as you stared up at him. He stood only a foot or two in front of you, his hand hesitantly raised to cup your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered close at the feeling of his large, warm hand against your skin. You didn’t care that his hands were calloused and scarred, he held you as though you could fall apart in his grasp. Which you had a feeling you could. He tilted your head upwards, his breath puffing against your cheek as he looked down at you. His gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips. Then slowly leaned down, his lips connecting with yours.

They were much softer than you had imagined. Plump and warm as they moved against yours. His other hand threaded through the hair at the nape of your neck pulling you closer. Your hands rested on his broad chest, feeling the heat and tension beneath his clothes. 

You were so distracted by Charles that you didn’t even notice Arthur come up behind you. He placed a tentative hand on your waist, the other on Charles' arm. Charles pulled away from your lips, hiding a smile as your mouth moved after him. He ducked his head to press hot open mouthed kisses against your neck. Arthur turned your head towards him, brushing his nose against yours. You pulled one hand away from Charles to cup Arthur’s cheek, pulling him closer.

Now that you had had a taste of the men, you couldn’t stop yourself. His beard scratched along your palm as you held him against you. His lips pressed against yours as Charles sucked bruises onto your neck and any other exposed skin he could find. 

You moaned into Arthur’s mouth, unable to control yourself. Not that you wanted to. Yes you knew it was wrong, but then why did it feel so right? 

Is this how Pandora felt moments before opening her box? Did she feel the anticipation building in her veins, the almost electric buzzing in her body?

Arthur pressed his tongue against the seam of your lips, wordlessly asking for entrance. Your lips parted without any hesitation, your own tongue passing into his mouth.

Years ago there had been a boy in town who you had sworn up and down you would marry. You thought no one would ever make you feel like he did, maybe you were right. This feeling building inside your chest, threatening to burst out of you, is a thousand times more powerful than that ever was.

“Water’s getting cold.” Charles mumbled against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. 

You smirked against Arthur’s lips, knowing there was no way in hell it was getting cold. Maybe now it would be tolerable, not scalding as it had been before. 

“Perhaps we should do somethin’ about that Mr. Smith.” Arthur’s deep, raspy voice sent shivers down your spine as he pulled back. Their eyes met and it was like watching a summer storm. The near electric current that passed between them was intoxicating. Arthur grabbed Charles by the back of his neck, pulling him into a harsh kiss. Teeth clashed and it was clear they had been holding back for you. But you didn’t want sweet, you wanted them. 

You pulled away from their hold, their eyes immediately finding you. An almost vulnerability there in their gaze. Although their furrowed brows quickly relaxed as you tugged your skirt down. Arthur made quick work with his shirt, tearing at his clothes like they were burning him. 

Your heart was damn near beating out of your chest as you pulled your shirt off, leaving you only in your shift. You could feel the heat and wetness start to gather between your legs. Your core aching as you watched the men dress down. 

Arthur and Charles were in their union suits, all three of you frozen as though waiting for the other to make the first move. Your eyes were drawn downwards to their cocks, you weren’t ashamed to admit it. Although you wondered how something that big would fit inside you. 

You swallowed thickly, finding your mouth dry at the sight of them. Your eyes passed from Charles to Arthur. Arthur’s hands twitched at his waist, you assumed this was how he looked before a gun fight, albeit more clothed. The anticipation, waiting to see who would draw first. The thought sent heat down to your core, and in some twisted way you wished you could have seen him at his prime. 

Charles' chest heaved with each heavy breath, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he stared you down. His dark brown eyes almost obsidian with how blown wide his pupils were.

They were waiting for you. 

They were waiting for you to make the first move. Even though you could feel the almost primal want radiating from them, they were still holding back. And that made you want them even more.

You grabbed your shift, pulling it over your head, before stepping out of your bloomers. You didn’t have time to worry about whether they would like what they saw as you stepped into the tub. An involuntary sigh left you as you sank into the warm water. Goosebumps erupted on your skin as the heat enveloped you.

“There’s room for two more.” You said looking over at them, honestly questioning if the three of you could actually fit in the tub. Maybe if you sat on one of their laps.

Arthur moved first, shucking his union suit off before striding over to you. His cock sprung up onto his belly, a thatch of curling brown hair at his base. Charles wasn’t far behind him and soon all three of you managed to get in the tub.

You had imagined they would pounce on you as soon as they could, but they didn’t. Instead Charles took to lathering the soap in his hands before handing it to Arthur. As Charles cleaned his toned body, Arthur began to clean you. He gently washed away the soot and ash from your face and hair. Before he started to spread the soap on your body. Once you were clean, Charles took the soap back and began to clean Arthur. It didn't take very long, but he wasn't nearly as filthy as you and Charles. Then Arthur moved to brush through Charles' hair, meticulously working out any knots without tugging on his scalp. Charles motioned for you to turn in the tub, it was a tight fit but you managed. The three of you would clean up the water that sloshed onto the floor once you were finished. 

Charles then ran his fingers through your hair, untangling it. There was nothing sexual about the act even though the three of you were as naked as the day you were born. You were simply serving each other.

Arthur finished cleaning Charles' hair, moving the wet raven curtain off to one side of his shoulder as he kissed up his neck.

Charles hummed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. You turned to look at the two of them, the fire sparking deep in your belly. You needed them, you needed to have them. 

You moved forward, running your hand down Charles' chest. He grabbed your hand before you could reach his appendage between his legs.

“You gotta work up to that darlin’.” He said breathlessly, “Take Arthur first.”

Charles moved to give you better access to Arthur, you were now squished between the two of them. Arthur’s hands ran down your waist, settling on your hips.

“You’ve done this before?” He asked, his bright eyes finding yours. 

“Not with two men.” You said with a weak chuckle. Arthur cracked a smile, pulling you closer. 

“We’ll be gentle sweetheart.” He promised, “And you tell us if you wanna stop, ya hear?” The teasing glint vanished from his eyes.

