#arthur morgan x fem you

[say-hwaet]

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Reader, Arthur Morgan/You, Eliza/Arthur Morgan Characters: Arthur Morgan, Eliza (Red Dead Redemption), Isaac Morgan, Hosea Matthews, Dutch van der Linde, John Marston, Bill Williamson, Susan Grimshaw, Annabelle (Red Dead Redemption), Reverend Swanson, Uncle Additional Tags: Pre-Blackwater Massacre (Red Dead Redemption), Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), you are Eliza in this story, Angst, arthur makes it in time to save Eliza and Isaac, headcanon character insert, you get to see how the gang gained new members, Background History, arthur is a good daddy, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Parenthood, Not Canon Compliant, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Young Arthur Morgan, Annabelle takes you under her wing, you are Isaac’s mother, Mutual Pining, Flashbacks, Isaac is adorable, you and Arthur watch Isaac grow up, isaac and Eliza don't die, you help change the fate of the van der linde gang, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Protective Arthur Morgan Summary:

After four years of deliberating, struggling, and doubting, Arthur had finally made the decision. He was going to come back to you and Isaac. And stay. But instead of an emotional reunion and the reveal of his decision, you were both faced with a new reality and danger, when you were nearly killed by robbers. As if that wasn’t enough to jolt Arthur into reality, another shocking revelation presents itself, something that he wasn’t planning on. And now that it isn’t safe for you, he has to make a decision that he never expected to make. To return to the gang, and take you with him.

Preview the Prologue under the cut!! (word count: ~10,400 words)

“Where’s the money?!”

“What money?”

The man, whom the others call Dan, steps closer and slaps you. The left side of your face feels like it’s on fire and instantly swells. You try to touch it, but he quickly snatches your wrist with unreasonable force. “The money that you keep gettin’! I know he comes around and gives you money.”

You realize they’re talking about Arthur. How do they know? How long have they been watching? You remember seeing men, in the distance, on horseback a bit ago, just watching you. Could these be the same men? Could these be the bandits Arthur warned you about?

You try to make a threat. “He’ll be here soon…Y-you best go.” But you know better. He’s been gone for almost a year, the longest he has ever been gone. He’s most likely dead or decided to finally abandon you. 

Dan grabs you and throws you to the floor, crashing into your left side. Your shoulder dislocates and you try desperately not to cry, as Isaac is still in your bedroom with your baby. 

Your baby.

You think back on the last night he was with you. After years of keeping his distance, he took you in his arms and laid with you. But just as warm, and passionate as it was, it was also fleeting, for he left the next day without as much as a goodbye.

And to this day, he has no idea he has fathered another. 

“Liar! He’s been gone a while.” Dan lifts his chin and looks down at you as though you were less than the dirt he walks on. “We made sure of that.”

“You…you seen him?” As stupid as it is to ask, you so badly want to hear news of him.

The man’s yellow-toothed grin instantly gives you a feeling of uneasiness. “Oh, we saw him, alright. He came by and gave you wads of cash! We had been watchin’ your place, and we almost thought that it weren’t worth it, especially when we saw him from a distance. But we saw that he weren’t around, and after seeing you up close, we know it’s worth it, now…”

You are surprised they’re telling you this, but you remember what Arthur had said about what they do, these Calico Bandits. You and your children won’t make it out of this alive.

He stands over you menacingly. “So, tell us where it is!”

“Mommy!”

Isaac comes from the bedroom, with your revolver in his hand. He looks into your eyes and panic fills your entire being. When the men came barging in, your first thought was for him to hide, to be safe, but he has more courage than you wish. You try to get up to protect him, but one of the men quickly grabs Isaac and he drops the gun. It hits the floor with a sharp thud.

“Look at this little guy! He thought he could rescue his ‘mommy.’” The man handling the boy cackles and the rest join in.

“Let me go!” Isaac shouts, trying to break free of the man’s grip.

Dan goes to you and grabs you by your right arm and lifts you to your feet. He jabs the barrel of his revolver into your cheek, pushing it up. “I’m not going to ask you again,” he snarls, his sour breath making you want to vomit. “Tell us where the money is, or we’ll shoot your little hero here.”

It’s no use. You know it’s better to make this easier, even though you know the outcome. You weakly lift a finger in the direction of the kitchen counter. “I–It’s over here.”

You feel him let your arm go and you slowly, while keeping your hands up, walk to the kitchen counter. Grabbing a small tin you walk back to Dan and, with your hands shaking, give it to him. He takes it from you hungrily and puts his gun on the table. You glance down and see your revolver by your feet. The one Arthur had taught you to use. 

When Dan opens the tin he frowns and his face turns red with rage. “There’s only ten dollars in here!”

His compadre hisses in his direction. “I told you we’s waited too long, Dan! Of course, it would be gone by now!”

He flips around to the man who dared to challenge him, and she snaps like a viper. “Shut up, Lem!”

They start to argue. Now is the time. You try to seize the opportunity to take the gun he left on the table. You move quickly, your heart racing more than it ever could, and grab the gun. You only have but a split second to act, you cock the hammer back and fire. The bullet rips from the barrel, hitting Dan’s hand and he drops the tin. He clutches his hand as it bleeds profusely. 

“AAAARRRGGG…!!! YOU WHORE…!!!!” He bellows, his voice sounding almost inhuman at the expense of his pain. 

Taking another opportunity, you pick up the gun off the table and point both revolvers at the other two men. 

“Let my son go…!” you order, hands shaking. 

Behind you, Dan manages to ignore his bleeding hand for a moment, unholstering his second revolver quiet enough where you can’t hear. But even if you could, your attention is focused on the other two men, who still have their grimy fingers on your boy. 

“Now!” you roar, with as much ferocity as you can muster. 

Thankfully, the man holding Isaac lets him go and he runs to you. Once he reaches you he clutches your skirt tightly. “Mommy…!”

You look down at your son and see the fear and relief in his eyes. You want to stop everything to hold him, to shield him, but you have to keep your guns trained on the two men. They have their hands raised, and knowing you only have seconds, you try to think of a way to get out of this. 

But, still, you have forgotten Dan, who has now risen to his feet and is aiming his gun. 

At you. 

When you hear a familiar click, your eyes widen at the realization. 

And that’s when the door swings open again. 

It’s all a blur. You have no time to react to what is happening when feet quickly shift where they stand and shots sing loud into the space. Your ears ring at the volume and your first instinct is to crouch down and shield your boy. You crash into the floor and hold Isaac tight to your breast as your back faces the gunshots and cries of pain.

But they aren’t your cries, or that of your son. You bury your face in your son’s hair, praying that if any bullets hit you, your body will be shield enough. 

And soon, the cries die, until there is complete silence. The smell of gunpowder wafts in your nostrils, and you try to calm yourself as you continue to tremble. You hear Isaac breathe softly against your chest, his breath shaky as he whimpers. 

You dare not move. Your heart threatens to burst out of its ribcage, and you want to hold onto your son and the illusion of safety just a little bit longer. 

But when you hear heavy footfalls approach, you open your eyes. You don’t have time to react when a hand grabs you and pulls you up, causing you to lose your hold on your boy. 

You scream loudly. “Please, no…!!!” And you flinch, your eyes closed shut. 

The hands turn you around and you feel an exhaled breath on your face. It isn’t foul, like Dan’s. 

And the voice that speaks, thunderous and low, nearly has you in disbelief. “Eliza…”

You open your eyes and your legs buckle from under you as you look into the marine, saccharine eyes of Arthur Morgan. 

“Oh, God…!” you gasp and you instantly sob. “Arth—” Your voice is muffled once he pulls you into himself, your face pressed into his chest. He holds you close, tucking his face in your hair and you hear him inhale deeply. 

You continue to sob heavily, the reality of your situation hitting you like a ton of bricks. You and your family almost died. You tried to protect them, but you failed. 

“Daddy…!” Isaac’s cry echoes into the room and you feel him crash into you and a tiny arm slips around your leg. Arthur removes a hand to embrace his boy. Isaac’s happiness is sobered by relief, and he begins to cry into his father’s leg. “Oh, Daddy…!”

You feel Arthur’s chapped lips brush softly against your cheek, as though it could have been a kiss. Your breath hitches, the hint of his mouth next to yours triggering an innate response. But he doesn’t follow through, instead pulling away and gazing into your eyes. “What happened?”

You try to steady your breathing, your sobs morphing into hiccups. “They came out of nowhere. Saying that they saw you handin’ me money.”

He tucks his chin, cursing under his breath. “I shoulda killed ‘em when I came across them the first time.”

Your eyebrows lift, eyes reflecting worry. “When?”

Arthur nods. “Last year. They saw me on the road, guess I was too intimidatin’ to take on.” His eyes soften. “But not my…” his voice trails off. He lifts a hand to cup your chin, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. Looking into his eyes, you see the glossiness, the color resembling a raging sea. “Eliza…”

“Arthur…?”

“I was almost too late…” Then his eyes express a sobriety, a calm resolve as he speaks. “But never again.”

This sudden change in demeanor surprises you, and your brow pinches in confusion. “Arthur…?”

“Eliza, I—” In the midst of his sentence, a shrill cry erupts from your bedroom. Arthur lifts his head from your gaze, turning to look in the direction of the sound. “What is that?”

You know what it is, and truth be told, so does he, but what he doesn’t know is why he hears it. Isaac is four. Not a…

You didn’t want it to be like this. You didn’t want him to find out this way. You lift your hand and place your palm on his chest and he looks back down at you. There is an intimacy at your gesture and you soon feel his pounding heart beneath. You gently back away from him and wordlessly hurry into the room, hoping he will follow. 

You enter your bedroom and direct your body toward the sound of the cry, and it leads you to your dresser. Regarding the bottom drawer, you see that there is a three-inch opening. Bending down and quickly pulling it open, you see your daughter, safely laid inside, her face red as she cries. She continues to wail and you waste no time in picking her up and bringing her close. As soon as she smells you, hears your soft whispers, and feels you bouncing her softly, she settles, her cries now soft coos. You kiss her soft, little head, her little wisps of hair tickling your lips. 

You hear the heavy footfalls behind you and so you turn to face him. 

The expression on his face says it all: pure shock and disbelief. 

“Arthur…” you begin, your thoughts scrambled as you try to say the words. “This is your daughter Alice.”

He just stands there in the doorway, gobsmacked. Not that he was ever full of words, but he has always said something when times have been rough. He’s been your only source of comfort these last five years. 

You don’t want to rush him, to push him, you imagine he has questions of his own, thoughts that he has to sort through. You continue to bounce the baby in your arms. “It’s a miracle she didn’t cry before this…” you say in an effort to ease the tension. “But she is a heavy sleeper.”

Like him. Maybe it’s good she’s a Morgan after all. 

From behind Arthur comes Isaac, eyes filled with worry. “Is she okay?”

You nod, feeling the intensity of Arthur’s gaze as you look down at your son. “Yes, she’s fine.”

Isaac sighs, finally smiling. “Good. I put her there.” He points to the drawer. “I thought she’d be safe.”

You swallow hard, trying to suppress a sob. “You did good, darling.” You sniff. “Real good.”

“We can’t stay here,” Arthur finally says and when your eyes meet his, he looks away. “No doubt those shots were heard.”

You furrow your brow. “But it was in self-defense. Those men tried to kill us.”

But when he looks back at you, you realize that’s not what he’s concerned about. 

Any bullet makes a trail, and eventually, it will lead back to him. Even though it may take years, that is a fear that he lives with. He means for you to flee again. To pack up and start over. 

You shake your head, holding your baby close. “No, Arthur. I can’t.” You really can’t. Not when you’ve planted your roots, have finally gotten back into the swing of things since you gave birth to Alice a month ago. 

“Eliza—”

“We have a good life here…! Everything was fine! If you leave, nobody will know it was you. I will tell ‘em I did it. I can shoot a gun now, they’ll have to believe me.”

Arthur’s nose flares, his gaze intensifying. “You think they’ll believe that a woman armed with one—”

“Two. I had two.”

“Fine. Two revolvers—do you think that a woman armed with two revolvers could shoot three armed men in a matter of five seconds without taking a bullet herself?”

You don’t hesitate to answer. “Yes.”

Arthur pauses, running a hand over his face as he exhales. “You’re a beginner, Eliza. They won’t believe you.” 

This reunion has continued to take a turn for the worse. What should have been happy and joyous, possibly passionate, is now a canyon growing deeper and deeper between you. With him a mere five feet away from you, he feels more apart than he ever has been. 

Embittered, you deliver a poignant line. “I got the whole town to believe that I was a widow.” And it’s true, you did. You were able to explain away the reason why a pregnant girl at nineteen was alone in a town where no one knew you. And you managed just fine. You raised a garden by yourself, shot turkey for Thanksgiving by yourself, you hitch the wagon and do repairs by yourself. You’ve been alone for a while. “How can this be any different?”

Arthur speaks to you calmly now, his eyes soft. You aren’t thinking straight. He was a mere few seconds from coming across your dead body. He has to make it clear to you, to help you see it for what it is. “That ain’t gonna keep you safe no more…” He pauses again. “And there are more of ‘em. They’ll be back.”

“So stay.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

And you can’t hide the venom on your tongue. “Yeah, I know. You’ve said that before.”

You expect him to react in kind, but he only looks sadly at you. “I really can’t this time. Maybe if they didn’t—I came here ‘cause—Hell, I was gonna—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “None of us can.”

Your mind is still running in circles. You’re trying to make sense of it all, but all you can focus on are all the hurts you’ve harbored the last ten months. “Why did you come back, Arthur?”

He blinks. “What?”

You hold Alice closer, as though you can protect her from the tension in the room. “Why did you come back? It’s been almost a year. Where have you been?”

Arthur looks down at his son, who has been silently watching this conversation unfold. “Isaac, can you leave me to talk to your mama for a minute?” Nodding softly, Isaac turns around and leaves. Once the sound of his bedroom door closing is heard, Arthur continues. “I was near South America. We got too close to Mexico and ran into some trouble. We had to lay low before coming back up this way.” Arthur scratches the back of his head. “I had to sneak out of camp to get here…” And his mind goes back to the reason why he did sneak away. And what he brought with him. It still burns in his pocket, a reminder of what he had set out to do. 

But things aren’t at all how he pictured. 

You scowl, still angry. “Mexico? Another one of Dutch’s ideas?”

“Eliza…”

“I thought you died, Arthur. Do you realize how painful it is to keep waiting for you? My heart breaks every time you’ve walked out that door.” You feel the heat in your chest, emotions you swore you wouldn’t let yourself feel. “And this last time, when we—” You can’t even bring yourself to say it.  A lump forms in your throat and sensing your uneasiness, Alice grunts in your arms. You look down at her. She’s the physical representation of that night. A night, up until now, you thought of fondly. Daily. It haunted your dreams as though it would play for you like a moving picture. But now…you know that you can’t go back to the way things were. You can’t pretend anymore. “I can’t do it anymore, Arthur. I…love you too much.” You’ve said it again, the same words you tried using to get him to stay. “And to think I almost died without knowing if you were still alive…” 

And there it is. The hard reality of the situation. Arthur is happy to hear that you still love him, but it’s different now. Even though he had made the decision to return to you, to stay, he knows that it isn’t possible. He can’t just get down on one knee and ask you to…

He can’t. He’s failed you. By seconds, he would have lived tormented for the rest of his life. He needs to keep you and the children safe. 

But where are you going to go?

No. No, he can’t do that. 

But there’d be more folks to protect you and Isaac…and Alice.

But then they’d know.

Wouldn’t that be better than having you all dead?

As you both stand there, he wrestles with his indecision and you can see the contortion in his face. You aren’t sure why, or what he is thinking, but his silence after you once again told him how you feel, makes you more nervous, and the dread in the pit of your stomach builds. 

“We can’t stay, Eliza.” His eyes lift to meet yours. “I’m sorry.”

We. So at least he hasn’t fully decided to abandon you. Deep down, you know he’s right. They will be back, and there will be too much attention drawn to Aspen’s Way. “Where can we go?”

His eyes look down, gliding left to right. You know he’s thinking. Is it for the words to tell you or to come up with a place? You aren’t sure, and Alice begins to grow restless in your arms. You know she’s due for a feeding soon and as you wait for Arthur to speak, you begin to feel impatient. “Arthur, where?”

His eyes lift to meet yours. Seeing the deep was in his eyes, his lifted brow, you know he’s come to an answer. “With me.”

With me? But that would mean…

Your eyes widen at the realization: he means the gang. His camp. 

Years ago, you would have jumped at the chance. Like Maid Marion sneaking into the woods to find Robin Hood and his Merry Men, your curiosity couldn’t be sated. You wanted to see that part of his world, to meet the people he so fondly talked about. 

But most importantly, you wanted to be with him always. To see him ride off to hunt or do whatever he set out to do, and come right back. 

And back. 

And back. 

You wanted to see that loyalty to the gang be pressed onto you. 

But that night, when he made love to you, you told him you didn’t feel that way anymore. You wanted a home of your own, a place where you weren’t moving away from whenever there was trouble, like he always seemed to do. 

And now he is offering it to you. This is your option?

You start to shake your head. “What about Dutch? He doesn’t know about us. He won’t accept us.”

Arthur looks like he’s grasping for straws. “I’ll make him. Hosea he—he’ll understand.” Or at least he hopes he will. Since losing Bessie, he drinks most nights. And he usually snaps in that fox-like way when he’s angry. He’s unpredictable right now, and that is an uncomfortable thing for Arthur to admit. 

“I am not going to go robbin’ or anything,” you insist. 

Arthur holds up his palms. “I wouldn’t ask you to.” He pauses. “Just…come with me. You’ll be safe.”

You stare at him, unsure. 

Then he adds a promise, “I’ll find you a new place. Like this one, only better.”

You narrow your eyes. “When?”

“Soon. Once we get the money.” And you see a shift in his eyes, a deep softness he gives when he looks at you lovingly. It makes you melt almost nearly time. “Let me take care of you.”

Alice begins to grunt more pointedly, she is not going to wait forever. You try to console her while you think about it. 

At least he made the point to mention that it is temporary. You will have a homestead again. A place again. Aside from being gone too long, has he ever failed you?

You sigh, resigned. “Okay.”

***

The night is cool once the sun goes down, which is a welcomed feeling after coming back from the border of Mexico. But it doesn’t cool the simmering rage within the notorious gang leader, Dutch Van Der Linde. 

Dutch has been getting quite impatient, as he’s eager to utilize the newest member of the gang, a brutish, grizzly of an ex-soldier named Bill, and while he’s practically incoherent when he’s drunk, he speaks well with his fists. 

He was hoping that Arthur would be just as excited, but as soon as they reached the Idaho territory, everyone woke up to find him gone. His horse, and guns had gone with him. 

Thinking that he was just on a routine adventure, the charismatic leader wasn’t worried. It had been some time since he had run off to only God knows where, but he noticed something that made his blood boil. 

Most, if not all of Arthur’s personal effects, were gone. 

He done it. He left the gang. 

“It’ll be fine, Dutch,” Hosea reassures his longtime friend, resting a hand on his shoulder. This is one of his rare good days, he hasn’t touched a bottle of whiskey yet, but the night is still young. “Arthur is too loyal for his own good. He will be back before we will ever have cause to worry.”

But Dutch isn’t convinced. “He didn’t say he’d be back.”

Hosea doesn’t offer a smile, but looks at the expanse of the valley before him. “This is around the area that he always likes to take off, you know that.” But Hosea can’t lie that he, too, is a little concerned; it has been four days since Arthur left them. He tucks his chin. “He always comes back. It isn’t like he has a reason not to.” He says this with a hidden meaning, a guilt that punctuates every word.

Dutch’s eyes narrow. “Don’t blame me for Bessie, Hosea.”

Hosea takes a soft step back. So much for trying to be helpful. After everything they’ve been through, this is how he treats a friend? It is an uncomfortable shift, and while Hosea doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have the motivation, nor the desire, to try to fix it. “Well, excuse me, friend,” he says flatly. “I guess I’ll pick up where I left off…” And he turns in the direction of his crate of whiskey. 

Dutch ignores the subtlety of the con man’s words. He doesn’t care for the moment. He’s more focused on the implied abandonment from his most reliable gun. Now, that man has his priorities straight. He wouldn’t let a woman get in between him and the gang. Sure, there was that fling with that Mary girl, but once he saw through the bull and wiles, Arthur was back to his old self. And since Hosea has been mourning Bessie, Dutch feels that he’s one idea short of a strong movement, and he needs Arthur with him in this time of uncertainty right now. 

Of course, in the beginning, Dutch was sympathetic to Hosea’s woe, but it’s been almost a year now. Bessie was a good soul, perhaps too good, and her death hit everyone. But because of her illness, they were stuck near South America longer than he wanted to, and since the trouble they started turned out to be more than just the typical con or robbery, tension was building. 

Hosea insisted that they stay put, Bessie couldn’t travel, but Dutch knew better. They had to leave. They argued for a few days. 

But they didn’t have to argue for long, for their decision was made for them when Bessie passed away. A day after burying her, they packed and headed north, and finally, after several months, they reached the Idaho territory. 

And now, here they are. 

Dutch has since resolved that he won’t let a woman get the better of him or any of his men. Even Annabelle, whom he adores and loves every morning, noon, and night, will have to work extremely hard to get the better of this gang leader. 

As Dutch continues to pace outside his tent, he hears a sharp sound from the front of the camp. 

“Dutch! We got a wagon comin’ in!”

It’s Bill, boarish as ever. 

John, Dutch’s young protégé, rises from the scout’s fire, grabs his gun, and runs out of the camp to join the newest recruit. But upon reaching him, he quickly puts his gun away. “Lower your gun, you idiot,” John tells Bill. “It’s Arthur.”

It’s Arthur, alright. He’d easily recognize that black leather hat, the buckskin jacket, and the…sad little cart?

John pinches his brow and lifts the corner of his upper lip. Why the hell is he driving a cart with a Suffolk Punch at the reins?

Then, after squinting his eyes, he sees his potential answer. 

He sees you, sitting beside the runaway outlaw, with a little baby in your arms. 