You nodded, swallowing thickly as you settled over his hips. “I don’t wanna stop.” Charles moved behind you, his hands palming your tits. You gasped as he pinched one of your nipples.

“Sensitive.” He hummed as Arthur’s hands ran up and down your thighs. Your head was spinning, trying to keep your focus on both of them at the same time. Arthur’s thumb found your clit, rubbing small circles on the bundle of nerves. 

You moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as you twitched. Your body involuntarily jumped with each pass of his calloused thumb.

“Arthur-“ You said breathlessly, feeling the tight coil of pleasure build in your belly.

“I’m here sweetheart, we’re here.” He said softly, thrusting a finger into your core. 

“Oh god.” You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you teetered on the edge.

“C’mon, open those pretty eyes for me.” He cooed, smirking up at you. You opened them, tears brimming in your eyes as he added a second finger. “Gotta open you up, get you real nice and ready for me and Charles, ain’t that right?” 

His words and his fingers had you on the edge, Charles managed to push you over as he rolled your nipples between his forefinger and thumb. 

You came with a cry, digging your nails into Arthur’s shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You ground down on his hand, riding out your orgasm.

“Atta girl,” Arthur cooed, pulling his hand out before notching his head at your entrance. Your breath hitched as you felt his head push past your opening. Both of you let out a moan as you slowly sunk down onto him. 

Charles chuckled darkly behind you, his hands settling on your waist. “So pretty,” He mumbled.

“F-fuck Arthur.” You stuttered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He completely filled you, the hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You whimpered as he thrusted up into you.

“Shit, sorry.” He said through gritted teeth, it was obvious he was trying to hold back, trying to give you time to adjust to his girth. 

“M’okay.” You said breathlessly, “Move.” You pleaded.

“Give me a minute.” He huffed, his azure pools finding yours.

“Arthur,” You whined, squirming on top of him.

“God, she’s squeezing me so tight.” He growled, his head falling to the valley of your breasts. Charles had decided he had enough, his hands raising your hips off of him before slamming you back down onto Arthur.

“Charles.” Arthur moaned, nipping at the tender flesh of your breast. You felt electric, pleasure shooting through your body with each thrust. Water sloshed over the side of the tub as Charles slammed you down onto Arthur’s cock.

“Oh- oh god!” You whimpered, your toes curling as your mind went blank. Like the crack of a whip, the building pressure inside you broke. You clamped down on Arthur, crying out as your orgasm overtook you. 

“Shit, shit, shit, shit-“ Arthur babbled, his hands replacing Charles as he began to ruthlessly thrust into you. Chasing his own high while you rode yours out. He quickly pulled you off of him, twitching as he spilled his seed into the warm water. A deep rumbling moan leaving his lips, his brows pinched together as he squeezed his eyes shut.

He was gorgeous.

You panted, leaning back against Charles' large frame. Arthur chuckled breathlessly, leaning forward as he chased after you. He cupped your cheek, pressing his lips to yours. You sighed softly into his mouth, feeling Charles against your back.

“Think he’s been mighty patient, don’t you sweetheart?” Arthur asked, barely pulling away from your lips to speak.

“Mmhm.” You nodded, boneless as Arthur moved you on top of Charles.

“Atta girl.” He praised, kissing your temple before laying back on the side of the tub.

“You sure about this?” Charles asked, his dark mocha eyes finding yours. Your head lolled forward and back, a blissed out smile on your lips.

“I want you. Both of you.” You said cupping his cheek, running your thumb over the lightning strike scar there. He groaned, his hands grabbing your butt as he pulled you closer. He rubbed you against his length, your lips parting with each pass of his head. “Charles,” You whined, starting to get overstimulated from the motion. Your body twitching as his head bumped against your clit.

“I got you baby.” He mumbled, reaching down to notch himself at your entrance.

“Fuck-“ You gasped as he began to stretch you open. You were glad they made you take Arthur first. He hummed, the noise coming from deep within his chest, sending shivers down your spine. “Charles-“

“You can take it.” He cooed, running his hands up and down your sides.

You could. You would take it.

You sat down on him fully, the breath nearly knocked out of you.

“It’s big ain’t it sweetheart?” Arthur cooed in your ear, you nodded another whine leaving your lips.

“Shit- you were right about her being so damn tight.” Charles said through gritted teeth. He leaned down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth before he started rocking you up and down.

You knew you sounded pathetic, mewling with each raise of his hips. You couldn’t even say what he was doing was called ‘thrusting’. 

“Ngh- Charles!” You cried, tears brimming in your eyes. Your legs trembled on each side of his thick thighs.

“Go on, let go baby.” He huffed, clenching his jaw. His thumb reached down between your legs, rubbing at your clit. A choked sob leaving your lips as you came. White hot pleasure rushed through your body as you shook on top of him. 

Hands, hands all over you. Petting, caressing, rubbing. 

“That’s our girl.” Arthur cooed in your ear, his warm chest against your back as Charles moved you up and down on him. 

“Our girl.” Charles groaned, his fingers digging into your hips as he thrust up into you with wild abandon. Your head was spinning, staring down at Charles through half lidded eyes. “Oh- oh-“ Charles grit his teeth, pulling you off of him as he came. His dick twitching under the water as a blissed out smile overtook his face. 

The three of you panted, collapsing onto Charles, feeling the wild thumping of his heart under your ear. Arthur ran his hand up and down your spine, his other resting on Charles thigh.

“Think we outta bathe again.” He chuckled, grinning at the two of you. Charles laughed breathlessly, pressing his lips against your temple. He reached for Arthur, grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck as he pulled into a searing kiss.

-

Somehow the three of you made your way into bed. Resting naked under the flannel sheets as you mapped out their bodies.

You and Charles rested your heads against Arthur’s chest, trailing your hand up and down his chest. Threading your fingers through the hair that trailed down his belly. 

“You… you really want me to stay?” You asked, looking up at the two of them. Arthur scoffed, raising his head to meet your eyes.

“Did we not prove that to you in the tub?” He asked, raising a brow. Charles chuckled, a smile spreading across his lips.

“Sweetheart,” He said softly, cupping your cheek, “we want you to stay.” You smiled, hiding your face in Arthur’s chest. A small chuckle escaped Arthur as he wrapped his arms around the two of you.

“You’re our girl, course we want you to stay.”

As the three of you laid in post-sex bliss, only one thought filled your head. You had found your home, and it wasn’t a place, it was wherever they were. 

[ak319]

Dark A.M x fem!reader

-- ★ The Word of Claim ┃ ─𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐─

Warnings/MDNI: none. ?angst? And no, not for the reader, it's reverse angst ig. (－O－) ✰ 6.1K

★ Prev I concept m.list

"Look," you began, your tone a mix of hesitance and bashfulness, "please don’t make fun of me for what I’m about to tell you, because honestly? I’m not exactly ecstatic about it myself. But, like I once told you… parents can be parent-y about certain things, and it’s just so ugh! Anyway," you continued, forcing a strained chuckle, "it’s supposed to be good news, so I guess I should share it with some excitement, right?" You laughed lightly and slid a card across the table toward him, you avoided his gaze.

"I wanted to invite you. So here it is. I’d love for you to come, not just as a friend, but as a brother-"

"Shut it."

The sharp command sliced through the air like a blade, and you froze mid-sentence, your hand still lingering near the card. His tone wasn’t loud, but the weight of it struck deep, making your stomach twist.

You flinched, your brow furrowing as you recoiled slightly, staring at him with a mix of confusion and irritation. "Excuse me?" His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unreadable.

"I am not your brother, or whatever you or your family thinks," Arthur said, his voice low but firm, the words cutting like a cold wind.

You scoffed, a mix of hurt and disbelief clouding your expression. This wasn’t like him, the same Arthur who never so much as frowned in your direction now had a sharp edge in his tone.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice unsteady but defensive, already dreading where this conversation was heading.

His gaze was unrelenting, the weight of his words pressing against you. "I believe you know exactly what I’m talking about," he said, softer now, though the intensity remained. "I just… how can you be so blind?"

Your jaw tightened, the bitterness creeping in as your fingers curled against the table. His earlier words still lingered, a bruise on your pride that hadn’t faded.

"Blind to what, exactly?" you snapped.

Arthur let out a breath, his frustration palpable as his shoulders sagged slightly. "I… like you," he admitted, his voice quieter now, though no less raw. "I really do-"

"Wow." You leaned back, crossing your arms, your eyes narrowing. "There we go. So this is the reason?"

He stared at you, his face unmoving, but his eyes betrayed him, there was a glimmer of vulnerability in them, a crack in the tough façade he usually wore. "Yeah," he said simply, meeting your gaze head-on. "This is the reason."

You exhaled sharply, staring at Arthur like he’d just sprouted a second head. "Are you serious right now?" you asked, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with disbelief.

Arthur’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t back down. "I’ve never been more serious," he said.

Your fingers brushed your chin as you leaned back, then your lips, as if you were weighing his words against the brutal truth you knew. When you finally spoke, your voice was cold, detached, calculated.

“Arthur… we could never have been a match. Not then, not now.”

The words landed like a slap, deliberate and cutting as if you’d carefully chosen them to remind him of the impossibility of what he was asking. To him, it must have sounded like you were discussing a business arrangement as if he were just another broker. Or worse... just another one of those pitiful proposals you brushed aside for your own amusement.

His face faltered, but he tried to hold steady. "Why not? Is it because of who I am? Because I’m not some... polished gentleman from your world?"

"Yes! It’s exactly because of that," you snapped, your emotions flaring. "Arthur, no matter how kind you, or the gang, were to me back then, or now, you’re still outlaws. You can’t change that. You can’t erase what you’ve done."

Arthur’s eyes darkened, his hands curling into fists on the table. "That’s not fair," he said, his voice rising slightly. "You didn’t care about that when we helped you find your way home. When we made sure you were safe. But now....now it’s convenient for you to judge me?"

"I’m not judging you, Arthur," you shot back but quickly composed yourself so as not to draw any unwanted attention. You just hoped your chaperone wouldn't come over and hear all this. "I’m just being realistic...stating facts here. You might have been my protector when I was lost, but that doesn’t mean you could be my...my partner. You live in a world I can’t belong to. Yeah... Arthur, that is the truth. Like wow-- unbelievable because you think this, us, was ever a possibility."

His face hardened, but his eyes remained glued to you, searching for something, anything, in your expression. "Why wasn’t it? We’ve known each other! You laughed with me, wrote to me, and shared everything with me. Don’t tell me that meant nothing..."

"That’s not fair," you said, your voice trembling. "It meant something, of course it did! You are my friend and I treated you like one! The reason I came here today is to invite you to such a significant event in my life. You and the others saved me when I was a child. You were kind, yes, and maybe even noble in your own way. But don’t you see? That’s all it ever could have been. And for God's sake, I was only 10 then."

"Right...because I’m an outlaw," he replied bitterly which added in your vexation.

"Because no matter what you say you can't deny the things you have done, no matter how much you’ve tried to change… you’re still an outlaw, Arthur! And what I did was only look past all of that, ignore all of that, and treat you like a normal person. And I’m someone who lives by rules, by expectations. My family, my life, they’re worlds apart from yours. I handle business, attend formal gatherings, and move in circles that your gang probably plans to rob on one of their 'mighty fine days.' Do you see what I mean?"

"That’s what you care about? What people think? What your family thinks?"

"Don’t twist this! It’s not about them, it’s about us! We would’ve never worked. I’ve never seen you that way, Arthur, and I’m sorry if you thought otherwise, but this was never going to happen. Not in a million years. I told you before that we had to leave our old house because of the gossip. People whispered about me being kidnapped, about… other horrible, disgusting things. About me, a literal child! Rumors tied to you, the outlaws. It was a nightmare for me, and for my family. Do you think I could ever willingly go through that again?"