Now, John knows for a fact that they’ve done the good deed once in a while, but bringing in a woman? Well, women, sure, but a woman who ain’t the come-and-go kind? A mother and baby? What kind of good deed is this? 

Bill still hasn’t lowered his gun, and with a forceful arm, the twenty year old grips the barrel and pushes it down to point at the ground. “Didn’t ya hear a thing I said?”

“What the hell is a woman doin’ here?” Bill snarls. 

John, while asking himself the same question, isn’t about to let Bill interrogate his brother-in-arms. “You have no right to be askin’ him them questions, Williamson! Now, go tell Dutch to stop diggin’ a canyon in the dirt!” Bill gives him a confused look and John has to roll his eyes. He never figured the ex-soldier is as dumb as he is big. “Tell Dutch Arthur’s back!”

Bill growls. “I ain’t stupid, Jimbo.” And he turns to head back into camp. 

“It’s John…!” John roars through gritted teeth, and taking a moment to compose himself, he returns to the task at hand: seeing about Arthur’s new business of rescuing maternal women. 

His footfalls make little to no sound as he crosses into the tall grasses as Arthur continues to drive up. The sun has nearly gone down now, and he can barely make out their figures until they reach the glow of the camp. 

Arthur looks tired. It isn’t the typical travel-tired, or battle-worn expression he will wear when fleeing or moving to the next job. This is a different expression that John has never seen. 

They lock eyes. It’s definitely not an expression he’s ever seen. 

“John,” Arthur greets. 

What? No quip? No jab? Just a solemn hello. John’s eyes migrate to the woman, you, sitting beside the fatigued outlaw. Your eyes are soft, brown, doe-like, but it hardly takes away the intensity of your gaze. A watchful look, and it is reflected in how you hold your baby. John can’t get a good look at the baby, it is bundled too tightly in what looks to be a shawl. 

But he gets a good look at the gun on your hip. 

Hell, this isn’t just some regular woman. Who are you?

“Morgan,” John finally says in reply to Arthur’s greeting a moment ago. He motions to lift a finger and point it in your direction, but decides against it. 

But Arthur doesn’t miss it, and so he turns his body in your direction, nearly placing a hand on the small of your back, but rests it against the back of the seat instead. “This is Eliza.”

You swallow. He has yet to introduce your two little ones. 

John, unacquainted with manners, fumbles with his hat as he takes it off his head. Normally, with woman-folk, aside from the ones who live at camp, they aren’t really too picky with the men they keep for company, and so they usually skip any and all formalities. Hell, they bear no introductions and jump right to the informal actions that are reserved for the most intimate of spaces. John swallows thickly. “Erm, ma’am.”

You don’t answer. You’re still numb. Your fingers press into the shawl covering Alice, and you feel her wriggle in your arms. 

That’s when you feel Arthur’s palm against your back. You nearly gasp. 

“Eliza, this is John.” He doesn’t bother with the last name, he doesn’t need to.

You force a soft smile. You don’t want to make a bad first impression, especially now that you’re here. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Marston.”

John reacts surprised, his brow furrowing and his left foot moves backward. By the way you spoke, it sounds like you already know him, but he knows he’s never met or heard tale of you. 

And without any further explanation, Arthur motions to get off the wagon cart. “Where’s Dutch?” he asks. 

John turns around and looks into the camp. Dutch isn’t pacing by his tent anymore, he must have gone inside. The other members of the camp, Susan, Pearson, and Bill, are all standing nearby, watching. 

John looks back at Arthur, who has just planted his feet on the ground. “In his tent.”

Arthur sighs. “Alright.” He looks up at you and places a hand on your arm. “Wait here, Eliza, can you do that?”

You nod softly. Isaac is still asleep in the back of the wagon, and you aren’t fixing to leave him. 

And so, Arthur turns. “Let’s go, Marston.”

John, still somewhat impressionable by his superior, follows. 

You regard the camp and the strangers who stare at you. You can only make assumptions based on the little things that Arthur has told you over the years, but you aren’t going to waltz over and address them by their names. Instead, you hold your baby close and turn your body to look down into the back of the wagon. 

Isaac is laying down on some rolled-up blankets for comfort, his eyes closed shut and his mouth slightly agape as he sleeps. How he is still asleep after the last stretch of bumpy trails, you’ll never know, but you’re glad that he’s not in any distress. You and Arthur both have been trying to conceal the severity of your situation, he has heard too much already. 

You hear voices and turn back around. It’s two distinct voices coming from the largest tent in the camp. The tent flap opens, and a woman, beautiful and in her mid-thirties, steps out. She has a shawl draped over her shoulders and by the way the others look at her, it is clear she holds some importance. You can’t seem to put a name to her round face. Who is she?

She tucks her long, dark brown hair away from her face and she looks at you. 

Her gaze isn’t imposing, or judgmental. It is soft and observant. She says something to the onlookers and they seem to go about their business. 

You suddenly hear a rise in voices behind the tent. And then a booming voice, not Arthur’s, roars from within. “You did WHAT…?!”

The tent opens in a frenzy, and out storms a tall man, with dark hair, and in imposing posture. 

And Arthur, eyes aflame, follows after him. “Dutch, you leave her out of this!”

So, this is Dutch. Dutch Van Der Linde in the flesh. The man with the plans, schemes, and dreams. 

He turns on his heels, facing Arthur. “Leave her out of it?” He points a bejeweled finger in your direction, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise. It is then that you recognize him, those rings catching the firelight open up a series of memories, one being of the two men you served at the restaurant years ago. Two men, looking for information on the bank. Dutch was one of those men. 

It all makes sense now. 

Dutch continues, “You mean to tell me you’ve had this woman, bring her here, and expect me to keep her out of this?!”

Arthur, clearly flustered, snaps back. “She ain’t done nothin’ wrong! I had no choice but to bring ‘er here.”

“And why’s that, boy? By the looks of it, she ain’t the sort to be bringin’ around folk like us, especially how you come back with your tail between your legs.” Dutch studies Arthur, cocking his head to the left. “Go on, tell these hard-workin’ folks what you’ve brought to us.”

Arthur swallows. He had never intended for Dutch to know, or any of them to know, for that matter. He can tell by the sudden hush in camp that all work has stopped to ensure that what Arthur says will be heard loud and clear. He knows that they will know sooner or sooner. 

But he wants to fight that reality. “Dutch…”

“Go on, Arthur.” There is a pregnant pause, which infuriates Dutch all the more. “SAY IT…!”

A vein bulges in Arthur’s neck, but he soon answers. “My children and their mama.”

There is a collective silence, and a soft gasp from the two women who were eyeing you earlier. They look at you and you clutch your baby tighter. 

Dutch grins, but not the kind that gives off true joy, but of victory. “And after abandoning us, you just expect me to accept them with open arms?”

While that may be true, Arthur has too much pride to admit it. “Who says I left?”

“Don’t try to play ignorant, boy.” And he points a finger in Arthur’s chest. “You better figure out where your loyalties lie, or you will be playin’ a different sort of game.”

Arthur doesn’t flinch, showing no sigh of fear. “I’m here now, ain't I?”

Dutch scoffs, opening his arms. “Ah, see? There it is! Arthur Morgan, the one man I can really count on, had gone off and betrayed us! And now, he expects me to just let him have his way?” He may be shouting into the night for all to hear, but he has no intention of having his question answered. Then his face darkens as he looks Arthur dead in the eyes. “They cannot stay here.”

Arthur blinks, trading his cold resolve for a simple plea. “Dutch, they have nowhere else to go…! You can’t just—”

“They. Can. Not. Stay. Here….!!”

“They aren’t goin’ anywhere, Dutch.”

Arthur and Dutch turn and follow the line of everyone’s gaze as they look upon another unfamiliar but familiar face to you, a lean, older-looking man, as he carefully walks towards them. He holds a bottle of whiskey in his hand, and while his steps are sure-footed, you can tell that the man has had a couple of drinks. By the lean frame, and confidence in his speech, you can tell that this is none other than the Hosea Matthews...and the man who accompanied Dutch at the restaurant. 

Dutch’s eyes narrow. “What did you say?”

Hosea stops and takes a big swig of the bottle before answering. “You are going to tell me you are above mercy? This is Arthur’s flesh and blood we are talkin’ about, here…! You’re going to turn them away?”

Dutch’s voice softens, if but only to show annoyance. “Go to bed, Hosea, you’re drunk.”

Hosea’s eyes flash a lightning-hot rage, and he throws his bottle into the ground, the ground soft enough to where it doesn’t shatter. “I’m not drunk enough! Arthur has come back seeking our aid and you’re too stuck on your own pride to grant him this one thing. He’s never asked for anything, but has always done as he was bid.” He points at Arthur. “Don’t you think he had reason to keep this part of his life a secret? Look at what you’re doin’ now!”

Dutch looks around him. These people, these carpetbaggers and dreamers, they all look up to him and suddenly, he fears that is being called into question. At first, he was sure they would side with him. After all, Arthur was fixing to abandon them. To leave them, all for a woman and two whelps. But now that Hosea has opened his mouth, and looking at their faces…

He can see it. Compassion. Sympathy. Mercy. 

And suddenly, a soft hand enters his, causing his breath to hitch. Turning his neck, he looks into the green eyes that he knows all too well. 

“It’s as you say,” Annabelle begins gently. “Save those as need savin’, shoot those as need shootin’, and feed those as need feedin’.”

But he can’t just cave in, not at the pleadings of Hosea nor from his lover. 

He maintains his scowl. “They can stay. For now.” He looks intensely at Arthur. “They are out of my hands. You will take care of them.”

And Arthur challenges him right back with a look of his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And with that, Dutch makes his way back into his tent, trying to pull Annabelle with him, but she gently wrings her hand free. He halts in his steps looking at her and she softly shakes her head. “In a minute, my dear.”

He doesn’t answer and instead goes into his tent without another word. 

Annabelle, waiting a moment, turns and goes to Arthur. Looking into his eyes, she links an arm with his. “Let me meet this family of yours,” she says with a smile. 

Arthur, still surprised by the streak of kindness after all that, wordlessly walks towards you as you remain in the wagon. 

You’ve watched the entire exchange without as much as a peep from your lips. You’ve seen the dynamic of the gang in just twenty minutes, and you now see what it has done to Arthur. He was in the highest part of Dutch’s cast system, and now he has lowered himself to that of a new recruit. 

And he had left them. All for you. Was he really leaving? Was he really intending to stay with you in Aspen’s Way?

You so desperately want to ask him, to have your deepest wishes confirmed, even though they are clearly out of your reach now. You want him to tell you that he loves you, all of these years he’s never said it, it would mean something now.  

Annabelle and Arthur reach you and she slips her arm out from under Arthur’s. She gives you a smile and stands right next to you. 

“Hello,” she says. “I’m Annabelle. Dutch’s woman.”

You blink. “I’m Eliza.”

“Eliza,” she repeats. “Lovely name for a lovely young mother.” She holds up her hands. “Do you need someone to hold your baby so you can get off the wagon?”

You look up to Arthur, seeking feedback. He notices, and nods his head. “It’s alright.”

And seeing that Annabelle is showing kindness, you’re tempted to accept. Carefully adjusting Alice in your hands, you hand over the baby and Annabelle takes her with a familiarity. You wonder if she’s had children of her own. You have yet to see any. 

But if you’d think a little longer, you’d realize that there is a rule against babies and small children in camp. 

Annabelle takes a step back with Alice in her arms and she begins to rock her. She looks down at your daughter fondly. “What is her name?”

Arthur answers, saying her name for the first time. “Alice Elizabeth.”

Annabelle clicks her tongue. “Ah, a beautiful name.” She looks up at Arthur. “Her initials will look a lot like yours, won’t they, Arthur?”

Huh, he hadn’t really thought of that. “I guess they do.” He steps around Annabelle to get to you, and offers his arms. “Let me help you down.”

You nod and bend over to support yourself by resting your hands on his arms. His large hands take you by the waist and with a quick motion, he helps you to your feet. Not letting the moment linger, he removes his hands and goes to the back of the wagon. 

Arthur leans over it, and sees his sleeping boy. His eyes soften. Such an innocent life, so fragile, and he can’t help but feel that he’s failing him again by bringing him here. 

Arthur reaches down into the wagon and gently jostles the boy. “Isaac…”

And just like that, Isaac begins to stir, arching his back to stretch and scrunching his face. When his little, brown eyes squint open to see his father, he whimpers. “Oh, Daddy…”

Arthur can feel his heart melting away. He so desperately wanted to keep the tough facade he’s maintained in the gang, but how can he keep being cold towards his son? He just can’t do it. He reaches and scoops his son under the arms and picks him up carefully. He brings Isaac close to him and supporting Isaac underneath his arm and bottom, Isaac rests his head in the crook of Arthur’s neck. Arthur, without giving it a second thought, cups the back of his son’s head and kisses the boy’s cheek. Arthur locks eyes with you and you feel your own heart melting. 

You turn and face Annabelle, holding out your arms to take your baby back. She gives her up willingly and you look Alice over. She’s still peacefully asleep. Peacefully unaware that her life has changed forever. 

Arthur comes up beside you. “Follow me.” And he walks into the camp. You remain close by his side, seeking comfort and protection in his presence as eyes continue to stare at you. 

John, while being like a stray dog, isn’t a stranger to your cue and turns to the old man and Bill who stand nearby. “What’re you gawkin’ at?! Don’t you got some beer drink and a post to guard?” He begins pushing the old man off and Bill turns away, clutching his gun like a lost treasure. 

Annabelle, who’s following close behind, looks over to another woman. “Susan, do we have any spare blankets? Or a tent?”

Mrs. Grimshaw. Arthur has only mentioned her to you a few times, but you see how she matches his characterization of her. You can tell beneath the age that threatens her skin, she was a beautiful woman in her time. She’s older than Annabelle, to be sure, and you wonder why she’s still around. 

Susan nods. “I will check the wagon. Doubt we have a tent, but we sure got some blankets…” and she turns on her heels and walks between two tents and to the wagon, which is parked behind them. 

Arthur leads you to a wagon that has a canvas covering set up as a tent on one of its sides. Arthur lifts the flap and backs up to let you in first. “This is…where you can sleep for now.”

It’s then you realize that this is his tent. His place. After leaving his gaze, you duck your head slightly and enter. 

The space is small. There is a cot on the left and a set of crates that act like a makeshift wall. A small table stands beside the cot, and several small items rest on it. A lantern hangs on one of the posts and casts an orange glow about the space. You figure you and Issac can sleep together on the cot. You need to get Alice’s cradle from the back of the wagon. 

But that leaves another person. You turn around to see Arthur enter the space, Isaac still sleeping on his chest. “Where will you sleep?” you ask, the first words you’ve said to him in hours. 

He looks around, as though he can conjure up something by just looking at the floor. “I will sleep outside. I don’t mind.”

You aren’t sure how you feel about that answer. He’s the only person you know here, and after everything that has happened, even with the tension between you, you find that you still desire his company, his safety. “Can’t you…?” you begin, your voice fading into the night as you can’t decide whether to ask him or not. You watch him as he holds his son, your son, and the way his hand is gently rubbing the boy’s back as he sleeps. He’s been such a good father when he’s present and now that you’ll be seeing each other more often, you can’t help but find some sort of happiness for Isaac. 

You haven’t finished your sentence in a minute, and Arthur begins to grow curious. He wants to please you, to make things less stressful than they already are. “Can’t I what?”

Your eyes look down, the light catching your eyelashes. You’re a beautiful picture there, like old paintings Arthur has seen in wealthy houses he’s robbed. The way the shadows are cast in the folds of your blouse and the ruffles of your skirt. The glow of the light on your skin and the forehead of your baby. If he were a painter, but he’s only a mere man with a pencil, he’d set up an easel and begin the first paint stroke on the canvas right here. 

“Can you…” you begin again. “…stay here? With us?”

His heart beats a little faster at that question. But surely, you don’t mean exactly that. “You mean…in here?”

You shrug, and your baby stirs. Her face scrunches and she begins to whimper. You wish you knew what time it was, but it has been hours since she was last fed. 

Arthur knows that cry and he begins to go to the cot and lower Isaac down. “I’ll bring your things in here.” And he turns around to leave, closing the flap behind him. 

You look down at the sleeping form of your son, blissfully unaware he’s no longer in his father’s embrace. Carefully positioning yourself, you sit down beside him and hurry to unbutton your blouse while Alice continues to get fussy. After hearing Dutch’s outburst, the last thing you want is to give him something to complain about, regardless of who may be on your side. 

You manage to unbutton your blouse with one hand and once your chest is bare, you are able to nurse your daughter. Her cries are muffled and soon she makes contented feeding sounds. You gently rock her, humming the lullaby you’ve always hummed to soothe her. There is ample privacy from the confines of Arthur’s tent, but it isn’t soundproof. You begin to worry. This isn’t going to be just one night. This is going to be multiple days and multiple nights, however many it will be before you either find a new place, or Dutch kicks you out. 

But if you have learned anything from the last five years, it is that you are capable of making something out of nothing. You will make it through this. 

But what about Arthur? What does this mean for him? 

Your thoughts have you drowning so deep that you don’t notice the flap pulling back again. Arthur steps inside, carrying the baby cradle with some blankets inside. He sees you, eyes cast downward to your daughter, his daughter, as she feeds. Her eyelids are growing heavy, and her chubby little fingers are wrapped around your sole forefinger. He steps inside and lets the flap fall behind him, enshrouding you both in privacy once again. 

It has been a while since he’s seen you like this. When Isaac was just a baby. He remembers drawing you in a familiar position, and it felt more sacredly intimate than any other time he had drawn you before. It was the first drawing he had shown you, and feeling shy for asking, his face was nearly pink when he asked if you were okay with being drawn like that. But you smiled, and said you didn’t mind.

You finally notice him at the corner of your eye, and you lift your head to look at him. You don’t rush to find something to cover you. You just sit there, doing the most natural thing you can do as a mother. 

He clears his throat and motions to set the cradle down just in front of the table. “Do you want this here?”

You nod softly, your voice low and gentle. “That’s fine, thank you.”

He rises and pulls down on his jacket. “Well…erm…you hungry or somethin’?”

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He looks at Isaac. He’s surprised the boy is still out cold. “It’s been a long day for him,” he says out loud without realizing it. 

“Yes, it has.”

His eyes return to you and your bare shoulder, the loose strands of your hair, your calloused hands though gentle they seem as they cradle the nursing babe. You’ve worked too hard and too long, and yet you’re working still. 

“Is there anythin’ else I can do for you?” he asks quietly. He, too, is aware of the level of privacy behind his tent. That’s why he takes to traveling out on his own, and keeping thoughts to his journal. Otherwise, everything is out in the open. But now, everyone knows his greatest weakness. It’s only a matter of time before it is used against him. 

You shake your head. “Just get yourself some rest, Arthur. You look tired.”

He nods. He probably looks horrible. He looks down at his blue shirt, the one you made for him. You had put a lot of effort into making it, a lot of love into every stitch. 

And now there are specks of blood on it. He didn’t even notice until now. And neither did you. 

A soft “oh” escapes your lips as you cast your eyes on the red that is scattered over the light blue. 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he manages to say. 

You look away to Alice, who has fed from all that she can and before she can get too fussy, you switch sides and continue feeding her. “I can wash it,” you sigh. “Get some rest, Arthur. I’ll be up a while longer.”

He wants to ask you if you still want him to…no, he can’t possibly ask you again. After all, you just said to get some rest. There isn’t any place for him to sleep. 

He sighs, feeling the weight of the day on his shoulders. “Okay.” And he turns around to leave. 

“Oh, you are comin’ back, aren’t you?”

He stops and looks over his shoulder. “Come back?”

You swallow thickly, the uneasiness of your heart betraying your desire to remain closed-hearted. “I can’t…I can’t bear to take your tent and not have you use it.”

He turns his full body back around. “It ain’t right to leave you with nothin’, Eliza.” He looks at the cot. “There ain’t room for me in here.”

You blush, he means to sleep with you on the cot? If you got real close you could manage it, but what would that mean? What does all of this mean? 

You heard what Dutch said. Arthur had meant to leave and not come back. He admitted to the very deed. 

He was running back to you. To do what? 

You swallow. “Maybe if we…” you look over to the cot. “But Isaac…” and then you look back up at him. He sees those pools of brown. Those mud-stained amber stones that warm his soul. He sees those pleading eyes. He knows you don’t want him to leave. 

And neither does he, but what does this mean for the two of you? Can you both move past this and leave things as they are? 

He reaches behind his neck and scratches his scalp. “I guess I can sleep here on the ground. Lay my sleepin’ roll down and keep my head up by the cradle.”

“You’re too long, Arthur.”

He waves off the notion. “I don’t always sleep sprawled out. It’ll be fine.”

He sees you relax, a smile barely forming on your lips. “I guess you’re right.” You remember the colder nights where he’d be balled up, and you’d sneak another blanket on top of him. You wish for those nights again. 

He turns back around. “Gotta get my sleepin’ roll off Boadicea.”

“Okay,” you quietly say, and watch him go. 

***

Arthur makes it a few feet away from his tent when he hears a low cackle. Looking over towards the fire, he sees Bill, sitting on the log next to the fire. Everyone else has clearly gone to bed, so Arthur gets the impression that the boar was waiting for him. 

“You wanna tell me what’s so damned funny?” Arthur asks with a growl. 

Bill reaches his hands toward the fire to warm them. As his face nears the glow, the smirk is clearly planted in his expression. “Just never thought Dutch’s boys were a bunch of sissies.”

Arthur feels his hackles rise. “Never took you for a thinker, Williamson.”

This is enough to catch Bill off guard and enough to grow angry. He quickly rises to his feet, revealing a more agile nature that is quite the antonym for his size. “What did you just say to me?”

Arthur is not in the mood for a fight, not when he’s tired and in enough hot water already. “If you didn’t hear the first time, ain’t gonna bother to repeat it. Go back on guard duty like you were supposed to.”

He doesn’t bother to wait for a response and continues walking. 

But he hears a growl behind him. “I don’t take orders from you, deserter! You’ll get what’s yours when Dutch comes to his senses…!”