His voice cracked as he spoke. "I know but-- you couldn’t have told me that sooner? Before....before I let myself hope? Before I thought m-aybe you--- you come to meet me now, so I thought-"

"Because I didn’t know!" you cut him off, wiping away some wayward tears. "I didn’t know you felt this way! I thought that what we had was a good friendship. Look I don't want to hurt you, but this-you being angry with me...it isn’t fair. I didn’t ask for this, Arthur. And as for meeting you and all, well I didn't want to tell you this way but...my family doesn't approve of me doing this, they don't know. Especially now, when I am about to marry, I think, well after you have said all this too, that it's better to not meet. I just wanted to end it on a good note."

“You were the first... who made me feel something, y’know? Damn right, you did....” He paused, a bitter chuckle escaping him as he ran a hand through his hair. “And then... you got lost again. For years. But you were always there, somewhere, in the back of my mind. Like some kind of shadow, I couldn't shake it. I don't know if it was curiosity, or..."

He trailed off, the words hanging in the air, and then his tone shifted, turning almost uncertain, like a question to himself. "Or maybe something else. Something I couldn’t name. I know I don’t have anything to offer you. Nothing like...what you're used to, or what you deserve. But...even with all the mess I’ve made of things, even with the life I’ve chosen... I... I don’t know how to quit wanting this. Wanting you."

He looked at you, eyes searching for an answer that felt impossible to find. Why couldn't he fucking stop though? He needed to let it out, he had to. "I know I’m not the one you need, but damn it... I can't help this... whatever it is I feel when you're near."

"Arthur...Do you even realize what my life means to me? What my business mean to me? It’s exactly what your gang and Dutch are to you. Something you can’t just give up in a snap. For anything. Do you know how lucky I am to have a father who raised me to be who I am today? Who respected my choices and believed in me enough to make me his business partner? I mean, have you ever seen that happen? I have worked for it, day and night, damn right I did. So, no matter what, I won’t ever leave all of that behind."

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he took in your words, his eyes narrowing. He hesitated for a beat before replying, his tone laced with something sharp and bitter.

"So… you love the power and money. Is that what you’re saying? That’s what matters most to you? So why are you marrying now, then? Is this just another deal?"

You let out a breath, rubbing your temples as you felt your patience wear thin. A muffled scoff escaped your lips. "Love money--? You’re seriously asking me that? That’s not-" You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. "You know what? If that’s how you’re going to frame it, then sure. Yes, it does matter. Of course. And you, of all people, should know that. You literally..."

Forget it, it's useless to say it. He already knows.

"What about… love? What about if I did give it up one day, huh? For you if...if you give this a chance? What if I was...never an outlaw? Would you still be saying all of this? " Arthur's voice dipped, low and raw, as if he dared you to look past the life he’d lived and see him, just him.

"And I am not asking you to abandon anything anyway. I never said that. But can't you just...talk to your parents...about this? At least...hear their point of view... maybe they will agree, maybe they do think different of me -"

"No. They. Don't." You frowned, running a hand through your hair. "I know them very well because they are my parents, Arthur. Why are you talking like a ten-year-old? All these ‘what ifs’ are just that, what ifs. They don’t mean a damn thing. See how the real world works, for God’s sake. My world. Your world. You and I both know you’re not giving up your life, and I’m not giving up mine. So what’s next, Arthur? Are we talking about fairies now?"

"Oh, you’re really taking it too far now," he muttered, his voice low and dangerously quiet. "I bared my heart to you, and you’re just taking it as a damn joke?"

"I’m not!" you snapped, throwing your hands up. "But the way you came on to me, the aggressiveness of it, it’s too much! As if I committed some crime. I’m just trying to be honest with you here. We’re two different people, Arthur. Different lives, different worlds. And whatever I’m doing in my life, with whoever, for whatever reason, it’s none of your concern. You know what you should’ve done? Told me sooner. I wouldn’t have minded then, and your feelings wouldn’t be so hurt now. Or even better, never would have approached me again after all these years if this was your intention."

".....Yeah, you are right. I am a fool. A God damn fool."

Your heart was heavy with words you didn’t want to say but felt you had to, seeing him all quiet and...lost.

"I’m sorry... if I ever gave the wrong idea or encouraged... whatever you felt. It wasn’t my intention, Arthur. It never was. And even after this, it's not like I would regret the good moments we spent together. They were refreshing, for both of us."

You paused, your gaze meeting his, and you could see the pain in his eyes, the unspoken hope that you would understand. But you couldn’t, not in the way he wanted.

“I'll pray that you find peace. With someone willing to give it to you. You are a good person, I never said that you aren't. But not for me. Not for someone like me or my family. Not in the way you are thinking."

The cafe felt stifling, the murmurs of other patrons fading into nothing as the two of you were locked in this emotional war. You took a shaky breath and reached for the wedding card on the table, forwarding it.

"Come if you want to," you said, your voice quieter now but no less firm. "But I think it’s better if you don’t...for both of us." Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out, the bell on the door jingling faintly behind you.

You didn’t look back, not at the table, not at him, not at the wreckage you knew you were leaving behind.

You didn’t dare.

❀˖°

"(Y/N) where were you-"

"Not now, Mom." The words came out curt, sharper than you intended, but you were too upset to care. That single word, Mom, was enough to let her know you were serious. She caught onto it immediately, her expression shifting to one of quiet concern.

Her gaze darted to Doreen, your chaperone, who stood quietly in the corner. She simply shrugged, her calm demeanor steady as always. Doreen had been working at the manor for years and was one of the few who knew about your friendship with Arthur. You’d confided in her because you trusted her, she was loyal and discreet, a good woman. Otherwise, it would be a nightmare if your mother ever found out. Not that you had anything to hide... except for what had happened today.

But none of that mattered now. It wasn’t like you were going to see Arthur again, not after this. That didn’t stop your mother from barging into your room, though, just as you were ushering out your younger brother, Rayan, and even your cat, a clear sign that you wanted to be left alone.

Once the door shut behind them, leaving the two of you alone in the room, your mother crossed her arms and fixed you with a determined look. "Care to explain what’s going on?"

"Nothing mama. Just--some people--sometimes piss you off."

"But you went to give a card to one of your friends didn't you? She not...coming?"

You shook your head, already feeling the heat rise in your chest again. "No, it’s not that. Just please. I don’t want to talk right now. Where’s Dad?"

She sighed a soft, drawn-out sound that carried her concern. Without saying a word, she moved to sit on the edge of your bed, watching as you rifled through your wardrobe, looking for something to change into. The rustling of hangers filled the room as you avoided her gaze.

"He must be on his way. Lunch is ready. I reckon you haven’t eaten yet?" she asked, her voice gentle, but you could still hear the underlying question.

You mentally scoffed, remembering the way your appetite vanished after everything Arthur had said. "Um--yeah, but I am not hungry." You replied, forcing some enthusiasm into your tone.

She nodded in understanding, but then her expression shifted, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh, Omar is coming today, isn’t he? You both had to go shopping."

You froze for a moment before turning to her with a practiced smile. "Oh yes, I had totally forgotten!. But why shopping, Mamaaa, I’m so tired of it already!"

She tutted at your whining, brushing it aside with ease as she stood up. "Just one last trip. And come on, it’s your first one with him. He hasn’t even bought his suit yet because he wanted to buy it with you. Such a nice boy, isn’t he? I must say, even after rejecting almost every boy, you still found the best one. Patience does reward, doesn’t it?"

You snorted, unable to help yourself. Her words were laced with pride and affection, but you couldn’t quite mirror her excitement.

"You think I was waiting for the perfect one? I was just playing-"

"I know, I know. I’m just playing too," she cut you off with a knowing smile. "As if I don’t know what my daughter is."

Her cheerful expression faltered slightly, replaced by a worried frown. "(Y/N)... you don’t have any contact with Arthur, do you?"

Your heart skipped a beat, but years of getting out of mischief as a child had honed your ability to appear calm under pressure.

"Of course not! Why?" you asked, your tone light, as though the very idea were absurd.

"Mhm," she hummed, her gaze lingering on you for a moment too long. "Just... asking."

She waved it off and stood, her voice returning to its usual brightness. "Anyway, get ready. Omar must be here any minute."

"Yeah, yeah," you replied, brushing her off with a nonchalant shrug.

God, you really needed to go hunting with your dad, feel the familiar rhythm of the hunt to clear your mind. But it was already dusk. Shame, you thought. Well, there’s always tomorrow. You could find some peace in that.

❀˖°

The sound of wheels crunching over the gravel driveway reached your ears as you stood near the window, brushing out the last stray wrinkles from your coat. You could already hear your mother bustling downstairs, her voice rising in warm greeting as the carriage came to a halt in front of the manor. Omar was here.

The idea of going shopping with him now felt exhausting, but you reminded yourself, that this was the man you were going to marry. If nothing else, you could enjoy his company and distract yourself. You fucking needed it today.

There was a knock on your door before Doreen peeked her head in. "He’s here," she said with a knowing smile.

"I know," you sighed one last time before heading downstairs.

As you reached the foyer, Omar had already stepped inside, shaking off the light dusting of snow from his coat. He was dressed in a tailored navy suit, the kind that exuded understated elegance. His dark eyes lit up as soon as they landed on you, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face.

"Ah, there she is," he said, his voice warm and easy, like it always was. He stepped forward, offering his hand as a gesture of greeting. "You look stunning as always."

You gave him a small smile, your fingers lightly brushing his as you shook his hand. "Thank you, Omar. You look rather dashing yourself."

Your mother beamed from the sidelines, clasping her hands together. "I’ll leave you two to it then! Have a good time, and don’t forget to stop by for supper after shopping!" she called, disappearing into the hallway before either of you could protest.

Omar chuckled softly, leaning in just a fraction as if sharing a secret. "I think she’s more excited about us spending time together than we are."

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "That’s because she’s been dreaming of this moment for years."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with a mix of curiosity and fondness. "And you? Are you dreading it as much as you pretend to be, or is that just your way of teasing me?"

"I guess you’ll find out soon enough."

His grin widened, the kind that made it hard not to feel at ease. "I’m up for the challenge."

With that, he offered his arm, and after a brief pause, you looped yours through it. Together, you stepped out of the manor and into the waiting carriage, the crisp air biting at your skin as you settled in for what promised to be an afternoon of conversation and enjoyment.

The carriage rolled into the bustling town square, the cobblestone streets alive with chatter and laughter. Stalls lined the streets, and storefronts glittered with elegant displays of winter fashion. Omar helped you down from the carriage, his gloved hand firm and steady as you stepped onto the pavement. The warmth of his touch lingered, and for a moment, it was almost enough to dispel the tension still coiled in your chest.

"Where shall we start?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement as he glanced at the shops.

"Your suit, of course," you replied, gesturing to the tailor’s shop down the street. "We wouldn’t want to waste any more time, would we? And also don't want my groom to arrive in pajamas."

He chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Efficient as always," he teased, but there was no bite to his words, only affection.

The tailor’s shop smelled of cedar and freshly pressed fabric, the warm atmosphere a stark contrast to the brisk air outside. Omar immediately began perusing the racks of neatly displayed suits, occasionally glancing your way for approval.

"What do you think of this one?" he asked, holding up a charcoal-grey ensemble.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it seriously. "Mhm let's see. It’s nice, but… not quite you."

He raised a brow, intrigued. "Not quite me? And what is ‘me,’ exactly?"

You smirked, stepping closer to him. "Something a little more daring. You’re not the type to blend into the background. And honestly, that colour is for oldies."