Arthur clenches his jaw and his fists. Normally, if any man so as much as spat in his direction, he would take it as an invitation for a fight. In his younger days, it was a fine way to show off, to impress any new members, or to prove his status in the gang. But now, as he’s gotten older, he’s learned to be more patient, and to keep his strength in check. Let it be the one thing that his opponent underestimates. That’s the best course of action, especially now, when only but a few feet away his children and you are hidden away in his tent. 

They don’t need another act of violence tonight. 

He reaches Boadicea, who is still tied to the end of the wagon. He reaches her head and strokes her forelock slowly. “I’m sorry, girl,” he says quietly. “Didn’t think all that would take so long.” He goes to work at removing the reins from its knot and begins to lead her toward the other horses that are loose together and grazing. He doesn’t remove her bridle, but decides to take off her saddle. The leather creaks in a comforting way, and he watches Boadicea’s ears as they pivot and move in the direction of its sound. She snorts happily, freedom and rest only a few moments away. 

“Almost done there, girl,” he chuckles. “You was never patient.” And after another moment or two, the saddle is off of her back. Resting it down in a convenient place, Boadicea lumbers over to the other horses. Arthur goes to work at removing his sleeping roll and tucks it under his arm. 

“You ready to retire for the night?”

The voice nearly spooks him and he turns around quickly. “Hosea?” he asks. 

“It’s me, Arthur.”

He sighs. “You shoah scared me.” Hosea steps into the light, revealing dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. “Hell, Hosea…”

“I’m fine, Arthur.”

“It‘ll take more than that to convince me.”

Hosea smiles, and a sense of calm comes over Arthur. He’s always loved Dutch like a father, but he can’t help but love Hosea a little more. He seems more human, more about people just as much as he is about staying alive. Hosea treats him like a son, he and Bessie both did. 

Oh, Bessie, if only she hadn’t left them all. Hosea is clearly lost without her, even though he came through for Arthur tonight. 

“Worry about yourself, you look like a deer carcass.”

Arthur tucks his chin. “I ruined Eliza’s shirt.”

Hosea points a finger at it. “I was wondering where you got it. You came back to camp all saddened, like you just came back from a funeral.”

“It was the last day I saw her,” Arthur explains. “She gave it to me the night before…” He looks up at Hosea. “I had to go, Hosea. Dutch kept sayin’ we was all leavin’ and Eliza weren’t gonna go with me. I wanted…I wanted…” he lets his voice fall. “It don’t matter.”

“Why did you bring her here, son?”

“Robbers. Call themselves the Calico Bandits. Nearly shot Eliza and our little ones, if I were only a second late...”

“My god.”

“I couldn’t leave them there. I killed those men, and it would’ve all been—”

“I understand, son. You did what you thought was right.”

But Arthur feels uncertain. When he usually makes a decision, it’s usually with great confidence. In a fight or stressful situation, he can think of a way out on a dime, it’s how he’s been raised. Not this time. His brow furrows and he feels a tightness in his chest.  “But is it best? To have brought ‘em here with Dutch bein’ so angry?”

But Hosea doesn’t immediately reply. It could be because half of the whiskey bottle is still settling in his stomach or that he doesn’t have an answer. And either option is still left in the dark when he speaks again. “Were you really going to leave us?”

And Arthur, too, goes quiet for a few seconds, before he answers calmly. “What would you say if I was?”

There is something in Hosea’s eyes, in the dimmed light. A convicted softness, as his eyes lift and look into the darkness before them. “I’d say you’ve learned much at a better bargain than the rest of us.” And before he will give himself the chance to offer an explanation, he rests a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Goodnight, son,” and he turns to head in the direction of his tent. 

Arthur thinks he knows what he means, but he doesn’t want to believe it. Would Hosea really have left the gang for Bessie? Sure, he did leave years ago, but was only gone for a year before they both came back.

He remembers how Bessie was, even though she smiled, there was a sadness in her eyes. Hosea lit up her world as though he were the sun itself, but when he left her presence, the moon in her eyes grew dim. 

Now, Arthur isn’t an astronomer or anything, but he figures if one were without the other, everything would just fall apart. He has enough evidence from the last ten months to come to that conclusion. 

After unhitching your Suffolk Punch, named Farm Boy, and letting him graze with the others, he lumbers his way back to his tent. Lifting away the flap, his eyes immediately gravitate to where he left you. You’re laying down on your side, Issac pulled towards you, and a single blanket covers the both of you. He looks over to the crib, and still in your shawl and a knitted blanket, lays Alice. 

He exhales slowly. Alice, his daughter. He knows how she came to be here. Does he feel regret? Guilt? Perhaps. Only for the fact that he would have been too late. 

Too late. 

He gets to work at unwraveling his bed roll, the opening at the foot of Alice’s cradle. Knowing its a cooler night, as they usually are in this part of the country, he takes another blanket and lays it over you and your son. He pauses a moment and after hesitating, he bends down and kisses Isaac atop his head. “I love you, son.”

Backing away carefully, he goes to the ground on his knees, looking over the cradle. He sees her still form, her little breaths in the rise and fall of her chest, and how her arms are up close by her face. Such a little thing. 

“Alice…” he whispers so quiet, that he can hardly hear it. He reaches a tentative hand into the cradle and carefully adjusts her blanket. Her hand suddenly falls and her fingers take his pinky. He feels the tightness of her grip and also the chokehold on his heart. 

He feels a lump in his throat, a choking feeling as the tightness in his chest makes his body go rigid. His eyes begin to sting, and he hates himself for it. 

Get ahold of yourself, Morgan! he chastises himself. 

But he finds himself going weaker and weaker, and seeing the soft smile on his daughter’s face, he gives into the swell, sobbing into his hand as he covers his eyes. 

“I’m so sorry…” he cries, trembling. “So sorry.”

And while struggling to speak, he makes the promise to do right by her and that she and Isaac will never have to wonder who or where their father is, ever again.

Thank you for reading!

Would you like me to post the next chapter? Leave a comment if you’d like the next one! :D

[johnpriceslamb]

𝐌𝐀𝐘 𝐈 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐀𝐏?

❛ you ask the Van Der Linde boys if you could sit on their lap. ❜

BEFORE YOU PROCEED! ┊female ! reader . afab ! reader . reader is physically shorter than chars mentioned below . suggestive themes implied . wrds . not edited . not proof-read . Javier ver touchy . google translated Spanish . John is very drunk . 1.4k wrd-count

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐍

You want to what?

You tinker your lashes multiple times innocently at his flabbergasted expression, unconsciously tilting your head at his dramatic approach. From your tone alone meant nothing but the most purest intentions, he knew well you mean no harm. But hearing those words made his cheeks burn a tad bit brighter.

“May I please— “No, no, I heard ya the first time- I just..” He abruptly cuts you. He narrows his eyes at you, sizing you up head-to-toe just to see if you were in a playful manner. You weren’t.

He grumbles softly, contemplating. He scratches behind his neck for a bit before a deep sigh escapes his mouth and he leans back on the wooden chair he sat upon.

“C’mere.”

He beckons you to come closer with two fingers lazily waving in the air. Immediately do you obey his simple commands like a lost pup, hands clasped prettily in-front of your chest as you easily plop yourself on his lap. Your back almost hits his chest, akin to a literal brick wall from all of the labour work he’s done. Unconsciously does his large hands come to your hips, positioning them slightly just so you’d be a tad bit more comfortable.

It’s easy to tilt your head upwards to see his face, the prickles of hair sticking out on his chin is the most prominent thing from your view. He feels your stare almost immediately and looks down at your beady eyes. He has to stop himself from grinning at your unawareness.

The cowpoke could only narrow his eyes at the soft giggle you produced from your mouth, a hand resting on your hip, “What?”

You look away with a tiny smile, “Nuthin’.”

He lets out another deep sigh, before pinching your cheek.

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍

The bottle of beer in his hand almost slips to the ground after hearing your simple question.

He raises a hand to scratch at the stubble on his jaw, mindful to be aware of the deep claw-marks embedded on his skin. The bottle was placed on the table with a clumsy clatter, back supported by the edge of the table.

“..Watchu say?” He squints his dark eyes at you. He must’ve drunk too much, perhaps he heard you wrong. His tone was always raspy yet so demeaning playful even. You took it as if he didn’t want you to, and you shrink meekly.

You stutter shyly, “I’ll just go ask someone else—

He felt his guts squeeze and churn at the sight of you sitting on someone else’s lap. All sense of proper etiquette is thrown away from jealousy and alcoholic behaviour, his hand is very quick to grabbing yours as he roughly pulls you back. A tiny squeal escapes your lap as you clumsily fall on his chest and onto his hard thighs.

Your hands are clinging onto his opened top to balance yourself, the smirk on his face visible as he sees how shy you suddenly became.

The strong scent of alcohol makes your nose scrunch up. He rests his chin on the crook of your neck, stubble lightly tickling your sensitive skin. After a few minutes of making yourself comfy on his lap and finally staying still, his hand comes to grab his bottle to take another chug.

“John,” You almost whine at the way he unconsciously starts to bounce his knee up and down. A habit he’s not prone to ever since he started drinking. It was almost like he forgot you were sitting on his lap after a few minutes. Immediately does he stop his movement, a low slurr of babbles and a soft hiccup escapes his lips, “Whoops— sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, he cheekily stares down at you.

“Y’know,” He hics.

“Yer behind feels kinda good on my-

“John.”

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐇

He’s a bit clueless at first, bless his heart.

He’s busy carving a small piece of wood with his knife, hunched over as his long hair falls, covering the sides of his face almost elegantly. He wasn’t bothered to tie his hair back, nor raise a finger to place it behind his ear. He stops re-shaping the small piece of wood as he hears a soft patter of footsteps from in-front.

“Hm?” He hums, his guard lowers significantly once realising it was you. The knife is lowered too, and the items were placed afar so it does not distract you nor come in your way.

“May I please sit on your lap?” You ask with those big beady eyes of yours, hands behind your back as your tone is light and sweet.

Of course, silence is ensured for a few seconds. His brooding figure straightens up from his spot. He quirks a dark, angular brow at your much smaller figure.

“Why?” He asks with a straight face.

Your cheeks burn, and your expression was alike of a kicked pup. He catches on quickly, and he immediately feels bad for seeming so nonchalant and blunt.

“U-Um.. I just, I wanted to.. N-nevermind. Sorry.” You shyly stammer, akin to a doe whom tries to stand up for the first time.

He easily suppresses the smile which almost etched onto his face at your stuttering. Cute.

“I didn’t say no, y’know.” He gestures you to come over with a simple pat on his thigh. You beam, eagerly toddling to him like a tiny tot wanting to get her stuffies. You sit yourself on his thighs, shoes quite literally lifting off of the ground because of how big he was. Even if he sat down, he still always towered over you.

He allows you to wiggle a bit on his lap, but a hand comes down to rest on your knee to squeeze it a bit as a gentle warning to not go any higher. You do obey, of course. Your back is to his chest, your hands positioned on your lap as you almost melt at how warm he was.

“Comfortable?” At each word he uttered to you, it was more toned down in pitch, a low hum always started. You nod lazily, a smile of satisfaction of how comfy he felt underneath. You don’t mind the way he snakes his arms around your waist. “Good.”

𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐔𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐀

You regret asking.

Simply put, he’s handsy.

The smirk on his face is very visible. The log he rests upon feels even more smaller as he slowly starts to manspread right in front of you. The guitar in his hand is placed gently just to the side before he beckons you to come forth. You reluctantly sit on his lap, almost squirming at how close he was.

A hand on your hip, another squish to your thigh, a soft roll from his hip teasingly upwards, a touch here, a touch there..

“Javier!” You whine, swatting his hand off your curves. He could only teasingly grin, before shrugging. “..Tu pediste esto.” His voice serenades.

You try to swat his hands off again, but merely give up, knowing he won’t stop any time soon. You lay your cheek on his chest, lithe arms wrapped around his waist as your back arches a tad bit from not supporting your structure. His hands are on the small of your back, rubbing small circles on the softness of your clothed skin.

The embers from the mini camp-fire is light and descends off in the dark night, crackles of the wood calms your nerves down just a bit. He does tone his touch down just a tad bit for your sake, despite wanting to desperately grab at.. literally anything. He’s had ladies before, but by far was he the neediest when it came to you.

You can’t help but take a small peak from above, wispy lashes coming to tinker a bit when he tilts his gaze to fixate on you. A small smile on his face, as he greedily eats up all of the touch you gave to him.

“..hi.” You quietly mumble, a bit muffled because of the fact that half of your face is mushed against the fabrics of his clothes. A fox-like grin etches on his tan face as he presses a tiny kiss on your forehead, entertaining you by replying with a simple “hola.”

“You’re really clingy- and touchy. I hope you know that.” You grumble when his hand comes to cup your curves again.

He smiles lazily. “I know.”

[red-doll-face]

Getting caught in the rain with Arthur leads to him finding creative ways to warm you up.

(high honor) arthur morgan x fem. reader

I love this trope! prob been done before but I cant resist... 😔Can you believe I wanted this to be a short head canon post?? LMAO it ended up way longer than that. That's why it has a more casual thing going on despite being super long 🥲Happy thanksgiving! This is for the girlies who are stuck with family and need something absolutely filthy to read !!! 💕💕💕💕💕

Warnings: NSFW content, vaginal sex, while honor isn't too relevant, arthur is very sweet and hes kind of a weenie here, in a good way! arthur does not have bad intentions here, he's genuinely a sweet little man...

-

Thinking of begging Arthur to take you away from camp for a while. Maybe you haven't had a bath in a bit or you're sick of hearing Swanson drunkenly parade around camp. But you've decided to ask Arthur, he's always so sweet to you and you know he won't say no. And Arthur and his stupid bleeding heart (the one that bleeds so much more for you) grumbles and pretends he's thinking about it but really he'd probably say yes to anything that came from your lips. He has no regrets when he sees the smile you give him. You're hoisted up onto the back of his horse, holding onto his waist so you don't fall. Arthur is desperately trying to play it cool. 

Then the rain starts coming down, you're soaked through very quickly and Arthur, such a gentleman, sheds his coat to give it to you, except now he is soaked through as well. The both of you are freezing and he tells you that you have to stop until the weather clears. He’s cussing up a storm worse than the one you're in. You nod, just wanting to be warm, wracked by shivers. He comes up on an abandoned shack and guides you inside, shutting the rain out. You're standing in the center of the room, looking like a wet cat after a miserable bath, Arthur is kind enough to take his coat off of you, giving you a ratty old, moth bitten blanket but it doesn't do much of anything for the cold. Trying to get a fire going proves fruitful but it's a small one and the wind blowing in from the flue almost puts it out several times.

Arthur feels so helpless, sitting there watching your teeth start to chatter as you sit in front of the pathetic little fire. He's trying to apologize (Ah, I’m sorry, I didn't know it was gonna come down like that,) but you only tell him it's not his fault. He has to help, all he wants to do is help. Things aren't getting any better and he doesn't want you to come down with something on account of him being an idiot. And then he gets an idea. He’s red all over flushed at the thought but he knows taking your soaking clothes off would help. And he's standing there, awkwardly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck while he tries to hide under his hat. He’s gently clearing his throat, trying to get your attention. 

“Maybe we could try… I…could…” he's nervously stumbling through his words and he's looking at you, sitting on the floor, desperately trying to warm your hands by the fire. You look up to him but he can hardly speak, so enraptured by the look of utter trust, reliance on him. His mouth hangs open but he swallows the lump of spit in his mouth. He tries to shake off these boyish jitters he gets around you. “Uhhh- I mean, it would be better if we weren't sittin’ round in these clothes, I guess, can’t be doin’ you any good...”  

“Really, you think so…?” Your voice is quiet and meek, struggling to say anything past the clicking of your teeth and the shivers. “Well then, turn around, Arthur,” at your obvious attempt to be modest, he nods stiffly and turns towards the wall, listening to you take your dress and your underskirts off, landing in a wet plop on the floor. You whine, peeling yourself out of your undergarments before a quiet ok leaves your lips. He turns and you're desperately covering yourself with that dusty blanket, legs bare, fabric hardly long enough to cover the soft mound between your legs, the fat of your inner thighs squished together. Arthur has a hard time keeping his gaze from locking onto any of the inviting bits of skin you show him. You're embarrassed, biting your lip, squeezing your arms around yourself. 

“Aren't you gonna- Arthur, you're gonna do it too, right?” Arthur has a hesitant nod and a course even though he just now thought he should probably follow along to help make you more comfortable. He’s removing his hat first, nothing to hide under now and he notices that you watch him take his gun belt off, unfastening his suspenders from his pants. You finally look away, his boots and his pants are peeled off and his shirt is unbuttoned. He’s breathing heavily now, naked as the day he was born. But you won't stop shivering. Your hair is still wet. And the fire is struggling to warm you from the bitter cold that clings to the dusty air. There isn't much left to burn for the fire. 

“You want me to hold you?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, trying to smack away these thoughts about the glimpses he’s getting of your naked figure underneath the blanket. He swears it's only out of necessity, that you're just not warming up fast enough. “Don’t want you gettin’ sick on me,” He really does only want you comfortable. Unrealistically hoping this won't change what you most likely consider a friendship. You nod, vigorously. 

“I think it would be ok, maybe if you just didn’t- didn’t look. Just- don’t look,” and you're desperate, curling up in his lap in front of the wavering fire. You're unable to look at him, but you still rub into him, enjoying how his body warms up a lot faster than yours. And both of you make some excuse that things would be better without that old blanket between you two. And suddenly you're pressed into him, his arms tight around you while he looks at the ceiling to avoid staring at things he shouldn't. Arthur struggles hard to keep from rubbing upwards into you, trying to keep you from sitting directly between his legs, afraid the way his body reacts to the feel of your body will scare you, scandalize you. But you only seem to want to be there more, getting comfortable with him. His chest hair tickles you, the hair creeps all the way down his torso. You giggle softly as it tickles you. His heart beats fast at the feel of you, so soft compared to the roughness of him.

As if all of the blood hasn't already rushed down to the very center of him, you just have to sit squarely on his lap. He tries to readjust you but it's too late and you've felt him, hard as a rock, pushing at you. He's so embarrassed, stumbling over an apology, “Shit-I-I’m sorry, I-” in that surly voice, all rough and low. you gasp and look over your shoulder. You see how he can hardly stand to look at you with his pretty blue gem-toned eyes. Instead he shows you his profile as he turns away. 

“It's ok”, Arthur has no idea how he's supposed to look at you after this, he can't see himself looking you in the eyes for a long while after you've felt his cock nudging the swell of your ass, unable to deny his own reaction to you. Hopefully he’ll be able to dismiss it as a fluke and not a devastating hope that you’d be interested in him that he's been crushing down for months now. He's trying to will away the burgeoning desire just under his skin, tamping down fires that rage on. And you look up at him again with that look of trust in your eyes, too ashamed to continue touching you, wholeheartedly convinced you don't like him. 

But then you're only closer than you were, looking up at him, so close, he's breathing in your scent, sweet and like fresh summer rain. His eyes search yours for any inclination and all you have to do is put your hand on his prickly cheek for him to lean and kiss you, hands on his broad chest, rushing over the warmth you can feel. How he ends up with you on his lap, tits pressed up against his hairy chest, his big hands squeezing at your hips, he's not too sure. Your arms are over his shoulders, playing with his light brown hair sweetly, rubbing the sore muscles in his back. And the glide of his tongue over yours is heaven, he swears. You whine into his kisses, the heat between the both of you licks over your skin, noses clumsily bumping into each other. 

Then he’s on top of you, tucking you over the blanket. “You gotta tell me you want this, want me,” and all you can do is say “Yes, please, Arthur, please,” features showing your ecstasy, anticipating his hands on you.

His hands are rough; petting down your sides. Any worries he had about being too old, too ugly and too brutish for you are forgotten when you kiss him, spread your legs for him to fit between them. When you push your breasts in his hands when he goes to touch them. Your nipples are hard from the cold but his hands start to warm them up when he gropes at them, squeezing languidly at your breasts, grabbing handfuls.

It's not long before he’s pinning your thighs up with his hands, spreading you and licking eagerly between your legs, so selfless. Letting you moan as loud as you like, telling you how good you taste, the roughened pads of his fingers circling at the sensitive button at the top of your slit. And he's so strong, doesn't put much effort into keeping your legs up. He has dulcet praises for you, “Such a pretty girl, darlin’, jus’ beautiful,” making you soften and ease.

He’s so warm, holding you, like you wanted him to, messy kisses that taste like you. The very tip of him catches on you, dipping softly between your folds. Your nails dig into him, thighs clench tight. He's sweet talking to you, shushing you, rubbing hard at the delicate little nub, getting you as wet as possible. Saying how good you look. How he must be dreaming. That’s my girl is what he says when you soak his fingers with your own arousal, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks. Even more when he's working his cock inside of you, panting, he seems overwhelmed, mumbling and groaning praises to you, his sweet girl, perfect in that slow easy voice of his. You feel him carefully easing you open, hissing at the feel of you wrapped tight on him and leaking down his shaft. You can't say much but his name, begging him not to stop, feeling his fingers almost bruise the tender softness of your hips. 

Arthur pushes so deep, a growl of pleasure leaking from his lips. You didn't think he would feel so big. Telling him how big he is and feels; “You're so big, Arthur,” in a wispy moan, makes him groan. He just wants to hear how much you like him. The rhythm he was trying to keep slow and careful speeds up. And he doesn't last very long, poor thing. It's been a while for him and he's flushed bright red, embarrassed and feeling a tad emasculated. The disappointed son of a bitch he lets out has you petting his hair back tenderly.

But all you have to do is give him a minute, kiss and nip gently, lock your legs around him so he can't pull away, until he's pushing his own seed deeper, mindlessly pinning you under his weight. He loves feeling so close to you, so small underneath him. 

The way you feel clenching down on him, moaning for him, begging him to keep going has him rutting into you, following his instincts, brain feeling like it's melting. He's harder than he has ever been, listening to the sound of your wetness slide on him, the mess he’s left between your thighs sounding dirty and sticky. You don't have to tell him to keep rubbing you, grinding your hips into his so he can press into the perfect spot. 