Omar laughed, a soft, genuine sound that seemed to fill the room. "I’ll take that as a compliment."

The tailor appeared then, guiding Omar to a private fitting room. You waited near the mirrors, idly browsing the display of silk ties and pocket squares. When Omar stepped out, dressed in a deep navy suit with subtle silver pinstripes, you felt your breath hitch for a moment.

"Well?" he asked, spreading his arms slightly as he turned toward you. "Do I meet your high standards now?"

You took a step closer, adjusting the lapel of his jacket with careful fingers. "Much better," you murmured, your voice softer than you intended.

His gaze softened as he looked down at you, the air between you growing quiet and intimate. "You know," he said, his voice low, "it means a lot to me… that you’re here. Dearest fiancee."

You glanced up snickering, meeting his eyes. There was something disarming about how he looked at you, as though he could see straight through the layers of composure you worked so hard to maintain.

"I suppose it’s only fair," you said lightly, trying to deflect the weight of his gaze. "You’ll have to endure me for the rest of your life, after all."

His smile widened, but there was a hint of something deeper in his expression, something almost reverent. "Endure you? I don’t think that’s the word I’d use."

The moment stretched between you, delicate and charged, before you stepped back, clearing your throat. This was soemthing you thought you would never do. Like shopping? For marriage? Your own marriage? Feels nice though.

"Let’s pay for this and move on. There’s still plenty to do."

Omar chuckled, following your lead. "As you wish."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of shops and conversations, the initial awkwardness between you easing into a comfortable rhythm. At one point, as you passed a small flower stall, Omar paused, picking up a single white rose.

"For you," he said, offering it with a small, sincere smile.

You hesitated, then took it, the softness of the petals brushing against your fingers. "Thank you," you said quietly, your heart unexpectedly lighter.

"Though, for the record, I’m not fond of buying flowers. I prefer them in their roots, not plucked out."

Omar tilted his head, intrigued. "Fair enough," he said with a soft chuckle. "I’ll keep that in mind next time." He paused, then grinned. "Wait, is it because of that plantation-related project your dad was talking about? The one about 'Greenery for better Scenery' Or are you just secretly a botanist in disguise?"

You laughed, shaking your head. "Maybe," you said, teasingly, "Or maybe I just don’t like the idea of something being uprooted just to sit in a vase."

He nodded as you both climbed into the carriage, the sound of the wheels rolling over the cobblestone streets almost rhythmic as you sat there, lost in thought. The air was cooler now, and the weight of the day felt heavy on your shoulders. You couldn't shake the frustration bubbling inside you, the anger from dealing with Arthur, the frustration of his insistence, and the guilt gnawing at you because, deep down, you didn’t want to hurt him. But it was necessary.

People had to be reminded of who was in control sometimes. To be given a wake-up call. The thought of being his lover, his wife... living that life, in some tent? That had to be a joke. Those two months weren’t some nice escape anyone might imagine. Every second, you missed the comfort of your home, the warmth, the familiarity, the safety. You had been kind to them, yes, but kindness didn’t mean trust. Your heart was wary, and at the end of the day, they were strangers. Dangerous strangers.

He knew this. You could see it in the way he looked at you back then, the silent acknowledgment of the gap that could never be bridged. And yet, somehow, now, it seemed he’d forgotten all of that. Did he truly believe he could make that reckless fantasy a reality?

Your mother had been right. You should’ve never gotten engaged in the first place. Being nice, being accommodating, sometimes, it cost too much.

"You okay? You look tired."

You snapped back to the present, finding Omar's concerned gaze on you. You gave him a small smile. "Mhm? Yeah, I've been out most of the day so..."

"You could’ve told me we would’ve had the spree shortened," he said, his tone gentle.

You waved him off, shrugging lightly. "C'mon, it's nothing. You needed all that. My stuff's done anyway."

"Still, I don’t want my bride to be sick or anything." He nudged you playfully, but you weren't in the mood for jokes. "Um, sorry. We’re just about there anyway,"

"It’s alright. I didn’t mind for a minute." You voice softened.

He gazed at you, and before you could protest, he placed his hand over yours. "Good to know that. I loved every second too, darling."

"Me too..." Your heart skipped a beat at the warmth of his touch. "Can I ask you something?" You began, your voice quieter than usual.

"Sure. Shoot."

"Would you ever, like ever, say something like... 'leave the business or stay at home' shit to me?"

He leaned back slightly at your cold question, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. "We’ve already discussed this a million times, (Y/N), and even our families. You are perfect the way you are. Why would I suddenly say that?"

"Men aren’t really something you trust," you replied, the bitterness seeping through despite your best effort to stay neutral.

He sighed but remained understanding, his expression softening. "You know I won’t. I know you do. Yet you’re asking. It’s a clear sign something happened today, didn’t it?"

You paused for a moment, looking out the carriage window, not trusting yourself to speak for a second. "No. Just... making sure."

He reached over, gently brushing his thumb over your hand. "And I’m assuring you, love. I want a partner, not a slave or whatever your mind is conjuring up. Did you forget I literally sent the proposal after being impressed by your articles?"

"Mhm." He didn't press further, sensing that you needed space.

The carriage rolled to a stop outside your home, the rhythmic clop of the horses’ hooves fading into the quiet of the evening. You hadn’t spoken much on the journey back, your mind preoccupied with thoughts. Omar had been like your father in many ways, supportive, steadfast, grounded, and practical. Ideal, really. That’s part of why you didn’t hesitate when he proposed. But no matter how rational he seemed or how certain he was about the future, doubt lingered in the corners of your mind. Guess it's natural considering you are a woman. Marriage is a big thing for you.

To you, it feels like a gamble, an unpredictable, high-stakes game where you could win or lose everything. And the words Arthur had thrown at you, his cold assumption that you might give up everything for mere love, or worse, let your family catch wind of this, echoed with unsettling clarity. It didn’t sit right with you. Not in the least. If he thought that way if he believed you would toss away your entire world for something as transient as affection, what was to stop Omar from thinking the same?