His thumb is rubbing at the very center of you, that tender bud, so sensitive, has you pushed to the edge and falling over, legs locking up behind him, bucking and moaning much too loud. You sink your fingers into the layer of fat over his broad muscles, arching your back, feeling so complete. Seeing you so relaxed, feeling so good because of him makes him push as deep as he can, making your toes curl, forcing more of his cum even deeper, a sloppy wet mess that drips out of you when he pulls out. But he revels in those few moments where he's catching his breath, still so deep inside of you, feeling you pulse on him. 

Arthur can’t not hold you afterwards, unsure what to say. He thinks it might be too soon for I love you, maybe you’ll be scared away by his raw sentiments and his lovesick words. But you stare into his eyes; his heart jumps when he blurts it out in the silence, too late to shut his damn mouth. But you only smile and say you love him too. You're the farthest thing from cold, tucked into his chest, not even noticing that the rain has stopped.

Thank you for reading! SO sorry this ended up being so long. Excited to write more for high honor arthur, this was more fun than i thought... I love him 😔😳

[peaches-creek]

“It’s actually fucking freezing out.”

“Bit chilly.” Is all he says

“Bit chilly? BIT CHILLY? My hands are fucking blue, LOOK!” You exclaim, showing him your hands.

“Mhm quite blue,” He says as he grabs one of your cold hands, “better?”

“A Bit” you huff.

He looks at you with a big bright smile, admiring your fake annoyed face, knowing that his actions just melted your cold heart.

Simon “ghost” Riley, CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Arthur Morgan, Charles Smith, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne.

[gayandfairycore]

The prince, the magician and the physician

Summary when the witchfinder accuses you of having magic you must convince Arthur that your feelings for the boy have never been disingenuous. And Merlin must race against the clock to save you but can you be saved? Can your relationship with Arthur? Can love truly conquer Arthur’s prejudice?

Italics mean flashbacks

Word count: about 8k

Warning: torture, mention of execution, feeling betrayed, readers anxious, reader accepts death, canon divergence (but same overarching plot), Arthur may be a bit ooc sorry!

A/n: who’s back with the bbc Merlin fics? Me!!!!!!! Two fics in *almost* the same month-WHO is she? But seriously I’ve been writing more and I’m so glad I have I really enjoy writing these fics for you guys and to everyone who has supported me thank you so much!! We hit 900 followers a few weeks ago and it was such a milestone thank you all for enjoying my fics enough to follow!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The witch finders arrival had you and Merlin in shambles he had already been pointing fingers and he had been in Camelot for nearly a day and already had been accusing people of having magic.

What was worse, he had witnesses. Three girls from the lower town who had been seeing traces of magic a man coughing up a frog from his throat, to a goblin dancing in the flames of a dying fire. To faces of the drowned in the well. with every confession you sent an angry glare to Merlin beside you, since he was the reason this witch finder had been called in the first place.

Fear bubbled in your throat when the witchfinder said he already had suspects. and who the witchfinder had accused happened to be yourself, Merlin, and the lady morgana.

It was day three when he found “proof” you were a witch. (Of course you were but the proof was bogus. It wasn’t yours.)

It wasn’t Merlin’s either, it was an amulet poorly hidden in a pot. Neither yourself nor Merlin were skilled with charming jewellery, and you couldnt wear bracelets whilst being the court physicians apprentice, besides when would you even have the time to charm jewellery? Between saving Arthur, being gauis’s apprentice, and watching over Merlin you never had a second to breathe.

But despite having never seen the amulet in your life you knew the witchfinder would see no sense. Men like that never would, and what was worse the witchfinder happened to be an old friend of gauis, with a reputation based on brutality and hatred. He despised magic with a passion if he suspected you, you were already as good as dead.

But you couldn’t let Merlin die by the hands of the witchfinder, Merlin had far too much life ahead of him.

He had to protect Arthur. He had to unite Albion. he had to live long enough to see Arthur’s rule And believe me There was nothing you wanted more than to see Arthur unite Albion and bring magic to the land But you weren’t the one destined to unite Albion, you were however destined to protect those you loved and some part of you was okay with dying for the cause of keeping your family safe.

and if you were asked if you regretted taking the fall for Merlin or gauis, of course you’d say no. He was your best friend and gauis was like a grandfather to you. You’d let them sentence you to death a thousand times over if it meant Merlin was safe. If gauis was safe.

“Search through that cupboard and under the bed!” The witch finders commanding voice called out to the guards as they tore apart gauis’s chambers you were aware by now that the moment he walked in he’d already deemed you guilty.

By the way His eyes narrowed like a predator to prey, the atmosphere was tense like he’d been preparing to go for the kill for awhile now. and disgust permeated from his figure in waves this man watched you like you were the dirt on his shoe, some small disgusting insect that deserved to die if he even thought you had magic.

Sharing a nervous glance at gauis your hands wringing nervously in your lap as you watched these knights destroy your home your gaze asked gauis the same question he’d been dreading, where was Merlin’s spell book?

If you were going to go down for magic paraphernalia you fully thought it would be because of Merlin’s spell book not some poorly disguised amulet that wasn’t yours in the first place.

Leon had been the one to find the amulet a haunted look in his eyes you could tell Leon did not want to do this, but honour bounded the knights more than kinship. More than years spent with each other from childhood sparring, to treating his wounds when Leon grew from a bashful baby faced boy into a lean young man practicing to become a knight.

He was honour bound to tell this monster what he found And you’d hate to see Leon burned beside you under the guise of solidarity. It was better for one to burn than two.

“An. enchanted. amulet.” The witchfinder spoke slowly as he inspected the Jewlery, every word sealing your fate “whose is this? Perhaps the boy Merlin Or the girls? Or even yours, old friend.” The witch finder sneered pointing his finger in your face as he circled gauis and yourself like you were prey

Your horror filled eyes flickered to gauis and you watched as his mouth opened and his eyes flashed with familiar selflessness it was clear, what the old man was going to do, he loved his little family as much as you did and you’d hate to see the old man take the blame for you or Merlin again.

living with gauis has already been enough of a burden you couldn’t let him die for something he had no part in (not that you did either but you were nothing if not loyal.) your heart constricted in your chest, your stomach dropping

One of you would surely be executed for this but you would not let it be Merlin, or gauis. It would be you before it ever was them.

Taking a shaky breath you stepped forward your hand out to block gauis front from stopping you “it’s mine.”

And the beat of your heart deafened you the room went deadly silent guards hands went to their swords ready for anything, in the corner of your eye gauis’s face went ghostly pale filled with horror as he watched his youngest apprentice, the girl he practically raised as if his own stare down this false god with cold eyes the sent fear shooting through gauis, you were capable you like Merlin had the ability to destroy your enemies without lifting a finger but gauis knew you better than for you to defend yourself. But you would be brave braver than anyone else.

You steeled yourself infront of the witchfinder your eyes narrowed dangerously. You did not take kindly to those attempting to ruin your family.

“Guards.” With one word the witch finder sealed your fate, looking to gauis behind you, your eyes only let your guard slip for a moment and the old man saw the burning fear that filled your gaze. As Leon’s hands restrained you with hesitation.

“you can’t!” Gauis called pointedly to the witchfinder “it’s not hers! she doesn’t know what she’s saying.” Gauis pleaded desperately after you seething from where he stood, he would not watch another child die.

you felt your heart break for the man who was like your father. “Leon, please.” You pleaded to Leon to release your hands for just a moment and the man you’ve known since childhood released his grip for only a second it was enough for you to break his hold and sprint to take gauis in a hug

Crashing into his arms you closed your eyes blinking away tears And you muttered the one phrase that could save you, that could reverse this fatal mistake, the one thing that stopped the panic in gauis for only a moment “It’s not mine.”

Before Leon’s hands had pulled you from gauis’s comforting arms, your tearful eyes met gauis and you expected to be met with fear but a newfound determination in gauis’s face calmed you, hope filled your heart Merlin would find a way to save you he always did.

Leon bent your hands behind your back and lead you down the halls of the castle

The witchfinder leading you through the halls, your Druid communication had been the most useful in situations like this, situations where Merlin was nowhere to be found

“Merlin, if you can hear this please find a way to get me out of this. The witchfinder has accused us of using magic be careful. Help me Merlin, Please find Arthur.” You didn’t get a response despite the fact You had never begged and you never had sounded quite as hopeless as you did then, even when you were behind enemy lines, in enemy dungeons it was different.

They weren’t your friends, weren’t your family sentencing you to die this was.

As you were dragged through the halls Camelot knights walked all around you, their billowing red capes with the golden dragon crest that once brought you so much comfort now brought only dread, the burning memory being wrapped up in Arthur’s cape on a hunting trip once dearly reminisced now just felt cruel.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The braying of horses and the taps of hooves on the ground as you, the knights, Arthur and Merlin set off on a hunt you found it silly to be hunting for game for fun but you couldn’t refuse the invite considering you were arthurs personal physician recommended by gauis (and Merlin babysitter) and atleast you were with your closest friends who are the loyalist of loyal.

As opposed to being stuck in gauis’s chambers mulling over books like you do almost daily you’d take any possible time with Arthur especially away from prying eyes.

The sun was starting to go down and you were too far away from Camelot to head home so Arthur called it and you’d be camping in the woods tonight, you didn’t mind. It was nice to camp under the stars with your friends away from all the expectations, The watchful eyes. Camelot was home but it was growing increasingly more dangerous.

Here, in the forest with Arthur and Merlin and the knights you were more than just a physician you were equal. You were more then just lower class, you were free and here under the constant cover of trees and the darkening blanket of the setting sun you could be more than some backup physician, you were just y/n. And Prince Arthur was just Arthur.

And if you could have just cupped this moment in your hands and held it tightly to your chest you would have.

Camped by a large oak tree in Arthur’s arms his red cape with the golden pendragon sigil covered your body from the elements keeping you safe and warm and in the light of the fire there was no fear, no worry about expectations. Or watching eyes all that mattered was being truly yourself with the man you love in his arms unashamed.

When sleep finally stole you away from Arthur Merlin couldn’t stop the question that was brewing for months “do you love her?” The young man asked scouring the ground with a stick his arms rested on his knees as he watched the couple together Merlin knew this would turn out badly his best friend, a physician with no title dating the crowned prince of Camelot? A recipe for disaster

He knew what his destiny foretold, he knew the perils and he knew that your role in destiny would surely not let this freedom, this unabashed love stay happy. There could be no room for happiness when you had magic.

“Of course I love her.” The prince found himself telling Merlin hesitation in his voice fear rolling from him in waves, by now it was the late hours of the night, the knights and yourself long since asleep and Merlin and Arthur the only ones still awake

“You know your father would never approve?” Merlin spoke assured that if uther found out you’d most likely be executed

“I know that Merlin, but one day it will be different my father will have no say and I will be king when I am king I want her- to be my queen.” Arthur’s fingers run through your hair softly a promise Arthur swore to himself he would keep his arms wrapping tightly around your waist the soft sound of your breathing calming Arthur’s pounding heart he knew this was reckless and senseless but this was love. And love has no logic.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Now a bitter taste of betrayal sat heavily on your shoulders as you were flanked by those you call friends as they lead you to your death you couldn’t blame them it’s not their fault they have to follow uther but it leaves a horrible taste in your mouth

How things had changed.

It was sad to feel Leon’s grip firm but not brutish still trying not to hurt you as if he wasn’t leading you to what would be your death. You were aware from the moment Arthur managed to steal your heart you’d end up on the gallows or burnt at the stake or you’d face death in battle intentionally scheduled by uther. He hated anyone who was not of noble blood for Arthur.

And No good ever came from destiny, and if it was your destiny to die in place of your loved ones you’d die a valiant death. But it didn’t stop the shake in your hands.

You could mask your fear you would not give the witchfinder what he wants. He would not break you.

But leon could feel the shake in your hand and feel the erratic beat of your heart from the pulse point on your wrist and he wanted nothing more than to damn the consequences and save you but he couldn’t. you could only rely on Merlin to prove the witchfinder a fraud and you to be innocent you could only pray for Arthur’s forgiveness. After your innocence is proven.

But the horrible feeling of dread that was building in your stomach as they were leading you into the dungeons a cell- no doubt already made up- And down every step you felt like throwing up when you finally made it to the bottom of the stair case the scent of wet earth and straw filled your nose the bricks that lined the dungeon and its torches that burned steadily along the side of the stairs made you feel ill.

The witch finder swung open the first vacant cell and Leon was forced to keep you there walking you the the center of the room, the suns rays that slipped through the cracks of the small window warmed your face but it didn’t comfort you, soon the sun would be your clock, your tally mark for your final night alive if Merlin failed.

Leon’s hands left yours and still the ache in your shoulders stayed “I’m sorry” he spoke lowly in your ear before he stepped away you turned to finally face your friend

“Leon, let Arthur know I’m sorry” You called to the man who grew up beside you who had been growing up pledging to die for Camelot even if that meant dying young he never expected the young girl with so much light in her eyes, and gentleness that always managed to calm her patients, he never thought she’d be the one on deaths door before him.

Before the man could reply the witch finger slammed the cell door shut and sneered through the bars “not to worry he’ll find out soon enough.”

Your heart constricted in your chest as you watched them all walk away the iron in the Camelot dungeons nullifying your powers and your connection with Merlin you couldn’t hear his reply to your plea you were well and truly alone you could of course break out from the cells the iron didn’t make you powerless only dulling your connection with the earth, the place your power comes from. But you couldn’t put your friends at risk.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It was hours later when guards came to haul you away to your sentencing, heavy iron handcuffs clicked into place over your hands large chains weighing you down & tight enough to make the skin on your wrists rub painfully.

As Guards lead you through the castle to the throne room, there you stood at the large mahogany double doors two guards on either side as they flung the doors open all your friends and family, all your previous patients were standing there watching as the witchfinder lead you in as the number one suspect, the guilty witch. two guards gripped your arms and threw you to the ground in front of the king, a man who you’ve spent countless hours mending, and stitching up alongside gauis.

Your hands shook as your knees took the brunt of the force, your chains rattling from where you were you couldn’t see Merlin, or gauis. But You could feel Merlin’s energy over the crowd

“I’m going to get you out of this y/n, I swear.” Merlin promises to you through your Druid telepathy and you bit back the tears as You scowled at the sight of the ground. you couldn’t bare look up at the sight of morgana in front of you, of Arthur infront of you fear that you’ll see nothing but disgust, embarrassment and regret on his face.

“Here is the first witch I’ve uncovered in my short time here in Camelot. The court physicians apprentice. The princes! Physician!” Every word the witch finder spoke booms over the crowd as he exclaims to the counsel shock no doubt painted their faces you’ve treated every single person in this room and you’ve used magic on quite a few to save them. Why was that a bad thing? If you have the power to save someone was that not the right thing to do? Magic is not bad but people are.

“WHO can imagine what she could have used on the prince unsupervised! What magic she could have used and at what cost to the prince!” By the gasps of those standing around the room the witchfinders words seemed to make them angry, seemed to make the king angry he loved Arthur in his own way so for the witchfinder to use Arthur to sentence you, god. You were surely going to die.

“No.” Arthur’s words were quiet this was the first time he had said anything “y/n a witch? I mean come on we’d know! She’s lived in Camelot since she was five. And she wouldn’t harm a fly!” Arthur called like it was laughable resting his hand on his hip like it was obvious but by the look in his eye the look of realisation but you couldn’t find disgust you didn’t have time to search for it.

But It made you turn your gaze to the floor Arthur knows. he knows. you have magic. You’ve healed him countless times. no stab wound, or arrow wound could be healed as quickly as his has or all the time he’s been injured in battle only moments before, before the searing pain has been replaced with a dull ache. Or the times as a child where any scrape or scuffed knee had been eased by a soft kiss over the wound. The look of betrayal passing over his face when you gained the courage to finally look at him made you shrink into yourself

“That’s exactly what someone under her spell would say. I fear, uther that the prince is too close to her to see clearly.” The witchfinder spoke with a voice like acid and you couldn’t stand making yourself small if he was going to do you for magic you would not be ashamed. You would not hide from his gaze.

Your chained hands pushed you from your slumped position on the ground your hair messily falling over your face you stood on shaky legs looking at the people in the throne room, all your friends watching you with pity filled faces you couldn’t stand it.

It made you feel sick, especially the fearful teary eyed look from morgana like she was seeing her future you hated this.

Uthers response felt like it took years, “y/n l/n I sentence you to death.” The room fell eerily silent before a scream filled your head, it was Merlin you whirled around to spot him in the crowd tears in his eyes and anger flashing across his face you wouldn’t be surprised if the next attempt on uthers life would be from Merlin.

“No! Father you can’t. What evidence do you have?!” Arthur pleaded with his father quietly by his throne anger glaring in arthurs eyes pointed not at you, it gave you hope that he didn’t hate you enough to want you dead.

“My word is final.” The king sneered and your hope filled heart broke. Swallowing hard your eyes searched for Merlin the fear in your eyes hit him hard as he watched

you be carted out of the court room your eyes locking with Merlin’s anger and tears filled his eyes before your eyes swept to Arthur’s & the sheen of betrayal sat heavy in his eyes and before you could stop yourself you called out for him one last time. As the guards dragged you to the doors.

“Arthur!”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The cells in camelots dungeons were always your most hated place to be from the horrid stench to the chill that cooled your bones to the straw that littered the floor In wet mangled clumps. To the extent it weakened your connection to your magic. Your magic was your strength the very essence of you to have it be weakened by the iron felt wrong.

The dungeons were perhaps the scariest place in Camelot there you’d sit, forced to rot as they’re building a funeral pyre for you and your execution is due in a day.

But you’d been there for now two days, and Day by day you were becoming more and more sure that this was the one situation Merlin could not save you from.

by the betrayed look on Arthur’s face when you were lead through the large doors infront of the entire court for your sentencing and the cold look in uthers eyes you were a dead woman walking.

And maybe you deserved it by the look on Arthur’s face as the pieces fell into place and he realised all the times his wounds eased that were not with the help of adrenaline, but magic. it made you wonder did he believe you had enchanted him? Bewitched him to love you? It pained you greatly to even think that Arthur may be in his chambers rethinking every kiss you’ve shared with one another. Would your love ever truly be enough for him to forgive you for magic? Of course he didn’t like magic that was to be expected but he liked you. At least you thought he liked you…

And He liked Merlin, he’d shown countless times indifference to magic, magic that had saved his life countless times, and still the look of betrayal in his eyes made you wonder Were all your secret picnics and stolen kisses in corridors just something to occupy him?

Were you nothing more than Arthur’s dirty little secret, a silly little romance that would have only ended in tragedy?

was it all for nothing?

Were you nothing to him?

No you were not nothing. You were everything you were his in private. the only place he didn’t have to perform. He didn’t have to agree with his father’s actions he could just be Arthur pendragon not the prince.

besides It’s better to have loved Arthur and to die for it than to have never had him at all. You may never be his queen but you were for a fleeting moment, for a fleeting moment you were his and he was yours.

And now you would burn because you loved your family too much to watch them die, you half wondered as you sat in that cell if uther knew.

If he had known you and Arthur were courting in secret and if he called the witchfinder to get rid of more than one the little scandal waiting to happen and you wouldn’t put it past uther to condemn you to death so long as Arthur is still under his control.

The longer you sat in your cell the more you stewed, a slue of emotions crashing over you, from sadness to anger, to acceptance.

You would accept the fate of burning for your loved ones but you would not accept the fate of losing Arthur. Not like this.

You would not be separated by death, if Arthur didn’t want you after knowing the truth you would live with it, but you would not live with not knowing.

Your love for the boy had been too strong you were going to marry Arthur in the future, it wasn’t to far away having a family with the prince, having a life.

That could have been your future. If you were not awaiting execution.

You sat there in drenching sadness that crashed like waves, what was worse was the sound of key’s jiggling. Did you misjudge the days? Was this going to be the end? already?

“You and me are going to have a little talk.” The witch finder sneered unlocking your cell and looking down at you with hatred still you didn’t gaze in his eyes. You watched the floor with intensity as he hauled you off to a different cell leading you through the halls past the staircase you caught sight of a shaky morgana your eyes found hers and suddenly you felt a lot more scared than before.

In the cell there was a chair and a table and a small cart of various medical and surgical weapons ‘oh shit’ your mind screamed as the witch finder forced you to the chair “So we can do this two ways. It’s up to you confess why you’re in Camelot and who else has magic. and maybe I’ll let you live. Don’t tell me and I’ll find out myself.” The cruelty in his tone made you rear back subconsciously eyes narrowing at the witchfinders gaze

“Then” you sighed shakily looking at him through your lashes coldly“you’re going to have to find out yourself.” You summoned every inch of anger and willed it in your tone. Trying to be brave despite the frantic beats of your heart.

But It was hours spent in that damp Camelot cell hidden from the other prisoners clamped to a chair and the witch finder inches from your face and array of striking weapons on a small cart made your breathing hitch.

But you’ve had worse, you’ve had to fight wilderin in hengists kingdom for sport. Both yourself and Gwen had been kidnapped under the guise of being morgana and her physician and so yourself and Gwen were forced to masquerade as morgana and yourself and you were stuck in different cells both damp and smelling of blood and wet earth.

And then there was Lancelot who happened to be hengists champion, and a champion who only days later you’d be thrown into the pit with a wilderin with no weapons with a tied up Gwen and Lancelot. Both yourself and Lancelot had stayed behind to give Gwen time to escape and ultimately were the first to be thrown in the cage again you didn’t mind as long as Gwen escaped you’d be fine.

But Truth be told the odds were very against you, but magic was always going to save you, but using it would doom you especially in front of everyone in hengists court. With the use of magic and a bloodied broken bone from the wilderins last meal made for a convenient way to murder the beast. Until another one came and Merlin and Arthur had saved you just in time From its hideous rat jaws the huge bleeding scar of its teeth in your arm made you detest the stench of blood and earth.

That was probably the worst experience of your life until now. And the scar from the wilderins teeth was still healing but the physical scars meant nothing the torture of being in a cell that smells the same as this dungeon was the worst that and the feeling of knowing your life is going to end were probably the most humbling experiences.

But, the only saving grace was that night in camp where Arthur had taken it upon himself to patch up your wilderin wound (poorly might you add as a physician it was odd to let the only man with very little experience patching someone up, patch you up.)

But you let him anyway and Arthur’s hands held your arm with feather light touches the needle threaded through your flesh with clumsy fingers the stiching off centre and rough around the edges but it was Arthur’s way of telling you he cared, the silk thread slid easily through your flesh but it pained you every stitch Arthur was no physician but he was trying.

“I’m glad you’re okay. And Gwen told me when they questioned you about any secrets of Camelot you never cracked.”

“never Camelot is my home.” You smiled at the prince but your attempt at reassurance failed miserably and he ducked his head

“I wish you, cracked. Then they wouldn’t have given you that.” Arthur pointed to the growing black eye rapidly swelling over your left eye a bruise you got for refusing to rat out any information on when guards were on duty, the way to the Camelot armory or anything you overheard as a physician from any loose lipped clients.

“I am not weak Arthur. I can deal with a black eye and brutish men. I’ve been sparring with you and the knights for years” Your eyes pointed angrily at the boy crossing your arms over your chest despite the half finished stitching feeling the half sewn wound twist painful as you did so but you hid the pain to appear strong something you’ve done since you were young

“I never said that! But you- you aren’t weak. I can’t stand seeing you in pain.” Arthur’s blue eyes bore into yours with such an intensity his eyes flashing from your lips to your eyes his hand cupping your jaw as he pressed his lips softly against yours shock prevented you from kissing back as the blonde went to pull away you chased his lips kissing him back with feverish passion.

“I love you Arthur.” You rested your head against his the exhaustion of the day catching up to you he didn’t say it back but you didn’t care he just had to know.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The memory of Arthur made you feel loved it kept you strong, hit after hit, once against your ribs twice against your face, four times against your legs and once more against your face with enough force to split your lip licking the blood that dripped from your lip your bruised body heaved in pain and still you never cracked.

“Come on miss l/n, just tell me two little names and all this can stop”

“You’re deluded.” You sneered before spitting a wad of blood into the witchfinders face smiling gleefully when your blood tinged spit stained his face but the glee was short lived when the man had sent a quick hit to your chest stealing the air from your lungs.

Before he grabbed a tool with a screw and roughly pulled your thumb into it “you will tell me miss y/n what your intentions are with the prince and with Camelot or I will force it out of you.”

The witchfinder shredded his coat as he leaned over you tightening the screw into your thumb the pressure of the screw against your finger had you squirming in your seat as he tightened the contraption more and more

“All you need to do is confess your accomplices. And this will stop.” His voice echoed the room but the feeling of a sharp screw drilling into your finger tighter and tighter puncturing the nail and skin the pain otherworldly and unbearable you tried to hold your scream back but when the man still did not relent and instead tightened the thumb screw you let out your blood curdling scream.

“WHO! Are! Your! Accomplices!” His voice yelled now as he tightened more and more gut wrenching screams ripped from your throat you would let yourself scream, let yourself cry but you would not tell him a thing.

The crushing feeling of your thumb bones breaking made your heart beat incredibly fast your other ironed hand gripped the table with force your nails digging into the wood

He still tightened the screw and by the loud haunting screams that ripped from you and the smile on the witchfinders face he enjoyed your pain you couldn’t help the salty tears and horrible screams the pain unbearable and overcoming your sense but still your mouth locked on any information like a vault.

“Come on!” His voice boomed as his hands squeezed your bicep his eyes crazed as he watched you

“Fuck you!” You screamed eyes red with tears and fighting the approaching darkness in the corner of your vision

“Aredian, sir. The king has called a meeting and requires your presence.” The servant at the cell door had spoken quietly to the witchfinder nervous in his presence

The witchfinder sighed straightening his posture rolled his eyes and moved close to your ear “no matter, miss l/n. The lady morgana, and Merlin will burn with you soon”

Your heart dropped and you struggled against the restraints the excruciating pain from your finger and the rest of your beaten body the pain in your ribs alluded you to the potential broken bones it caused your panicked shouts to echoed through the dungeon and the witchfinders laugh filled the room

“No! Aredian stop.” You cried to his retreating figure “I’ll confess to the use of sorcery if. And only if, you spare Merlin and morgana.” Your eyes close in defeat

“Good choice, miss y/n. take her to her cell.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

And there you were again cut off from anyone and anything unsure if Merlin would be able to prove you innocent, or if he’d burn with you, or if Arthur still even cared the woman he was courting was about to be executed and had just withstood torture. Hengist was bad but he never had broken your bones or tortured you only tried to feed you to wilderin.

The pain in your thumb had dulled but the bleeding hole had still gushed the measly bandage that consider of your dress did barely anything to stop the bleeding and the iron cells mixed with the torture made your magic virtually ineffective making you unable to fully heal your wounds only dulling the pain of your thumb.

your time was running out and you were truly alone in the cells your connection to Merlin via your druid telepathy was proving useless he wouldn’t respond you couldn’t warn him of the witch finder and by the shine of the moon in your cell you only had hours left.

There is already a funeral pyre with your name on it in the court yard. You couldn’t help the tears that slipped down your cheeks you didn’t want to die not like this and a prison break wasn’t even on your mind they’d just kill Merlin and gaius in your absence there was no way out. and the crushing guilt of something you cannot change began to pound against your skull. Were you born wrong?

Was it wrong to have this magic? This power that has saved those you’ve loved for years why was it seen as inherently evil? Why were you seen as inherently evil? All you wanted was your friends to be safe.

And between the pain that debilitated you from the physical blows to the broken bones in your thumb and the emotional pain of Arthur most likely hating you made you want to just give up.

You pulled your knees to your chest as you cried the stupid scent of blood, earth, and straw polluted your nose. And you found yourself thinking about how lucky Gwen had been to have Lancelot visit her cell in hengists kingdom determined to break her and by extension yourself out.

You had Merlin in your court but you still wished you had someone to hold your hand through the vent even if it was the last thing you’d ever do you didn’t want to die alone.

“Y/n” you heard whispered from the doors of your cell “Arthur?” You called confusion lacing your voice as your red rimmed eyes met Arthur’s and you couldn’t help but run to the cell door resting your head on the bars sobbing in relief at the sight of him the pain from your body put on the back burner for a moment.

“What happened?” Guilt filled Arthur’s heart at the sight of you, your eye healing from your previous beating and now the sight of your bloodied broken thumb and bruised body Arthur saw red.

He felt betrayed at the revelation of your magic of course but he understood why you had kept it a secret and if Arthur had been paying more attention he would have seen it plain as day when you were kids.

Your magic was obvious since childhood Arthur was too blind to see it.

“I know” was all he said eyes stoney and voice unwavering “I know you have magic the witch finder is right.”

Any hope that bubbles in your chest died with his words “Arthur I- i can explain” You tried shaking your head lacing your uninjured hand in his through the cell pleased when he didn’t pull away

“Shhh Merlin told me everything, everything you’ve ever done to save me. Save everyone. I understand why you did what you did.” Arthur spoke lowly his eyes staring into yours trying to convey his apology

“Merlin has come up with a plan to save you, he’s doing it right now but I couldn’t go another day without telling you I’m sorry you had to keep this a secret. I can’t stay for long but- but y/n I love you.” Arthur spoke with all the love he could muster placing a chaste kiss on your lips through the cell

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before I was afraid of my father I am supposed to be king one day to marry someone of noble blood, but I don’t want that. I want you.” Arthur’s voice is quiet as he confesses he wants to spend the rest of your lives together

“I want nothing more.” You felt like crying he still wanted you, magic and all.

“Arthur, I was so scared.” You felt so exhausted from the torture to the ticking clock you couldn’t help but cry

“Shh” Arthur’s fingers ghosted over the skin of your cheeks wiping your tears. “We will prove your innocence, I’ll keep your secret. I promise you.”

Arthur placed a kiss on your lips once more pressing a necklace with his ring into your hand before promising Merlin has everything under control.

With your heart a bit lighter you finally sat down on the hard cell bed clutching Arthur’s ring in your hand you let sleep overtake your body trusting that Merlin will save you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When the bright light of the sun shines through your cell window today is the day you are supposed to die, and part of your questioned if you dreamt Arthur’s presence to save your sanity but by the slight pressure of his ring on a chain in your hand reassured your beating heart.

You were not dreaming, Arthur loves you and Merlin just spent last night trying to save you but there’s still a ticking time bomb of the noon execution and by the switch shift of the guards it was almost 12

Time was ticking and still there was no sign of Merlin you felt sick like your heart was going to fall out of your stomach

You prayed to whatever god or deity was out there that you would not burn today but by the size of the growing crowd outside the cell window your prayers would go unanswered there was nothing you could do but just sit there in anxiety

The rattling of keys and heavy sound of chainmail made you accept the fact that Merlin would be too late to save you and Arthur would watch you burn

When the knight reached your cell his keys turned the lock and he walked towards you slowly your eyes met the floor the pain in your thumb still debilitating but you held Arthur’s ring in your hands tightly if you were to burn your burn knowing you were loved.

To your surprise when the knight takes you by the wrist silver key in hand as he unlocks your handcuffs

Confusion takes over your face as you watch the knight with intensity “what?” You can’t help but ask rubbing your now freed wrist nervous when he takes your injured hand but this knight grips your hand with gentleness that’s beyond you

“You’re free to go miss” the knight smiles he looked to be a newer knight of Camelot one you didn’t grow up with but he is kind

“Thank you” you nod to the knight as you stumble from your cell gauis is standing at the end of the hallway white as a ghost but pleased to see you freed from your cell

“Y/n!” Gauis smiles opening his arms and you can’t help but fall into them holding onto gauis tightly your sobs wet his shirt shoulder

“Gauis how did you do it? How did you prove me to be innocent?” You cry your hands shaking and body weak from days spent eating little food and dealing with aredians torture.

“It was all Merlin and Arthur.” The old man smiles his arms supporting you as you walk up the stairs from the dungeons to your chambers

“Tell me everything.”you smile at the old man walking side by side down the corridor gauis’s laugh fills the empty hallway

“Not here, let’s get your wounds treated.” His eyes glance at the bruises littering your body, and the bloodied thumb

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You had never been so happy to see your chambers in your life, the comforting smell of herbs and bread the familiar scent of old books and the sound of your boots against the stone floor sounded like music to your ears

There’s no scent of wet earth, or blood aside from the metallic smell emanating from your finger you could almost forget the pain of the cells now that you’re back.

But there’s still very obviously signs of damage done by the witch finders raid broken pots, damaged shelves potions and poisons leaving residue on the floor

But still it is your home. gauis filled a pitcher of water and fills a cup for you and once the water passes your lips you come to realise just how parched you were gulping down glass after glass

gauis busied himself with fixing his work station pulling ointment after ointment and an array of bandages from his kit.

“Sit please” gauis pointed to the table and you sat yourself on the wooden bench gauis had begun to take your makeshift bandage from your wound the gaping hole in your thumb and the blood that spurted from your wound made gauis’s breathing hitch

As he gentle distributed ointment over the wound to fight off growing infections and bandaging up the wound with a fresh bandage Merlin would work on reconstructing your thumb when he gets back

Gauis had felt over your ribs and when he had found another break Merlin would be healing that too for now gauis would sit beside you on the dining room table fresh food would be laid out gauis knew what it was like in the Camelot dungeons and the lack of food

So he didn’t comment on how much you ate when approaching footsteps made your heart beat faster and your eyes flicker to gauis his hand rested on top of yours to reassure you, gauis and Merlin would always reassure you you were safe here you weren’t trapped in the cells of your own home.

When Merlin’s figure found himself in the doorway you could see the relief on his face that you were okay aside from the bruises and bandaged thumb you were alive.

“Oh y/n” Merlin’s soft voice cried and before you knew it you were pushing up off of the table and running into Merlin’s arms

“Hi Merlin” you held him tightly you owed Merlin your life and so being in his hold meant being safe, he would never hurt you.

“God I’m so glad you’re back” his hold tightened and he could feel your magic strong and your connection to eachother he wasn’t cut off from you anymore

“I’m so sorry it took me so long.” Merlin’s guilt ate him alive as he pulled away the black eye and split lip made him see red if he didn’t already kill aredian by accident he would have and he would have made him go through what you did.

Merlin’s eyes flashed yellow and the unbearable ache in your thumb and pulsing pain all over ebbed into nothingness.

You could feel your bones reassembling in your thumb and your broken rib fuse back together the pain and bruises once a bright purple colour would dissipate into a light blue and then would turn into the colour of your skin again.

“Thank you, Merlin.” You squeezed his hand tightly he nodded his head and held you tightly in his arms

Before a smile broke out on his face “do you want to hear how I proved aredian to be a fraud?” Merlin helped you sit beside him and poured another glass of water for you

“Of course!”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

After Merlin had recounted the entire night from convincing Arthur of everything, that despite your magic you loved him with no enchantment and even if you had enchanted him Merlin asked Arthur point blank if what he told him that day you were cuddled in Arthur’s arms if it was still true, if he still loved you.

Arthur told Merlin he would always love you but he couldn’t trust you now with magic Merlin felt like slapping the prince.

How could you trust Arthur? He’s the prince of Camelot. A kingdom that tried to burn a woman at the stake the first day he arrived and you had grown up here watching that and still you treated its citizens and royalty with no malice?

Merlin understood why you couldn’t trust Arthur he can’t. Not because Arthur was a bad friend but he’s the prince.

No one can help how they are born, but you can put yourself in their shoes and Merlin spent hours convincing Arthur and then more hours enchanting aredian.

From the tincture of belladonna, to the bracelet, to even the frog from aredians throat! Merlin would not fail.

You loved Merlin a lot no one would go as far as he did to save you and you only knew him for a year and a half.

When three knocks sounded on the door Merlin had tried to hide his smile as gauis opened the door to Arthur, in a white shirt freshly showered hair and a Bouquet of wildflowers you felt your heart melt at his kindness

His blue eyes were filled with worry and fear his gaze flicking to gauis and Merlin before he lowered his voice “how are you?”

“Much better now I’m out of that god forsaken cell.” You felt your throat close up at the mention of the cell you spent so long in

Arthur felt guilty about his actions about not saving you or stopping his father. He tried but he could have tried harder

You could see Arthur was drowning in his guilt placing your hand on his shoulder you lead him past gauis and Merlin to your room and sat on your small bed

“You tried your hardest Arthur, it’s not your fault I was thrown in the dungeons.”

“I should have stopped them y/n. I should have broken you out I should have done anything!” Arthur blinked through tears

His hand holding yours in your lap, “Arthur I love you with my whole heart I do not blame you, so please do not blame yourself.”

“I love you and I promise I will spend the rest of my life proving to you how much I love you.” Arthur confessed his eyes full of sincere love

You couldn’t help yourself but to kiss him your lips meshing against one another’s felt like home, it felt like love and warmth and like an apology all in one.

It wasn’t until your lungs burnt for air did you pull back. “I should go I don’t want anyone to become suspicious, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Arthur asked tentatively a part of him afraid of rejection.

“Of course” you placed another kiss on his lip before pulling open your chamber door to reveal Merlin and gauis on the other side ears pressed against the wood looking guilty.

“Merlin…gauis what do you think you’re doing?” You chastise at the pair you expected this of Merlin but of gauis? That was surprising

“Gauis i expected better of you” Arthur laughed from where he stood wrapping an arm around your shoulder

[ak319]

─⋆⋅𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦⋅⋆ ─

Definition: a tradition as cruel as it is final. A gunshot outside a woman’s door, her name spoken into the cold night air, and with it, her freedom is gone. There is no consent, no ceremony, only the sharp assertion of power masked as ritual. A crime? A sin? A violation of all that is decent? A taboo that civilized folk shun?. Perhaps. But outlaws don’t concern themselves with decency. Outlaws don’t ask. They take...

𝗡𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴: "Redrum - 21 savage" 0:22 ━━━━●───── 04:26ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ↻

This masterlist contains ✮Chapters I✮Scenarios I✮Extras

───AN: This masterlist is only for Arthur and John. No other VDL members. It is made solely for this concept; abbrev: WOC. While sending me asks/requests, do make it clear that you want it for this concept by mentioning it. Do read the rules too.

───Warnings/MDNI: fem reader, forced marriages, kidnapping, manhandling, suggestive dub/non-con themes , angst, abuse, fluff, forced pregnancy, honour fluctuations (high--mid-- low), basically you are in 1800's // I don't condone such behaviour irl!

───Req/asks status: closed for now.

─── main rdr2 m.list

───Arthur's Version

──Chapters

⋆ 01 ⋆02 ⋆03 ⋆04

───John's Version

──Chapters

One-shot ── Scenarios gonna be based on this

© ak319. All rights reserved. unless otherwise noted. Reposting, modifying, or using my content without explicit permission is strictly prohibited.

[readingcoco]

Painted Red 🖤

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Reader (f)

Words: 3444 words

Ao3 Link

Summary: When a new sandy-haired Deputy Sheriff arrives in town, you can't figure out why he gives you and the other Working Girls so little attention. It becomes your mission to figure him out and hopefully make some money along the way.

Warnings: 18+ minors dni, eventual smut, sex work, period typical attitudes, strangers to lovers, medium honor Arthur Morgan, angst, mutual pining, Deputy Callahan.

Thanks to @rivetingrosie4, @redwritr & @shootybangbang for all your help on this story and for being dreamy angels.

Chapter One - The Deputy

[chapter 2]

“Guess who’s downstairs!” a voice interrupts from behind your door. 

The autumn sun sits heavy in the sky, casting a warm pink haze that spills in through your bedroom window. You were supposed to start your shift an hour ago, but instead, you are here, sprawled out on your bed, hair undone, counting the money from the evening before. Muffled notes from the piano downstairs drift softly into your room. You inhale deeply on your cigarette, resenting all things that pull you away from these precious sleepy moments before you have to head downstairs. Make conversation. Smile. Perform.

Timekeeping has never been your strong suit, and you have lost count of the times Lulu had threatened to dock your tips for tardiness. These were empty threats, of course. You knew your position was secure - Even if Lulu liked to kick up a fuss in front of the other girls. 

Brow furrowed, you take another drag from your cigarette. $15. $75 total from the week so far. Money hadn’t been flowing as freely as it had done seasons past. The drought had hit everyone hard, and you knew, sure enough, if the boys were feeling it in the tobacco fields, it wouldn’t be long till you were feeling it in the cat house, too. Seemed everyone was praying for rain. Still, Saturday meant full pay packets and men eager to let loose after the working week - something you were more than happy to help them with.

“Who!?” you call out, just as Minnie peeps her head around your door.

“Christ! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge ass backwards! Lulu’s been askin' after you?” 

You hum in response, dragging a comb through the bird's nest atop your head sweeping it up into a loose bun. “Who's got you all giddy? Surely not some John?”

“That new Deputy’s back!”

You roll your eyes. “How big’s the pot now?”

“$5. $5.25, if you still fancy your chances”, Minnie smirks, perching herself at the foot of your bed, watching as you put the last of your face on. “but Ida says she’s out. She don’t wanna waste more time on a Trick who don’t want tricking.” 

“Tricks always want to be tricked,” you say, rooting through the collection of bills and coins laid out haphazardly across your bed, handing Minnie 25¢, which she slips into her coin purse.

Men were mostly the same. Sure, some might pretend to be respectable in the streets with their wives or taking their mothers to church on a Sunday, but you’d had every colour and creed between your legs. This deputy would be no different, and you were going to relish claiming the prize pot for yourself. 

With a final drag of your cigarette, you smooth out your skirts and collect the pile of money on your bed, stashing it in your linen drawer - making a mental note to deposit it in the parlour safe before the night was out. Keeping that much money in your room is foolish, and if you were more sensible, you would deposit your tips between each John. But then you’d miss out on watching the pile grow. Evidence of your labour, your time, your craft. It wasn't like you worried you wouldn’t get it back as soon as requested - Lulu’d always been good about things like that, but to hand it over before you’d even had the chance to feel the paper fully in your palm seemed like it would make it less real somehow. 

You turn to Minnie-

“You ready?”

“Girl, I’ve been waiting on you!”

“Let’s give that deputy the night of his life.”

-

Although the sun is yet to set in the sky, the house is already live with music and laughter, the mezzanine balcony providing the perfect vantage point to assess what the evening might have in store. There are men fresh from the fields playing Faro, Lemoyne Raiders several whiskeys deep, a few of the younger, more boisterous Grays and the creepy gunsmith, Mister Feeney. Not amazing pickings, but not dire either. Then you spot him, sitting quietly on the table closest to the door, hat pulled low, scribbling something furiously into some book. An odd sight, all considered. You weren’t sure most of the men in this town could read, let alone write. 

Minnie squeezes your arm before descending the spiralled staircase, the Deputy firmly in her sights. You lean back to watch as she glides effortlessly across the room—a vision in teal silk taffeta. 

As you settle onto your hip, the fine hairs on your neck abruptly stand to attention as the air pressure changes behind you. 

“So kind of you to grace us with your presence.” Lulu’s voice drips thick with syrupy disdain. Smile remaining tight. Never in front of the guests.

“Punctuality is a virtue of the bored, Miss Lulu.” You smile sweetly. 

She’s not impressed.

“Just get to work. Make Some Money.” 

As you look back down to the floor below, a dispirited Minnie is walking away from the Deputy, his nose still firmly in his book. You bristle slightly. Did this man think himself better than the women who worked here? Sure, he was paying for drinks, but a man could drink at home if he was looking for solitude. In a parlour house, it was polite, proper even, to tip the girls, whether you require our services or not. And if the deputy didn’t know this etiquette, you were more than happy to educate him. Prize pot be damned.

It was your turn to make the night’s debut down the curve of the parlour’s stairs, something that on an ordinary night, you liked to draw out for as long as possible. Feel the eyes of each man gaze up at your form like they were watching a goddess descending from heaven, blessing them with your time. True power. But tonight, it takes everything in you not to stomp down the last few steps onto the floor. 

That cad still isn’t paying you a lick of attention. 

“Deputy.” Your voice comes out curter than you intend as you reach him. You hope Lulu isn’t close enough to overhear. 

“Maybe another time, Darlin” " the man responds without looking up. 

Make conversation.

“Deputy” You try again. “Are you aware of the price on your head?” 