You tried to shake the thought, but it clung to you, persistent and unwelcome. You’d seen the way people could twist things to their advantage. Would he, too, expect you to throw it all away? Would he demand that you choose him over everything else you’d built? Especially comparing a stupid thing as love to it.

Life ain't some romance novel, Arthur.

As the door to the carriage opened, you stepped out, taking a deep breath. Yeah, love was nothing when it came to reality, when it came to your rights, to what you truly wanted. If it all turned out to be a farce, then nothing was stopping you from getting a divorce. The thought felt both reassuring and disconcerting. But for now... you reminded yourself, let’s focus on the here and now.

With a gentle yet weary smile, you turned to Omar and guided him inside. You were greeted warmly by your family, their voices filled with cheerful greetings and questions. It was almost too easy to slip back into the comfort of routine. Your mother’s bright smile and your father’s firm hand on your shoulder reminded you that for all the doubts, you still had a foundation here.

Your mother chimed, her eyes sparkling as she looked from you to Omar. "I trust your shopping went well?"

You nodded, offering a warm and relaxed smile. "Yes, everything’s set for the wedding. Finally." Omar pulled you closer noticing your tiredness and you melted into the embrace as the chatter went on.

"I love you, y'know." You glanced up, a bit taken aback by his sweet whisper, but replied with the same tenderness, "Love you too, Omar." With that, he received a kiss on the cheek, making him pull you closer if that was even possible.

❀˖°

“Dutch? You busy?”

The leader glanced up from his book, smoke curling lazily around him. He studied Hosea’s expression for a moment before shaking his head. “No, no. Come in. Have a seat.” He rose, shutting the tent flap behind Hosea to block out the biting chill of the night.

Both men settled around the makeshift study, the dim lantern between them casting flickering shadows on their weathered faces. The faint warmth from the lantern did little to push back the cold, but Dutch’s focus remained sharp, his cigar perched between two fingers.

“It’s a chilly one tonight,” Dutch commented, his tone light but probing as he watched Hosea take a cigar for himself.

Hosea nodded, lighting it and taking a long drag before exhaling slowly. “It is.” He leaned back slightly, the seriousness in his eyes undeniable. “I came to tell you something. I think… something happened with Arthur today.”

“What? As in physically? Is he fine?” Dutch asked, frowning. Arthur wasn’t one to get injured on some random Tuesday.

"No, no. God forbid," Hosea replied, shaking his head. "It’s not that. He went somewhere today, midday, and when he came back, he just… felt hollow, y’know? Hasn’t come out of his tent since."

“Arthur, brooding? Maybe he’s sick,” Dutch muttered, though his brow furrowed in concern.

“He didn’t even come for supper, Dutch,” Hosea added pointedly.

Dutch leaned back in his chair, tapping the ash from his cigar. “Alright, I’ll handle him in the morning.”

“Yeah, just… take it easy with him,” Hosea advised. “You know how he is, tends to keep things bottled up, no matter how much it’s eating at him.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes. “Did you try yourself? Usually, you’re the one who can get through to him.”

“I did,” Hosea admitted with a sigh. “Knocked on his tent, asked if he was alright, but he didn’t answer. Not a peep. So…”

Dutch hummed, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "Alright. Morning it is, then. Wait a minute...Do you think it’s that girl? What was her name---- Mary? The one who sent those gifts? Are they back together, or…?"

"How could it be her?” Hosea interjected. "They broke things off ages ago. And last I heard from the girls gossiping, she’s already married to someone else."

“Then who’s he been seeing all this time? The one who sent those gifts almost a year ago, Hosea? You remember that right?” Dutch pressed, his eyes narrowing.

Hosea shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “Must be someone else. But it wasn’t Mary, he never said her name, as in that she sent them. But he is meeting someone. That much, I’m sure of."

"Well, if it's someone else this time and... I don’t want to assume, but if it happened again, then... well, bummer."

"Dutch." Hosea’s tone carried a hint of reprimand.

"What? I’m just... forget it. Well, the boy has a tendency to attract trouble for himself, that’s what I meant."

"Losing something doesn’t stop someone from wanting... Dutch. And that applies to... many things."

Dutch’s lips quirked into an understanding smile. The motto was indeed fitting for anything, money, love, peace, freedom, you name it.

"Well said, Hosea, well said. A man’s strength isn’t just in what he holds onto, but in what he’s willing to let go of. Arthur’s got more fight in him than he realizes. He’ll get through this, one way or another.”

"Broken men are the most dangerous too."

Dutch grinned, matching Hosea's dry humor. "Our Arthur is that, anyway."

❀˖°

After the evening ended with heartfelt, romantic goodbyes, you lay in the bed and your mind on its own replayed the whole day.

It wasn’t your fault, right? Yes? No? No, it wasn’t. He was the one who came, the one who set all of this in motion. He knew exactly what he was walking into. What did he expect, honestly? That your family would just hand you over to him? That your parents, with their pristine image and their business deals, would throw all of that away to give you to a man with a bounty on his head, a man living on the fringes of society? What the fuck were they even supposed to tell their peers?

"Oh, our daughter is marrying a notorious outlaw, it's just a phase."

No. They would never. They couldn’t.

And yet, there he was, sitting in front of you, asking for something that never could be. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about him, you did, in a way. You had always known your life would be different. You were born into a world where rules mattered, where expectations were set before you even had a say in the matter.

You had been nothing more than a curious soul who wanted to hear his stories, a girl who saw him as a peculiar friend. An older brother figure. Nothing more. And here you were thinking he saw you the same. A peculiar friend. An annoying younger sister. A pure bond of nothing more than a friendship, between two different worlds. Nothing more.

Your parents are not exactly fond of them considering, of course, what you all went through because of that incident which is not even allowed to be discussed in your house. No judgment to them because outlaws are unpredictable. dangerous, untrustworthy. That's their textbook definition, one you had learned literally firsthand living there from them.