The sound of pencil scratching comes to a halt as he turns to face you. To your surprise, you notice that he was drawing rather than writing as he snaps the leather-bound book shut—the sound startling your gaze upwards to meet his own. And for the first time, you take in the scale of the man. Built like an Ox with broad shoulders and a barrel chest, upon which the words ‘Deputy Sheriff’ shine out from his silver badge. From this proximity, he looks unlike any lawman you’ve seen. 

He watches you intently as though trying to predict your next move - eyes a piercing shade of azure blue, locked dangerously onto your own. You have his full attention, but now you’re unsure if you want it. 

“Excuse me?”

You swallow and try to make your next words lighter in tone.

Smile.

“Nearly five and a half dollars, in fact.” 

His shoulders loosen ever so slightly. Eyes still on you but less predacious, perhaps even the suggestion of a smirk beginning to form at the corner of his mouth. 

“Five and a half dollars? That’s some bounty. What I do, rob a bank?”

“Worse,” 

He rubs his jaw.

“Oh?” 

“You got five whores questioning our faculties. There’s a sweep on which lucky lady’s gonna be the first to get you upstairs, but so far, no one’s got as far as your name.”  

A low rasp of a laugh passes the Deputy’s lips, and you feel a sense of relief as the danger in the air dissipates. Bluntness- this man responds to bluntness. And you wonder if you can hold his attention long enough to work your magic.

Perform.

“There are normally two reasons a man mightn’t want to lay with a girl like me…” 

You pause for effect, starting to have fun now.

“He’s broke. Though that don’t stop most from pushin’ their luck. Or they’re queer.” 

The Deputy straightens and clears his throat. There is something delightful about making a man like this squirm, and you can’t help but sense that he may be enjoying it too. 

“So which is it, Deputy?” 

You give him your most innocent of smiles. Hand finding purchase upon the swell of his shoulder, knowing full well that its removal could signal the latter of your accusations. You are being cruel now.

There is a moment of hesitation before the man can find the words to respond. Your unassuming smile not giving him an inch of wiggle room. Thumb beginning to make slow circles atop his shirt.

“I-It’s just not really my thing. Payin' for it, I mean. Not that I can’t, or - or-”  

“Oh? There’s some third thing I ain’t privy to? A sweetheart somewhere you’re keeping true for?”

“Not really, no.” 

A hint of regret in his voice.

“Then why deny yourself a bit of company?”

You notice the tips of his ears turn pink and leave his lack of an answer to hang in the air for a moment before taking pity-

“Don’t worry, I’m just teasin’, but you ought to know it’s customary to buy a girl a drink, even if you ain’t planning on laying with her. We all have to make a living, Deputy, and this is my house.” 

And you're not sure if it’s out of a sense of gratitude at you relenting your line of questioning or because he has started to enjoy the warmth from your hand on his shoulder, but that’s when he motions for the barkeeper to bring two drinks over to the table. 

Your eyes dart over to Minnie, who is sat between two Grays. She throws you an encouraging wink, and you become keenly aware of the four other sets of eyes watching too. This is the furthest any of you has got with this man, and a wave of responsibility washes over you. You are going to earn that $5.25 plus the additional $5 when he fucks you. You feel foolish for ever doubting your ability in the first place. A man is a man, is a man.

“Ethel White”, you hold out your hand “but call me Ettie.” 

“Arthur Callahan.” 

Arthur.

He nods to the chair across from him as he removes the leather book from the table and puts it away in his satchel. You pull out the chair next to him instead, purposefully pinning him between you and the wall. 

“Christ woman, you ain’t coy, are you?” he laughs, removing his hat, revealing a sandy crop of hair. 

Without his hat, you are better able to take in the details of his face: the strong brow, the crook of a nose broken one too many times, a smattering of sunspots across his crown. Quite handsome, you think to yourself, a welcome change from the interchangeable looks of the Grays or Braithwaites who make up the bulk of your clientele. 

“Not at all,” you smirk. “Besides, I want to take a look at what you were scribbling away at in that book. Must be awfully interesting to hold your attention so well.” You glance down at the journal now peeking out the top of his satchel. “Is that watercolour paper?”

“Huh?” 

“Watercolour paper, you know, to stop the paint seeping through and spoiling the rest of the pages? I saw you were drawing and-” 

He looks at you then, and you can see a slight flicker of shame cross his face momentarily. The feeling of someone pointing out the unfamiliar to a previously known thing, changing it somehow, making it less your own. You feel guilty. Watching him squirm was fun, but you never intended to make him feel foolish. 

“I don’t paint. It’s for sketching mostly, keepin' track of the people and places I’ve been.” 

“You do a lot of travelling, Deputy?” 

“A bit.” 

That instinct again, that there is more to this man than meets the eye. The lawman artist a walking contradiction.

“What do you paint then?” 

His question catches you off guard. Men like to be asked about themselves. They rarely ever show interest in you. A prick of heat flushes across your cheeks, and you hope the rouge of false abashment covers its authentic companion. It’s you who is in control here - not him, goddammit. But his face is filled with genuine curiosity, like he wouldn’t have asked if he wasn’t interested, and that’s what puzzles you further. 

“Um, landscapes mostly, but I prefer painting people.” The words spill out before a filter of allurement or double entendre can be applied. “It’s just difficult to get people to sit for any length of time. Though I’ve painted all the girls here at some point or another.”

“Where’d ya learn?”

And that is a question too far. 

You’d been gifted a great many things over the years, some thoughtful, most not, and learned the hard way how easily something given could be taken away. You’re art though, no one could take that. You wondered sometimes if that had been an oversight when you’d been promised lessons. The techniques acquired the only remaining thing worth a damn apart from your horse. Leftovers from another life.

“Don’t change the subject, Deputy. Are you going to show me your sketches or not?” Before you can stop yourself, you are leaning over him to grab at his satchel, totally aware that the danger this man displayed to you only moments earlier still lies just below the surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabs the wrist of your right hand, firm in his warning. Do not push me, girl. But you have never been one to know when to stop. Your eyes are locked onto him as your breath comes in quick and heavy to your chest; You notice his start to slow. He’s read you like a book. Left hand spearing from under the table to meet your secondary attack, pinning it against his thigh. 

You look down at your fingers splayed out under the weight of his own. Knuckles scarred and calloused from a lifetime of work not typically required by law enforcement. The warmth from his thigh radiates beneath your palm, and it takes everything in you not to edge your fingers closer to the source of his heat. 

He meets you with an expression you struggle to place. Not anger - though you couldn’t blame him if it was. Amusement maybe?

“Think careful about your next move now, Miss. I wouldn't want to have to arrest you for larceny.”

You give him your widest of smiles and look carefully over your shoulder behind you. And as though suddenly clocking the inference of your shared position, Arthur lowers your right hand so it rests on the table rather than in the air. The grip still firm.

“If I let you go, will you behave?” 

“Will you show me your drawings?” 

“Woman-” But he doesn’t say no. 

“I’ll behave.” 

He looks at you, trying to figure out whether he trusts you.

“I promise.”

Gaze still set, he experiments loosening the grip on your wrist and then shadows the hand on his thigh - awaiting any sudden movements. You hold still. And for a moment, you see him grapple with himself as though he can’t quite believe what he is about to do. He releases you fully, and you take back your right hand, leaving your left firmly in place.  

“Now, if I show you, you gotta promise not to go grabbin'? There’s stuff a man should be able to keep private.” 

You nod.

He grins as he bucks his thigh, dislodging your rooted palm. 

“Hands behind your back.” 

With a playful huff you acquiesce, putting both arms behind you as though bound and look back at him coquettishly. And although he feigns disinterest at the way this new position pushes forward the peak of your chest, you catch his eyes dart across them, guilty in their haste. 

He removes the leather-bound journal from his satchel, smoothing open two pages carefully on the table. 

“Here. But that’s your lot.”

Spread across both pages is a beautifully rendered sketch of the parlour’s exterior, and you don’t know how to react. He stiffens slightly beside you. 

“Just a silly doodle,” he says, moving to close the book. Clearly reading your quietness for disappointment, disgust, something else?

“Wait-” 

To see the parlour captured in such effortless detail; The ornate carvings of the porch where you take your morning coffee, the Virginia Creeper that had to be cut back for fear it’d engulf the entire house, the hanging baskets of petunias that Lulu so lovingly tended to - feels exposing in a way you’d not expected. What other unnoticed minutiae had his perceptive eyes picked up on?

“It’s beautiful. You’ve captured it just right.” You half-whisper.

“Ain’t as good as a paintin’.”

“Different thing entirely, but if you can draw like this, I’m sure you’d make a fine painter.”

He gives you the smallest of smiles as you catch sight of Lulu’s permeating glare as she sweeps down the central staircase. You are on the clock. If he’s not biting, move on. And you remember you are not here to discuss painting or art unless it serves your more explicit purpose.

“See that top window at the back?” You make sure to graze his arm as you remove one hand from behind your back, bringing it slowly to the open page.

“That’s my bedroom.” 

“Oh?”

“Might you like to come up and see some of my work?”

You can see him contemplating the thought over in his mind, and you start to wonder if there really is some poor woman he is betrothed to… or perhaps your prior insinuation was correct, for you have never met a man so ill at ease at being in close proximity to a woman-

“Mister Callahan!” 

You are both pulled away from each other's gaze as you turn to face your intruder. Sheriff Gray. And you are up and on your feet in an instant. Eyes twinkling with faux excitement to welcome this invader of fun, spoiler of all things delightful and new. Arthur straightens to attention. 

“I see you’ve met Ettie. Ain’t she a peach? I hope she’s been treatin’ you with all the hospitality we here at Rhodes can offer.” As he slurs his words, it is clear he’s already halfway soaked and once again, you feel Lulu’s watchful eyes on the back of your neck. You have a responsibility to your house, and Sheriff Gray isn’t any regular John. To keep him placated is to keep the house protected, and it is your duty to ensure the Sheriff remains happy and drunk, coddled and empty. 

“Oh, stop it!” You coo in his ear, wrapping your arm up tightly in his. Voice layered thick with honey.

The shine on his breath hits like a train, bringing tears to your eyes that you mask by nuzzling your head to his shoulder. He sags heavy on your hip, oblivious. 

“You didn’t tell me you’d hired such a handsome new Deputy-'' 

Arthur shifts in his seat, and you wonder what detail of your performance his observant eyes have picked up on. 

“You keepin’ secrets from me, Sheriff? Or do you just want me all to yourself?” 

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t.” Sheriff Gray hiccups and turns to face Arthur. “Do you mind if I accompany the lady upstairs?” 

Arthur stands, towering over the Sheriff by quite some measure and places his hat back atop his head. 

“Course not. You both enjoy your evening. I’ve to be headin' back anyway.”

For a second, your eyes meet Arthur’s, but his expression is impenetrable. The Sheriff speaks again.

“Safe travels, Deputy. Rhodes is honoured to have such honest men like you and Mr Mackintosh about. Your work rootin’ out that shine is already being felt around the county.”

Arthur nods. The effects of the shine are certainly being felt.

He hiccups again. “Don’t be a stranger, now.” 

“Don’t be a stranger.” You repeat, all traces of the sickly sweet affect gone from your voice. You yip as the Sheriff swats your backside, but you keep your head high, eyes still held on this curious lawman artist. 

Don’t be a stranger.

“Miss.” Deputy Callahan touches the brim of his hat as you lead Sheriff Gray upstairs to your room.

[bodythieves]

horny cowboy content warning - mdni

(grinding and such, it’s kinda long too)

this is just downright pathetic.

How were you supposed to be anything but pathetic, though? With Arthur Morgan sitting before you, a delicious heat from the fire that licks your back in waves, and a knot in your belly that just wouldn’t come undone? To add to that, Arthur’s hands are all over you. Calloused, thick fingers, moving along your sides and your ribs. The man’s hands continue due north, pushing between the soft fabric of your shirt and your sun-beaten, tired skin. He pushes your button up away, and it falls to the dirt, and you don’t give one damn.

You never have, you never would, and you never could.

The cicadas sing loudly throughout the New Austin night. Arthur would complain, he always complained, big old baby. But you, you liked it. If it were up to you, you’d sit and listen to the cicadas and crickets and katydids sing and gladly take up a dime an hour doin’ it.

Apart from the critters of the night, there was a sweet, misconstrued mess of mumbling breaths between your lips and Arthur’s. A gentle clang and clack of spurs, belt buckles scraping against one another as you slid your way up from your kneeling position in the dirt. You were slotted between his legs, hands braced on either side of him. Palms pushed so deep into the dead wood of an abandoned wagon’s step, you could’ve sworn your flesh had been worn raw.

You had been begging him. On your knees, jeans pressed forcibly into the dry dirt beneath them, whimpering like a lost dog. Only time you rarely found yourself on your knees, was when you were praying to a god you didn’t quite believe in, about things you were in quite desperate need of.

“I can’t take it no more,” you shuddered out, your voice sounding so fraught and pitiful, you could hardly even recognize it yourself. You rolled yourself forward again, that wicked scrape of belt buckles making your skin’s hair stand at attention.

Arthur didn’t seem to register what you said. That, or he was down right ignoring you- probably both. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was both. However, his hands did drop from your rib cage, and went to grab your rear, his fingers now splayed in the pockets of denim there. You could hear him let out a gruff groan, his head ducking low and against your shoulder as he pulled you up into his lap.

Instinctively, your knees spread, and made themselves right at home beside Arthur’s hips, the crotch of your jeans now snugly pressed against the engraved metal that fastened Arthur’s leather belt taut against his waist. Settling into the position was easy, this dance now familiar between you and Arthur, like you didn’t even need a beat behind you to fall in to the rhythm. Arthur was quick to press his hips against yours, the wagon’s step shifting beneath the two of you.

“Hell’s bells, you smell damn good,” he grumbled lowly, damn near inaudibly, that thick tone rumbling through your shoulder and collar like a thunderclap.

“Vanilla,” you mumble in response, taking in a deep breath as you turned your head down and to the left, nose deep into Arthur’s hair. He’d been letting it grow out. You didn’t mind it. Made it easier to tug on. “Off the trees.. gotta do what you can with what.. what ya-”

Whew. God damn. Spit it out already.

It didn’t matter. Arthur wouldn’t let you finish your sentence, he didn’t wanna talk. Not right now, damn it. Talking would surely serve to irritate him, and you weren’t really in the position to be using words. You could barely even form a coherent thought; just sitting there, miserably grinding your apex against his belt, huffing and puffing, your jeans feeling as if they would snap from how tight and stiff your stomach felt.

It was almost like you had blacked out for a second, your thoughts swimming around in a wild current and then finally coming to as Arthur pulls your head down for a kiss, one hand moving from your rear to wrap around your waist and hold you down against his groin. The man huffed lowly, kissing you with brandy-wine and tobacco still on his tongue, his arm clutching your bare torso tight, his hips lazily moving upwards in a search for you. You, loving the friction that that damn belt brought, pushed your rear down and grabbed on to his shoulders for a moment.

“Christ,” you breathe out, your stomach now as hot as the flames that warmed your back. Your movements became more and more anguished, your hands moving to find Arthur’s shoulders. Bitten and jagged nails dug into the man’s shoulders, your sighs filling his ears. You didn’t even need anything more than this, and evidently, neither did Arthur.

“Ain’t present,” The cowboy caviled, pulling away so he could let his head fall back. His arm was still locked around you, holding you in position. He, on the other hand, shifted and spread his legs. Arthur’s trousers were growing exponentially tighter and more uncomfortable, his own breathing now rasped and shaking.

Still grinding your hips, pushing yourself against his bulge and buckle, you watched him like he was the pure picture of desire. Light hair tossed back and disheveled, stuck to the sides of his head from his sweat. You always liked how New Austin treated him. His thick brows pushed upward and he gritted his teeth, jutted out his lip, his stubble making the expression all the more attractive. Opening his blues to catch your eyes and let out a throaty groan, you felt yourself start to come undone, the mixture of eye contact and bare chests against one another making you feel absolutely drunk with lust.

Then, the grinding. You hissed and jerked in his arm, which only rewarded you with a closer tug to his body. Arthur continued to buck beneath you, but no longer lazily. Rather, with conviction and confidence, like he wanted you to get off like this. Bare chest, jeans clad tight, spurs clanging, and in his lap.

Like he wanted to get off like that, too.

notes: I DID IT. IM ABOUT TO PASS OUT BUT I DID IT. no proofreading no plot just this. enjoy goodnifht.

[feinv]

jealous/possessive low honor!arthur morgan x hyperfem reader... he's so hot sorry,,, arthur doesn't like other men having their eyes on u or something??

-🎀

low honor!arthur morgan who is mean to everyone but you. that right there. that’s how i die. — arthur morgan masterlist.

ᯓ it’s very grumpy x sunshine undertones you two got. he is this mean, rude, six foot tall outlaw who is literally wanted for murder and people advise not to get close to him when spotted outside. and you are his sweet little thing, kindest and purest soul, always so full of love. and you got him swooning after you. <3

ᯓ the thing is. he loves showing you off. he wants everyone to see how mesmerizing you are. and that you chose him. but he wants them to see that from afar. anyone flirts with you at the bar or even tries to start up a flirty conversation would just be signing themselves for a trip to afterlife.

ᯓ it’s not unusual for prying eyes to find you two, a rather odd couple. a broody looking man dressed in dark with an angelic sweet lady hanging by his arm. so he doesn’t mind when people stop their doings to stare. but once that stare turns into lust and you got men checking you out, it’s a disaster.

ᯓ he knows that in contrary to him you hate when he gets into fights, so he will always try to keep his calm with you, shooting silent but deadly daggers with his eyes at others.

ᯓ absolutely smiles at you while you rumble his ears off when the two of you are in a saloon just conversing over drinks. but that smile is reserved for you only. you are not sure others even know he can physically form a smile.

ᯓ would absolutely beat someone who dared to throw a perverted comment at your direction to an unconscious state before finding your trembling body at the corner and coming to hold you with one hand on your waist, the other caressing your cheek, his bloody fingers leaving stains on your pretty pink dress. :(

“y’know i would never hurt ya, sweetheart. but those bastards need to know you’re mine,” kissing you softly before it progresses into a hungry make out session.

[cold-red-venom]

Why's every x reader fic gotta be fem!readerrrrrrr and Why's so much of it gotta be hyper fem!reader like enoughhhh I'm dying out here

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Gossip

Masterlist Word count: 550 Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Summary: You know that John likes you. You know that Arthur likes you. They know about each other, but the others don't. Gossip spreads and, what feels like a ticking time bomb, turns out to be unconnected. 

---------

'I don't think he knows,' Abigail says as she sits, knitting with Mary-Beth and Tilly while watching you and Arthur talk. John has gone out hunting with Charles to learn how to use a bow as he is useless with it. Arthur had asked Charles to do so but Abigail suspects he had other motives for getting John away from camp.  'I think he does,' Tilly argues with a grin, 'why else would he ask Charles? Everyone knows John is too impatient to learn how to use a bow.' She's got a point, Abigail figures.  Things had been weird ever since you joined the gang. Sadie had found you in Valentine and recognized you as an old friend. In fact, the friend who set her up with her husband. She told the others you seemed lost and needed some place where people have your back. Most were sceptical but your turned out to be a hard worker and a great hunter, bringing in huge game for the camp whenever you went out. Dutch had almost considered letting you take a wagon along so you could bring enough to sell it.  That great aim of yours also pulled in different attention. Both John and Arthur became more than smitten with your friendly and kind demeanour. Mary-Beth had suggested that Arthur liked you for your kindness and willingness to listen while John liked you for your viciousness and rough edges. Both great attributes that make you who you are.  'Well, either way, they're both fools,' Mary-Beth claims, ending the argument.  'Do you think she knows,' Tilly questions.  'For sure she knows,' Mary-Beth answers as all of them watch you gently touch Arthur's shoulder as he makes a joke not worthy of the laughter that comes out of you.  'She's really toying with them, ain't she,' Abigail grumbles. Despite liking you quite a bit, she fears what it might do to the gang if Arthur and John are pinned against each other. It's a bad predicament to be in and since the year that John left the gang is still a sore spot for Arthur, Abigail fears things might explode with the littlest of meddling. When her and John put an end to it, she was slightly relieved, but this is just insanity. 

'Do you think they know,' Arthur questions you. You shake your head with a grin.  'No, they probably think I'm hopping between you two. They wouldn't be gossiping about us as much if they knew.'  'Fair point.' He puts a gentle hand on your waist to pull you closer and watches at the jaws drop across camp.  'Are you trying to rile them up, cowboy,' you tease as you take a step closer to him. He shrugs. You roll your eyes and press a kiss to his jaw. 'Come on, let's go join Charles and John.' Arthur looks over at the women once more as he leans towards you.  'If only they knew about Charles.' You shove him away with a laugh.  'Oh, stop it. I liked you better when you were still being shy about liking me.' 

[frost-queen]

String of fate (Reader x Merlin)

Requested by @sophia-winchester07 Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @alex–awesome–22, @ellie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve , @queen-of-books , @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown , @wildieflower , @meyocoko , @justanothercoco, @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @swampything07, @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @imagines-by-her, @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 , @erikasurfer @slythetic , @p0nycurtis , @eliscannotdance

The river was rippling down the landslide. At the riverbank sat a girl. A curious boy watching from behind the trees. A mischievous smile on his lips. She was dropping pebbles into the water, watching them sink and get carried away with the stream. The boy stepped from behind the tree, coming up to her. Remaining as quiet as ever. Making sure to not step on any twigs.

He neared her, throwing his hands in front of her eyes. The girl gasped loud, panicking as she slapped the hands away. Eagerly she turned around only to meet up with a laughing boy. – “Merlin!” – you called out, shoving him off. He stumbled back, unable to control his laughter. – “You scared me.” – you told him crossing your arms. Merlin got back up, keeping his hand behind his back.

He then brought his hand to the front. Filled with flowers. It made you gasp loud in awe. – “For you.” – he said cheeky. Instead of reaching for the flowers, you grabbed for his shoulder. Pushing him aside to look behind his back. Looking curiously around. – “Where did you get these?” – you asked curious as Merlin kept chuckling. – “Magic.” – he whispered to you with a wink.