And on the other hand, society is cruel too in its own way.

So what did he expect from you? What did he think would happen?

You rolled to the left side of your bed, your eyes landing on the vanity. Where the gifts your in-laws had sent were placed aptly. The anxiety of the upcoming big day was suddenly back in full force, pressing in on your chest as if the winds of your life were about to shift their course in one final, irreversible moment.

─AN: Lemme know if you wanna be added or removed in the comments and idk I hope I got the names right and you got notified, cuz some of u weren't showing up on that tiny pop up list--idk it just my first time tagging a lot of ppl sry! 😭Thanks for reading, and as always, interactions are appreciated. ^_^

★ tag list: @shackspossum @whalecage @nayykura @m1stea @warmsideofthepillow03 @thatoneraeder @marzintears @nxttaru @cazzacarm @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @nulixity @poll-u @bajabish @cheesycheddarr @luzzbuzz @dilfsarelife @ninastyless @claire-is-here @raeraypoca @hopingtoclearmedschool

[moeitsu]

Goddamn i didn’t know i needed a “daddy” Arthur Morgan until this very moment 🤭

☆ cowboy morgan (arthur morgan x fem!reader) headcanon +18

☆ Hey! I’ve published on tumblr before, but I decided to come back and take advantage of this year’s december. I’m nervous since my smut is a bit rusty, but I hope to achieve decent writing! English isn’t my first language, sorry :(

☆ smut +18. heavy daddy kink. arthur is a menace lmao. reproductive kink... sorry, again?

Divider by @anitalenia

(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ Cowboy!Morgan who asks if you miss his cock "Fuck, you're so eager for it, aren't you?" he rasped, his voice rough with arousal. "daddy's big, thick cock stretching out your tight little hole..."

(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ Cowboy!Morgan who quickly shed his clothes, freeing his impressive erection. He gave it a few slow strokes, smearing the bead of precum around the swollen head. "Fuck, just look at you," he groaned. "So desperate for my cock."

(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ Cowboy!Morgan who buried himself to the hilt inside you, groaning at the exquisite heat and tightness. "Fucking hell, you feel incredible," he grunted, giving you a moment to adjust before he started to move.

(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ Cowboy!Morgan when his thrusts were deep and forceful, the head of his cock ramming against your cervix with every snap of his hips. One hand fisted in your hair, pulling your head back as he pounded into you. "Take it, baby. Take every fucking inch"

The room was filled with the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, your needy moans and cries of pleasure, and Arthur's deep, gravelly grunts.

He could feel his climax approaching, his balls drawing up tight and his cock pulsing inside you. "Gonna cum so fucking deep, sweetheart. Gonna mark this cunt as mine," he growled, his thrusts becoming erratic and desperate. "You want that? You want daddy's cum deep in this greedy little hole?"

Arthur's hand tightened in your hair, yanking your head back as he bottomed out inside you one last time. With a soft moan, he exploded, his cock jerking as it pumped thick ropes of hot cum into your spasming pussy. "Fuck, take it! Take daddy's fucking cum!"

(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ Cowboy!Morgan almost dies when you tell him how much you want to be pregnant with his children "Fuck, baby, you want daddy's babies so bad?" he growled, his hands roaming over your curves possessively. "Want me to fill this belly up, make these tits swell with milk for our little ones?"

He rolled you onto your back, kneeling between your thighs. Arthur's fingers found your slick folds, spreading the combination of your arousal and his cum around your entrance. "I'm gonna breed you, sweetheart. Gonna pump you full of my seed until you're round with our child."

(⁠✯⁠ᴗ⁠✯⁠)ʕ⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴥ⁠ꈍ⁠ʔ Cowboy!Morgan when his cock throbbed and pulsed inside you, spilling spurt after spurt of his hot, thick seed deep into your waiting womb. "Fuck, yes! Take it all, baby! Take daddy's cum!"

He continued to rock his hips, grinding against you as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling of his release marking you, claiming you, was indescribable. Arthur collapsed on top of you, panting harshly as the last tremors of his orgasm washed over him.

After a moment, he propped himself up on his elbows, gazing down at you with a mixture of adoration and hunger. "My god" he murmured, brushing damp hair from your forehead. "I'm going to wrap you up in my arms and keep you safe forever. Protect this belly when it starts to swell with our child."

He shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you close. One hand cradled your stomach while the other trailed down to cup your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. "I can't wait to see these tits heavy with milk," he rumbled, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "To suckle from them, taste the sweetness of our love."

Arthur's hand slid down to your mound, fingers delving between your folds to scoop up some of the cum leaking out. He brought his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a low moan. "Mmm, we taste so good together. Like the start of something perfect."

[stupidboycentral]

If you were to ask ME id say arthur is a clingy drunk. Stumbles helplessly around camp like an idiot after a few moonshine bottles too many just to find himself in his lovers tent over and over again, ready for wet, open-mouthed kisses that were supposed to land on lips, not cheeks, and "Ahhh, I love you-"'s before he inevitably passes out and snores loud enough to keep the rest of camp from getting some shut eye.

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[ruerecs]

PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

[bitin-and-barkin]

STRONG OLDER MEN. I want to see a man, so rough and tough in the streets actually be a big sweetheart and SO nervous in bed. All flustered and whiney, rutting against your thigh like a one dollar whore. I need to see them overstimulated and crying from pleasure while you suck them off or eat them out. I want to see them be so scared about hurting you while they fuck you oh so gently, SO horny, but so afraid of hurting you. I wanna see one cry and whimper into your neck while they ride you soo well like a good boy <3 you let them cum as much as they want because they're being soo good for you (and they NEED that privilege cause they are soo sensitive and will cum so much) and they eat ALL of your praise up

[myladyship]

"After everything you have done. How will you sleep at night?"

"Next to my wife."

[abstractpyschopomp]

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]