You sat back, arms crossing as you didn’t like him taunting you. – “Don’t you want the flowers then?” – Merlin proposed, already moving them away. You practically leaped for them. Making him fall backwards as you landed on top of him. Plucking the flowers from him. Getting back up, you stuck your tongue out to him. Merlin stuck his tongue back out to you. Merlin helped you up to your feet. He picked up a stick, swaying it around. Slapping at leaves that got in the way.

You glanced his way, laughing at his silliness. – “What?” – Merlin responded confused. – “You look funny.” – you told him. – “You don’t think I can be a knight?” – Merlin answered. You shook your head. Merlin puffed loud, running up to a rock. He came standing on it, stick in the ready. – “If I become a knight I can protect you Y/n.” – he said letting the stick twirl around. His hands slipped as the stick plunged up.

Hitting him in the head before dropping down. He rubbed his head with a pained expression as you could only snort loud. Merlin jumped off the rock, rubbing the back of his head. – “Maybe when you’re bigger.” – you told him. – “Maybe.” – Merlin repeated. You smiled up to him. – “Y/n!” – you heard call out. – “Oh my mommy is calling for me.” – you said out loud. – “See you tomorrow?” – you asked. Merlin nodded. – “Tomorrow.” – he shouted back, waving you goodbye.

“Merlin!” – His name got called out loud. Merlin’s eyes flashed open, suddenly aware of his surroundings. Groaning deeply, he pushed himself up. Having laid on his stomach somehow. Sitting on his bed, he drew his hand down his face. Wondering why he was dreaming of a girl from his childhood. A former friend from his village.

He hadn’t thought in years about you. Now it appeared his mind kept dreaming of lost memories of that time. Always catapulted back to the past when he was but a young boy. With little care in the world and no worries. – “Merlin!” – the voice roared out again.

Merlin grabbed for his booth, pulling it over his foot. He then putted on his other one. Running a hand through his hair, he walked out of his room. – “Finally boy. I was starting to wonder if you weren’t breathing anymore.” – Gaius chuckled out. – “HA. Ha.” – Merlin responded blandly before sitting down.

Gaius took a tentative eye at his ward. – “What?” – Merlin asked furrowing his brows at the way Gaius was observing him. Gaius came closer making Merlin lean back. – “Gaius!” – he called out, pushing him away. – “I wanted to know if you had been drinking.” – he spoke turning back to his breakfast.

“I didn’t go to the tavern.” – Merlin responded grumpily. – “Then why the bewildered gaze?” – Gaius asked pointing it out. Merlin scratched his head, shrugging his shoulder. – “Nothing…” – he responded. Surely dreaming of the past was nothing serious. He knew if he might tell Gaius about it, he would see it as an omen.

Something he wasn’t interested in hearing a full on lecture about. Merlin grabbed a few pieces of bread before running off. – “Where are you off too?” – Gaius called out. – “Arthur!” – Merlin shouted back before disappearing.

Merlin made his way higher up in the castle to Arthur’s chambers. Quickly stuffing the bread in his mouth on his way. He encountered Gwen on his way, smiling back at her with a stuffed face. It made Gwen snort loud before heading over to Morgana’s chambers. Merlin knocked on the door before entering. – “Arth…” – he began, looking over at the bed.

Only for Arthur to not be in his bed. – “Merlin!” – Arthur called out, drawing his attention away from the bed and more to the side of his chambers. There Arthur was already half dressed. – “You are up early.” – he mumbled to himself before closing the door behind him. He assisted Arthur in getting ready. Afterwards they joined everyone in the throne room.

Uther was talking to Arhtur by the throne as the heavy doors got pushed open. A panting person running inside. – “Help! Help! Our village is being run down.” – the man shouted loud in a panic. Uther and Arthur stared confused at the man. Some knights came in motion, moving closer to block his path if they needed too. – “Please help.” – the man breathed out before going out cold.

He dropped to the ground making Gwen gasp loud. Uther shielded Morgana’s eyes when there stuck a knife out of the man’s back. Arthur approached the man, pulling the knife out of his back. – “Ruffians.” – he called out letting the knife clatter to the ground. He had recognized the weapon. Arthur whistled loud, rallying his men up. Merlin started to run after him.

“Arthur… you don’t even know where this village is. It might be a trap.” – Merlin spoke, hasting after him. Arthur stopped making Merlin almost bump into him. – “I can’t let innocent people die. Certainly not my people.” – Arthur told him as a final. Merlin nodded, following him outside. The knights of the round table came joining him. Readying their horses to head out. Soon they rode out. Soon they noticed smoke in the air, making them hurry up.

The closer they got, the louder the screams became. A man jumped at them, screaming whilst he was on fire. Gwayne hopped off his horse, taking a blanket to pull it around the man. He fell down with the man in his embrace. Deafening out the flames. When he opened the blanket, the man had already passed due to the burns.

Arthur hurried his horse faster as he didn’t want to waste any time. The rest of the knights following him into battle. Arthur’s eyes widened upon the village. Several houses were on fire. People running around in terror being chased by ruffians. One ruffian pulled a woman back by her hair as her screams filled the air. Children were crying in hiding. A man got stabbed from both sides by two laughing ruffians.

Arthur jumped off his horse, drawing his sword. He called it out, running into to battle with the knights of the round table behind him. Merlin got off his horse as well, running over to some little kids hiding under a cart. – “Come, quickly.” – he said to them, hurrying them from under the cart. The kids crawled out, following Merlin further into the woods.

A woman came running with him as he ordered her to get them to safety. She nodded, taking them all under her wing, running deeper into the woods. Merlin turned back around frantically at how they were going to get this under control. He searched for Arthur amidst them, seeing him fight gallantly.

The door got kicked in as you ran inside. – “Hurry!” – you called out, opening your arms to two little kids. They ran up to you, shivering to the bone. You took each under your arm, leading them back outside. Trying to look for an escape. A ruffian came from your side, making you scream loud. You were defenceless, making yourself smaller to wait for impact.

Just as the ruffian was moving his axe down, it got blocked by a sword. – “Run girl!” – one of the knights called out, grunting loud at the axe still hinged with his sword. You nodded, taking the kids with you. – “Mommy…” – the little girl cried out. – “We’ll find her.” – you told her, looking around.

A man fell in front of your feet, making you close the children’s eyes. One of the ruffians had thrown him at your feet. Now his gaze was on you. Grunting loud as he cracked his neck. Gasping loud, you took a run for it. Dragging the children with you as fast as you could.

“Under the cart now!” – you ordered them so they could escape through the other side. They let go of your hands, crawling underneath it. You wanted to crawl under it with them till you felt a grip around your ankle. Dragging you back out. Screaming loud, you turned round, kicking and screaming your way out.

The screaming caught Merlin’s ears, making him turn his head. His eyes widening at what he was seeing or rather who he was seeing. – “Y/n?” – he whispered out in shock. You kept kicking your foot at the ruffian trying to get him off. The ruffian was grinning, grabbing on tight to your ankle. Merlin tensed his expression, eyes gleaming. Whispering out a spell.

You watched with wide eyes how the ruffian got flung back. Before you fully processed it, someone came diving to your side. – “Y/n!” – he said, taking your hand to help you get up. – “Merlin?” – you replied confused as he helped you up. – “How… how are you here…” – you asked as he shushed you.

He looked frantically around, keeping you behind his back. Perhaps his dreams were an omen. An omen that he would meet you again after all those years. Now that you have grown-up. You held on to his clothing for security. A ruffian made eye contact with Merlin, grunting loud.

Merlin breathed out loud, lowering his chin just that bit. His eyes glowing as he whispered out a spell. You gasped loud when the ruffian’s helmet got flung off his head by an object. The ruffian dropping to the ground knocked-out. You screamed out his name  when a ruffian came running over from the side.

Tugging at the back of his jacket. Merlin turned a bit, kicking the ruffian back with his foot. He stumbled back. Merlin moved his arms back so that he could feel you behind him. Slightly backing up as the ruffian got back up. Angrier than ever.

You yelped loud, holding on tight to Merlin. Tears in your eyes as you wanted it to be over. Merlin kept backing up with you, making sure you’d be as close to him as possible. – “Merlin.” – you cried out, face buried against his back. Merlin panted loud, flung back to the past for a moment.

Pulled back to the memory where he said he’d protect you. Merlin took a deep breath, finding a deep strength. He called it out, launching forwards to punch the ruffian on his cheek. You moved your hands with shock to your mouth when he got knocked down. Merlin backed up again wary if he would get back up. Before he could get back up, Arthur was there to finish the deed.

“Get out of here!” – he called out to his servant. Merlin nodded, grabbing you by the hand, pulling you away from the situation. He ran into the woods with you, waiting there for things to clear out. Soon the battle was over. Ruffians and civilians scattered around. Arthur and his knights still standing up straight. Worn out, they guided the survivors to their horses. Riding out with them to follow.

Merlin had climbed onto his own horse, holding his hand out to you. He helped you up, coming to sit behind him. Wrapping your arms around him, he followed the others. Guiding the survivors safely to the castle. – “Not quite a knight then.” – you said letting your chin rest on his shoulder.

“Not quite.” – Merlin chuckled out. It wasn’t difficult to see Merlin was not dressed like a knight. – “Yet to me you are.” – you whispered to him, leaving a sweet kiss against his cheek. Merlin stuttered out a cough, blushing from ear to ear.

It didn’t take you long to fall asleep against his back. Merlin telling you gently to wake up when you arrived at the castle. Gwayne helped you down from the horse. Merlin then quickly took you over from him once more. – “Are you alright Y/n?” – he asked taking you inside.

You nodded weakly. He guided you into the throne room where all survivors combined. Morgana and Gwen hurried around giving out water and tending to the wounded with Gaius. Merlin never leaving your side.

Gwayne nudged Arthur with a nod at Merlin. – “He’s being awfully close to that girl.” – he pointed out. Arthur looked his direction seeing how both of you were talking and laughing a bit. It made him quirk his eyebrow up.

Merlin smiled as you reached out to brush some hair aside. – “You’ve grown.” – you said. – “You too…” – he responded with a shy smile. Merlin held his hand behind his back. Revealing it with a single flower in his hand. It made your jaw drop pleasantly, giving him a shove. – “How do you keep doing that!” – you called out teasingly.

Merlin chuckling bashful. – “Magic.” – he whispered to you with a wink. You ignored the flower once more, throwing your arms around him. He nearly fell backwards from the impact. – “I’ve missed you so much.” – you told him. Merlin wrapped his arms around you, smiling. – “Me too…” – he whispered back.

Merlin moved making you let go of him. Staring curious into his eyes. A silly thought crossing his mind. He grabbed you by the chin, quick to leave a kiss on your lips. It caught you off guard. Merlin cackling up at how it took you by surprise.

Glaring at him, you took him by the scarf, pulling hard on it. Merlin nearly got choked by you as you lowered him. Leaving a quick kiss with him as well. Smiling teasingly afterwards. Merlin wrapped his arms around you. Relieved that he had found you for he was never letting you go anymore.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[johnpriceslamb]

arthur morgan + back shots🙏

suggestive content under the cut. MDNI.

The headboard of the bed banged onto the thin, hotel wall.

A rough, calloused hand muffled your mouth as his other hand grabs a fist full of your hair— practically forcing your back to be arched.

After a long train robbery, with Micah pulling at his last straws and the amount of people he had to deal with, this was his reward. The anger within him diminished into a small ball once he heard your shy, meek request in going to a hotel from the gang to have a break. What he didn’t know, was that soft laced matching set which delicately rested on your perfect figure.

“Yeah? Yeah? Feel that, sweetheart?” The hand which held the fistful of your hair travels down to where his cock shaped into you too well- the bump forming in your stomach reappearing each time he thrusted deeper into your tight, velvety walls. He presses his fingers down, hearing your muffled gasps and cries.

You sobbed into his hand when his hips slammed into yours multiple times, which lead to his fingers coming back to hold your hair to pull you back further into his touch. The tip of his drooling member reaching places you’ve never thought existed, pre-cum spilling.

The walls were thin, but so was his restraint in fucking you till you couldn’t think.

“What a— ffuu— What a real good girl you are,” he leans a down to grunt in your ear, gently nipping it. You unconsciously tighten around him at the praise, which lead to him deliciously groaning right in your ears. That sound alone could make you cum.

The bristles of his stubble graze your skin which made you softly whine. He peers down to admire your sweaty, sticky body only to bite his lip hard once seeing your plump ass. His hand travels down to roughly grab it, watching it bounce as his dick slams into you.

“Hnnn..” He grunts lowly, a slow smirk forming on his face as he feels your walls tighten. You were so close, too close. Drool escapes your mouth as his pace became slower, yet the everlasting thrusts become so much more harder. You could feel every vein on his cock drag. Your nails claw at the bedsheets below you. Finally, his hand leaves your mouth to place on both your hips to allow him to practically re-arrange your guts.

Your sweet moans were echoing throughout the walls, he ushers you to be quiet but it was far too difficult considering how he was handling you.

“P—please..” You babble incoherently, long lashes dripping with tears from the pleasure he’s giving you. You don’t have to finish your sentence because he knew all too well of what you needed. His fingers come below to find that sensitive bundle of flesh which was in need of attention, rubbing figure 8’s on it.

Your tight walls spasm around him, hands clenching on the bedsheets tightly with your doe-y eyes rolling backing— his other hand frantically grabbing your chin to turn your head around so he could see the expression etched on your delicate face. A series of cum coats his cock like a white rimmed halo, from that alone was your spend.

“Darlin’,” He kisses your cheek, “Where do i—”

“Inside,” You softly whimper, “Please, fill me.”

Whatever his baby girl wanted, she got. A few more rough slams and his climax came quickly, dripping inside of you. It filled you to the brim. Hot, wet, and sticky.

With just a few last pumps, the movement of his hips stop. He doesn’t remove it, rather he buries himself deeper inside your sensitive little hole. Any movement from him etched out a tiny whine.

A sleepy smile formed on your face as you watch his burly figure come into your vision. He handles you so delicately afterwards, watching his soaked fingers from the prepping he did beforehand cup your face to place a small kiss on your lips.

“Needed that.” He mumbles lowly.

“You’re welcome..” You quietly whisper back.

A moment of silence occurs.

His cock hardens inside you again.

<3

[red-doll-face]

Heeyyy! Soooo I have a fun request idea that I totally came up with on my own with no help from anybody else, from my own mind and not some super creative person that answered my question about Arthur proposing to reader 🤣 it goes something like this:

-takes three months to work up the nerve and like another one to pick out one ring.

-chickens out at least two times bc the moment isn't right

-asks Hosea for advice 19 times (Hosea is tired)

-he's the trope where reader starts crying and he's like ohh goddd i fucked up of course you don't wanna marry my ass

-the way he would ride around for a week looking for the perfect spot to do it

-marks it on his map with a heart

-the essays he would write in his journal about this situation

-he's so cute i love him pls marry me Arthur Morgan

-awww once you say yes??

Hehehehe no pressure though!!!!! I just looooovvvveeeee this idea so much!

Yes !!! Yes of course I’ll write this!!! ❤️❤️💕💕🥰🥰😵‍💫😵‍💫😩😩As always it ended up running really long even though I didn’t even really flesh out a back story. 🥲 I’m glad you enjoyed my response ☺️☺️ I definitely had high honor Arthur Morgan in mind for this when I read it, I hope it’s ok and that you like it!!! I was so happy to see you in my inbox !!! @zae-heeyyy 💓💓💓💓💓 writing this was so cathartic and I loved the rdr1 setting so much so that I made this pre black water heist or whatever 😭🫶 from Arthur’s pov hope you like the characterization 🥹

Tags: established relationship, marriage proposals?? Arthur being a major weenie. Like huge weenie. He is soooo sooo sweet it’s almost like too much and I love love love sweet Arthur so very fluffy!!!! Pre black water !! Dutch being a jerk 😒 but cute dad Hosea moments ☺️

Arthur wants things to be perfect for you.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

Arthur knows he’s made up his mind when he’s in the tailor’s shop in Blackwater, looking like a lowdown cattle rustler among all of the fancy fabrics on the wall. He and his spurs, his boots scuffed to hell and a leather satchel slung over his chest. He’s out of place and he knows it. But he’s here to buy a new shirt.

Yesterday, he had nearly driven himself insane looking for a shirt of his that wasn’t ruined, ripped and mended, dirty, stained irreparably. None of them were good enough for what he wanted, something nice to get down on one knee and ask his girl to marry him. And so he kissed you goodbye and rode into town in search of something better. He makes an effort at pretending to be interested in any of the fancy stuff, silk and linen suits that he sure will never be fitted for him. He clears his throat as the attendant drags his eyes away from the sunday paper.

A tight lipped smile consumes the man's face. Arthur already can sense the assumptions he’s getting but he pays little mind to it. He’s getting this shirt and that's that.

“How can I help you, sir?” Obnoxious and nasally, the thin and short man's voice already gives away his air of superiority. Arthur's eyes narrow but he isn’t too irritated yet.

“Here to get a shirt.” His words are simple. The attendant raises a brow.

“Just a shirt, not… pants or shoes?” the attendant lowers the paper to scan over the rest of Arthur’s clothes. Arthur can hardly ignore the burn of insecurity.

He gives a look that conveys how quickly he is losing his patience. “Excuse me?” He can only tell his posture changed when he observes the man's attitude change, clinging to the counter between them like it would make any difference.

“No, well sir, perhaps I’ve overstepped, I apologize. What kind of-of shirts were you thinking?”

“Listen, I ain’t here to cause no trouble, just show me what you’ve got,” The attendant hurries to show him some options, tries to sell him a vest but that isn’t happening with his budget.

In the end, he picks a blue french dress shirt. Costs a real pretty penny but he wants it to be special. Because you’re special. He stuffs it away in a saddlebag after thanking the attendant, who no doubt heaves a sigh of relief after he leaves.

-

He’s been collecting rings. In a special bag is a collection. A few plain gold bands, some with stones set in them. They’re pretty blue and red gems, some have filigree detailing. But he still can’t find the right one.

Worse then, is that they’re rings of all different sizes which he gets from his more sordid activities. Debt collecting or train robberies. It’s all stolen goods. It feels wrong to give you something like that but when he told Dutch his intentions, he clapped him on the back and told him to look in the collection box for more rings. He nodded then but it was half hearted. Somehow that was more souring. Did he really want to give you something he took from someone else? That someone else bought for their loved one with the express purpose of giving them something to symbolize how they loved each other? His own thoughts swirl circles in his head, why he had these scruples about it, he didn’t know.

It’s riding with Hosea that he asks for advice. They’ve been working on a job in Tumbleweed, trying to con some poor fool into giving money he shouldn’t by pretending to sell land deeds. They ride all the way from the yellow grasses of Hennigan’s Stead and it’s been mostly quiet over the stretch of passing though Armadillo. Arthur decides to speak up after they pass through town. The sun is beginning to dip a bit lower in the sky but they’ll be in Tumbleweed before then.

“I been-”

“This about you n’ the girl?” Hosea already has a knowing smile and Arthur rubs the back of his neck. “I think you should do it! You two would make quite the couple, she’s a sweetheart, that girl,”

“Yeah, she-she’s… I’ve been lookin’ at rings to give ‘er,” He grips the reins before going lax, riding easily along the path. Hosea murmurs, letting Arthur continue. He guides Boadicea down the dusty road. “I don’t think I wanna give her something I got robbin’, don’t seem right,”

“Then get her something new, I don’t think she’ll mind at all. But you do what you think you should. You could probably fence all the other rings you thought about and get her something quite nice with the cash,”

“Yeah, I could do that,” why hadn't he thought of that?

“That’s a wonderful thing, getting married. Don’t be afraid to, y’know, go through with it. If you’re thinkin’ about it. Maybe, once Dutch and I find the perfect spot for the gang to settle down, we’ll build you two your own little thing on the land,”

“You that confident she’ll say yes?” Arthur has an awkward and disbelieving laugh but Hosea keeps his earnest smile.

“Why wouldn’t she? Arthur, somehow, she has gone for a man like you, you should be over the moon, you should be whistling tunes everywhere you go,”

“Like me? What's that supposed to mean?” He knows what he means. A man like him had very little to offer you, a young woman who could easily charm some other well established man into giving you a home. Leagues away from his cot and the weathered canvas he put up to give you some small amount of privacy.

“You remember what happened with that Mary woman. This time, things oughta turn out better. This one’s got no old man to chase you around with a shotgun,” Hosea figures himself very funny and laughs, ending it with a shallow cough. Arthur furrows his brows.

Of course he reminded him of his disaster with Mary. He could never escape that woman, even when he severed ties with her. But how he had wanted to, especially with you. Yes, it was true, he had loved Mary. But now he loves you. He needs you. His idea of the rest of his life always includes you, laying in bed with him, gently stroking his chest, leaving him love notes in his satchel, telling him what happened in the camp while he was gone. He always listens, always wakes up smiling with you tucked under his arm.

“I remember just fine,” he grunts,

“Good, because you’ll forget about her soon enough. Month from now, I suppose. Where are you going to tell her?”

“Where? I didn’t think we was gonna go nowhere, just tell her when I was ready to…” he hadn’t even imagined a place when he first set out to do this.

“So you wanna propose; with Uncle standing behind her, drunk off his ass in just his soiled union suit?”

“I-”

“Take her somewhere special, somewhere to make her feel special! Women like to feel special, Arthur, you know that,”

“I do?” He says, with a sarcastic edge to his voice, though he tries on his attempt at sounding uninvested.

“You should. I didn’t do that enough. I should have before, well…” Arthur nods, bowing his head a little as if in remembrance. He hopes to always have you by his side. Otherwise he would be much like Hosea: carrying a torch for a woman who passed through his life too quickly.

-

He starts his journey looking for something special. Special like you are. Keeps his eye out, marking potential things in his map, and makes a list in his journal. Aurora Basin maybe, a pretty lake deep in the forest but getting attacked by bears doesn’t sound romantic in any way. There are some sweeping vistas overlooking the San Luis River in Rio Bravo. He isn’t quite sure about anything though, thinking it over deeply. He just wants things to be perfect.

He’s still thinking about it when he comes back to camp, close to Lake Don Julio, sighing. Thinking much too hard obviously, he doesn’t notice that you’re sitting on his bed, biting your nail nervously until you see him first. You look worried, happy to see him but worried. You stand, hugging your arms around yourself and then placing them on your hips to make you seem more upset but you just drop them when he’s close enough.

“Hey, darlin’,” He utters, opening his arms to give you a hug but you just look up at him. He drops them, mentally kicking himself before taking his hat off and sitting down on his bed.

“Arthur, you’ve been gone three days,”

“I know,” you’re disappointed in his answer. You take a breath and a pause, looking off to the right. He stares down at his scuffed and weather worn boots. He hates to disappoint you, hates when you’re upset. It takes a lot to get you there, too. You’re a forgiving soul when he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness. He looks away, like a dog who knew he shouldn’t have chewed those leather boots up to bits.

“You know. I asked everyone where you were and they didn’t know,”

“Honey, I ain’t gonna leave you, I’m not-”

“You leave other men out of this, Arthur,” you already predicted he’d bring another man’s failings to make up for his own. Maybe bringing up John’s shortcomings while you’re upset is a little below the belt but it worked better in his head. He puffs some air out in a laugh. God, he just can’t seem to find the right words to say.

“Is something funny? Is how much-how much I worry funny to you?” You look like you’re gonna cry, squeezing your arms tight around yourself. Your eyes flick around, thinking of all the people watching, never any goddamn privacy in this place. You start to back up, looking for a place to hide your tears.

“No, no, I- I’m sorry, don’t go walkin’ away,” You let him pull you back. Let him tug you into his lap. You sniff and tuck into his neck. “I’m sorry,” he says at least 5 more times. His hands pet down your hair, holding you. He hadn’t wanted to come back to such a harrowing fear in the pit of his stomach, the thought of you walking off without him. He thinks himself lucky that you haven’t had enough of him and decided to leave already.

Arthur pulls you in real tight, doesn’t let up til’ you start to calm down a little. “Shouldn’t cry for me, sweet girl, bastard like me ain’t worth them tears,” he wipes a few away. Seeing you like this could make him cry if he thought about it too much, how he had let you down. His nerves almost make him tremble, the slightest shake in his fingers when he brushes them under your eyes, shiny with tears. If anyone else made you cry, he’d knock their teeth out. But what is he supposed to do when it’s him? Sickness roils around his abdomen.

“Where were you, anyway?” You shake your head at his words. “Mac and Davey said…” he perks up at that. Those boys are a terror. His face screws up in an anticipated anger. He’d be angrier with them, they’re the ones who need to see it, not you.

“What’d they say?”

“No, they were just messing with me. I don’t think it’s true,” You look away. But he knows exactly how nasty those boys can be. He gives you a look and you give him a defeated one in return. An embarrassment leaks into your words. You can’t meet his eyes, twiddling your fingers.

“They said you were at the saloon in town. They said things that aren’t true and I know it but it isn’t nice to leave me here with nothing to say about it,”

“I know, darlin’, next time, you’ll be the first to know where I’m goin’,” You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulder while he pats your back, grabs your thigh so he can pull you to sit across his lap fully.

“Are you gonna answer my question or should I take their word?” you tease and he reassures you about those boys. They’ll be hearing from him soon enough.

“I’m gonna have a word with them, don’t worry about it,” he scratches his beard. How is he supposed to say that he went riding around looking for a place to take you so he can ask you to take his sorry hand in marriage? He had already disappointed you and saying it’s a secret is a laughable idea.

“Well, I was out, uhh- huntin’?” You frown and lean away.

“Arthur, you’re an awful hunter and an awful liar,” you look really hurt. You almost stand but he pulls you back. He needs something to tell you and fast.

“I was out lookin’ for somethin’ real special to give you. It’s supposed to be a surprise…but well, I can’t keep no secrets from you, sweetheart,” You fuss a little, a wariness in your posture. You study his expression. It isn’t a complete lie, makes it a bit easier to pull off. He really does have a surprise for you. He tries to keep his face neutral, but his lips twitch up when yours do to, a small smile shining through the clouds of your emotional turmoil.

“What surprise?”

“I didn’t find it, guess a surprise, it’s gonna have to stay,” You pout and wiggle, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

“Ok, but once you find it, you better take me to see it right away,” You kiss him, soft and sweet, holding his prickly jaw in one hand. He can feel how your pout gives way to a smile. The feeling of your soft lips on his is one of those things he’ll never get sick of, never get over.

“I will, promise,”

-

He’s found the perfect ring, really, by chance. It’s a little thing but it’s the right color, goes well with you. The rock on it isn’t very big but he saw it in a window while in town. Some big fancy jewelry store, showing off all the finer things that he never paid any mind to. Unless it was to steal it of course. But he had bought it. With money that may have been also robbed but it was from hitting a Del Lobo stash. A good deed, probably in a backwards sense.

The girls had ‘oohed’ at it, Mary-Beth had an excited tiny clap and Tilly rejoiced. Jenny nodded with a small smile.

“We’re happy for you Arthur! Oh my god, Arthur Morgan, gettin’ married…” Tilly giggles, putting her hands to her cheeks and clasping her hands in front of the skirt of her yellow dress.

Karen laughed. “Never thought I’d see the day,”

“Don’t listen to her, I mean we was hoping when we saw you two huddled up all the time,” Mary-Beth takes the ring from him, holding it closer, so that Jenny and Tilly can get a closer look.

“Hey, be careful with that,” he murmured, trying not to sound too desperate. He scratches his neck instead of snatching it back like his instinct wants him to. Evening is coming soon, purple dusk and soft coyote yipping and howling far in the distance marks the sun's descent. Meaning you’re probably finishing up whatever it is you’re doing. He hopes you don’t come around the corner at an inopportune time. Arthur turns his head this way and that.

“Where’d you get it? Looks new, ain’t scuffed to high heaven like everything else around here,” Jenny points out and the girls nod.

“Bought it in town,” playing it off doesn’t work so well.

They ‘ooh’ some more. “Fancy. Only the best for Arthur’s sweetheart,” Karen coos teasingly.

“Gimme that,” grumbling, he takes the ring back, bowing his head so they can’t see the embarrassment plain on his face. He meanders off after asking how things have been. Of course, they only give him updates about you, Karen jokes that that’s all he wants to hear about anyway. He scoffs and wishes them a good evening.

But the perfect spot is yet to be discovered. Evades him like just about nothing else. He almost gives up on the idea. He’s been taking you out, trying to get you in the almost perfect moments. Taking you out on the town in Blackwater was a good time, he bought you dinner and took you on a stroll down the cobbled streets, watching your face light up when you saw something pretty in a window, clutching his hand and pulling him in more. He almost proposed on the veranda at the Blackwater saloon. Only for a fight to break out at the poker table to interrupt.

Then he took you out to see the poppy fields in Great Plains. But he had let his anxiousness and his nerves overtake him. He had tucked the ring away. You had looked so beautiful standing among the flowers, it was perfect but he just…couldn’t. Instead, he wrote in his journal about his own cowardice. Wrote about if he should lock you to him for the rest of your life. If he’d end up leaving you a widow. Or if you were to be taken from him like Annabelle and Bessie. Leaving behind lonely men who longed for a woman gone from this world. Then he scribbled pictures of you, trying to draw the motion in your hair and in your dress and the beaming most enchanting smile he had ever seen.

Boadicea munched on the long wheat grass, waving in the wind while he kept a watchful eye on you, picking flowers in your pretty dress fluttering against the bright blue of the sky. You have a bunch of candy orange poppy flowers held together by your palms, a bright smile on your face. You walk to where he sits, leaning against the tree, next to a small broken down stone fence. Your smile falters when you see his pensive expression. You come close enough to touch. You dangle one flower above him before you tuck it into the frayed ropes banded around the crown of his hat. He lowers his head while you fuss. Smiling like a fool. You smile again too, sitting beside him. You both listen to the sound of the quiet plains, breeze in the branches above him. The shade is cool, light filters beautifully over your features, speckled like the back of a doe.

“Something has been going on with you, Arthur,” you state as pure fact, knowing him all too well. You had only really known each other a year and have only been together as a couple for six months but you knew him better than anyone else. You had let him be himself, let him just…be. He didn't need to say anything for you to understand him.

“I’ve just been… thinkin’ bout some things,”

“Really? I thought you said you weren’t very good at that,” you smile a little, nudging his shoulder. Hoping to lift his spirits with his similar brand of humor but when he hardly huffs a laugh, you frown. “Is it about you and me?”

“Yeah, in a way,” he says, unable to hide anything from you. Why should he bother? Saying no would make you more suspicious. Arthur closes his eyes and can feel the panic rising in you. He could have been better about saying it but he’s quick to deflect it away from his secret. “You happy with me?” low and grumbled, the severity makes his tone go way down.

“I don’t understand. Do I not seem happy? Arthur, I’ve never…I’ve never been happier than I am with you. You’re the kind of man any girl would be lucky to have,” You smile, leaning to face him. Softening up, your eyes track over his face.

He wanted to ask you right then and there. Tell you just how much you complete him. How lucky he was to have you, how there never was a happier time in his life. He doesn’t believe in that sentiment you have, he had failed the women in his life. But he had wanted to make a vow, to never leave you alone. It’s his own nerves that wrap tight around his hands, don’t let him reach in his satchel for the little treasure that will be your wedding ring.

“No, I just know I been gone, I don’t wanna ignore you. I just been busy,”

“You have things to do,” You sigh heavily. “I wish the other men would be as helpful as you. Sometimes, I watch Sean, Uncle, and Bill lay around all day while you’re out working. It doesn’t seem fair,” Your brows pinch in a small dissatisfaction with the idea. He smirks.

“I don’t know how much I trust Sean to get things done right. We’d probably eat nothin’ but leaded rabbit meat and whiskey if we left it up to that boy,” You giggle and nod. Happy to see him back in his joking mood.

“Arthur… You know I love you, don’t you?” God, those words make him shiver. Make his heart rattle in his chest. Could swear his insides turn about 3 times. So sweet, you look at him, hands on his thighs, leaning into his side. He opens his arm for you to tuck into, grabbing your waist to pull you close.

“Yeah, I do. Love you more,” he can feel heat flush up his neck and cheeks but he doesn’t care if he looks like a lovesick idiot. Your joy is worth it. The wind blows your hair over your shoulder, you let him sweep it back some more. Your pretty laugh when he bows over to lay you down on the grass makes him chuckle.

-

He’s finally found it. Montana Ford. A shallow spot in the river he discovered, looking for a short cut trying to cross from New Austin into West Elizabeth. He hated riding through the Del Lobo populated Thieves Landing, especially after they were catching on that it was Dutch and his boys robbed their stash two weeks ago. He sighed and then he veered off the road, looking for somewhere to cross. And the shaded river was perfect.

He stays there a moment, looking at the pretty grass growing alongside the water, the light glittering over the surface. The sound of the river rushing by fills his head pleasantly. You’d love it, you’d toss your boots aside and wade into the river, lifting your skirts high enough to hopefully not get wet. But you’d be wet anyway. He’d do it too, you made him feel like he was twenty despite his thirty some years on this earth.

He decides to sit and sketch it and write about you. Just how excited he was at how everything was coming together. He feels like a kid, sappy but too devoted to care very much at the small heart he puts on his map. He’s almost embarrassed of himself. Even with no one to see. He folds his map up and stuffs his journal away, whistling his horse over. With a soft word or two, he mounts up and continues on to his destination.

-

It's been three days since he found the spot he would take you to and he’s had a ring in his satchel that glares up at him every time he opens it to pull out a cigarette. Of course, just as everything comes together, Dutch insists he go scouting for some new venture, looking to follow a treasure hunter so they could rob him. It ends up being a whole lot of nothing from a bad tip but Dutch has a ‘nothing ventured, nothing gained’ speech to try and lick his own wounds at Arthur’s expense. Arthur rolls his eyes. Feels his hands knot into fists.

“Maybe next time, it’ll be you runnin’ all over New Austin on some wild goose chase! And I’ll give you this bullshit. Wouldn’t that be just fine, wasting your goddamn time-”

“Arthur, calm down! I don’t have time for your complaining. Where is that girl of yours? Why don’t you blow some of that steam off with her? It’s obvious to me-”

“Dutch…stop pushing the boy,” Hosea remarks from where he’s reading a book nearby. Arthur postures to continue arguing and Dutch shoots a glare before waving him off. He looks to Hosea and backs away, huffing. But before he can go for a smoke to hopefully calm himself down so he could be with you, Hosea calls him over.

“So… have you popped the question?”

“No, I ain’t got time most days,” He sighs in defeat, dropping his weight on the seat next to him, resting on his knees, leaned over. He takes his hat off to adjust his hair before putting it back on. He hadn’t seen you in another two days on account of this stupid ploy to rob a treasure hunter who didn’t know left from right and east from west. What an idiot. But not nearly as foolish as he.

“Tomorrow, I’ll tell Dutch to leave you out of these plots of his. I’ll even tell Miss Grimshaw that she’ll be gone. Take her and ride away for a couple of days. I hope to see a ring on her finger when you get back. In fact, I’ll be expecting it!” Hosea has a smile on his face, the excitement is genuine. Arthur nods.

“And what if she says no?”

“Well you keep at it. Perhaps a little persistence is all you need but why do you insist on imagining the worst?” It’s as if after asking, he considers why Arthur might not want to change things irreparably, might have already put his heart on the line and had it thrown away before.

“Arthur, the sting of rejection must be pretty…pretty lamentable. But you wouldn’t be trying this hard if you really thought you didn’t have a good chance,” Hosea sets his book down. “Go get some rest… leave first thing in the morning,” Hosea pats Arthur lightly on his shoulder. Arthur looks up as Hosea wanders in the direction of his tent.

His heart does yearn to see you at his side, wearing his ring on your finger. To hear you referred to as Mrs. Morgan. But all he can see is an incredulous look on your face. ‘Marry? Me? Arthur, you must be joking,’ you laugh and laugh. You’d never be so cruel but whatever part of him hates his own guts imagines the scenarios with great fervor. The anger from the rest of his day and the anger at himself grit against each other. He growls low before marching off to his tent.

You’re already inside, looking very lovely, one of his mended shirts serving as something of a robe to wear over your underthings. You look up and smile. He could forget the whole world just by looking at you. You hum, scooting over in bed.

“Arthur…” the way you call his name, you hardly need to give him any pet names, just Arthur will do.

“Come out with me tomorrow. First thing in the morning,” He states. More like a command, the residual anger drips off his words. You look at him strangely.

“Alright but I’d like to know what all of this is about first,” You set whatever you were working on, perhaps brushing your hair as you set a horsehair brush aside. You give him a concerned look.

“Found that surprise,” he grumbles, sitting down and tugging his boots off. “Hope you’ll like it but…” he stops to tug his gun belt off, his suspenders too. Arthur rests his hat gently on the side table. “Can’t be too sure til I show it to ya,” You smile softly.

“I think if you think I like it, I’ll love it,” God, he hopes so. Anticipation bounces around in his head and in his lungs. He’s practically short of breath. How he’s going to sleep, he has no idea.

“Yeah?” you hum in agreement. Looking sleepy, he’s endeared by how your eyes blink slowly, how you wiggle onto his chest the second he lays down. Your hands rub down his chest and belly. You’re asleep in a matter of minutes. He almost wishes he had you for company still but he’d never wake you for something so selfish. Instead, he pets down your hair and listens to your breathing, the natural hush that covers the camp once it’s too late for much of anything but small chatter.

-

Like clockwork, he wakes early. He can’t remember falling asleep but you're softly murmuring, you won’t wake unless he expressly wakes you. He gives himself time to put on that shirt he bought and rub his hand over his face at how nervous and silly he feels buttoning it up. He pulls a jacket over it to hopefully hide how ridiculous he looks. The morning is a pale blue when he steps out, thinking to bring you coffee to wake you.

You dress, half asleep, when he comes back to you, humming into the cup he brought you. You wear something nice but not overstated. You put kisses on him to wish him a good morning after you’ve decided you’re cleaned up enough.

He helps you up on his horse, Boadicea already very used to you. The ride isn’t too bad and you certainly make it better, he’s quiet with nerves, responding as much as he can without getting lost in his thoughts. The sun has climbed up and blazed down on you for a while by the time you get there. But your face when you see his surprise is too precious, eager to slip off the back of his horse.

“Arthur, it’s so beautiful!” The summer sun is high in the sky, perfect for your plans as you tug your boots off. He ambles after you, hitching his horse to a tree. You’re already sighing and knee deep in the center of the river. Your stockings lay haphazardly tossed over your boots. You’re some fabled creature, come from somewhere else. He could see it. No woman shined like you did, at least not how he saw things.

Just like he imagined, he rolls his pants up and tosses his boots aside, the spurs jingle when they hit the ground. The light catches the river’s surface, shades of yellow and green, the earth's gentle brown. You’re excited to see him join you, taking his hand that he holds out to you, pressed to his belly and chest, just where you belong.

“You like it, sweetheart?” He mumbles, really fishing for compliments. He knows you do but he’d love to hear you say it.

“I love it, Arthur, how could you say I wouldn’t? Sometimes, you’re a silly man,” you laugh, sway with him in the river. Birds sing, the water is cool, it’s perfect. He pulls you up to a shallower part of the ford, the sun forms a halo around you, reminds him you’re pure heaven and he couldn’t let you go.

“I have something else for you,” his voice is shaky instead of the easy confidence he likes to portray himself as. You look up excitedly but the dazzling smile slips off your face, you're shocked as he pulls a ring from his satchel and kneels down in the river.

“I-uhhh…I-“ he had really planned all of this and didn’t think of a single word to say. He can't bear to look up, he’s sure he’ll lose his nerve. “I haven’t loved…anyone like I love you,” the ring looks tiny and pathetic in his fingers. They’re also calloused to hell but he continues anyway. “There ain’t anyone else for me in this world but you. I just wish I was a better man, you deserve more than I can give but… if you would have me,” he looks up and your hands cover your mouth and tears leak over your fingers.

He really had ruined everything, hadn’t he? How was he supposed to go on living with you? What would he tell Hosea? His face falls and his heart cracks but he’d be glad to take you back home and disappear for a few days.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, don’t know what I thought,”

“Arthur, just please…” you hold out your left hand. You wipe your tears, trying to compose yourself and when he sees your smile, your hand over your right cheek, he lets himself ease. “Nothing would make me happier than to be- to be your wife, Arthur, you are…you’re the best man I know,” you wiggle your fingers excitedly and he slips the ring over your ring finger. He stays stunned, kneeled in the water, his pants soaking it all up but he couldn’t care less.

The ring looks so perfect on you. He holds your hand, kissing it like a knight of old, looking at him down on his knee, still crying but that brightness in your eyes is all he needs. Your giggle makes him smile at you too. And you drop to embrace him, tucking into his chest, arms around his neck. You murmur his name, rub his back. Tangle your fingers in his hair. He settles with you, surrounded by your unmistakable presence, basking in it. Holds you tighter, trying to not squeeze the air out of you. He breathes you in, holding you through your overwhelmed clinging, wiping your tears on his shoulder.

You pull back a little, enough to kiss him, his relief is groaned into your mouth. He loses track of himself and slips, sitting in a river with you in his arms, giggling more into his kiss.

You sit with him on the banks, trying to dry out after he tipped over. So much for his fancy shirt. He thinks the both of you will look half drowned by the time he brings you back to camp but he isn’t sure he wants to go back. Just you and him for a few days sounds rather enticing. You keep looking at your ring, leaned into his shoulder. A pleased little smile blooms over your face. How can he not smile at how beautiful you look, hair wet at the ends, warm light casting its glow over you.

You look up at him, with a look that says you’re gonna cry again but you just give him a teary smile.

“I’m a lucky bastard, get to call you mine,” You wrap one tiny hand over his neck when you kiss him slow and deep, letting him consume the very air in your lungs, grip over your body to feel it. You moan just softly enough to pull on his need for you. But you part ways for you to continue.

“Did you really think I’d say no?” you give him a sad frown. As if upset that he would think such a thing of you. You brush your fingers against his skin. He looks away.

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” you sigh.

“Who could say no to Arthur Morgan?” You ask no one in particular but he huffs a small laugh.

“Many people,” a joking tone tinges his words. But then he dips towards the sentimental. “Don’t even remember, really, all I think about is you, darlin’…” You laugh before coming closer, unable and unwilling to part from him. He knows he’s a hundred and one percent sap but he lets himself melt in your presence.

“Well, it certainly wasn’t me,” you wiggle your left hand in his face. He chuckles a little at your cute little fingers. “I’m glad…it means I get you all to myself,” The joy is boundless in his chest, he could light the night like a lightning bug with the flame in his heart.

“Arthur, I… I… sometimes I don’t have the words to tell you how much I love you,” you lean onto him. He shakes his head with what he’s sure looks like a stupid grin on his face. He wasn’t sure this would be in the cards for him but here he is, with you.

“Every part of me loves you, honey,” is all he has to say, paling in comparison to the pure power of your own words over him. They tumble clumsily from his mouth but you pull him down for kisses anyway. Your teasing ‘do you?’ has him nodding between your giggles and wet kisses.

-

Thank you so much for leaving me this request, I loved writing it!! It was so much fun and I really had fun including some parts of rdr1 map that were really special to me and brought me back to when I was a kid playing that game 🥹🥹🥹🥲🥲🥲❤️❤️❤️ any feedback is appreciated and thanks for reading 🥰🫶

[aoioozora]

Alive

Character: Kieran Duffy (Red Dead Redemption 2) Content: K.D x Fem reader, fluff, mild depictions of violence, very minimal cursing, mild angst Word count: 4.1k Photo credit: @risenfromagrave Note: Saving Kieran here because his death UPSET me and he didn't deserve to die the way he did.

You grumbled, looking over your shoulder to see if deputies were still at your heels.

Being paired with Micah for a mission wasn't fun, and though for once the mission went smoothly without any hiccups, it all went to shit when the two of you stepped into a saloon for a drink to unwind after the work. An especially angry drunk challenged Micah to a fight, and all hell broke loose. First, an exchange of angry words, then an exchange of punches, and then an exchange of bullets, all loud and noisy enough to wake the dead, and the law enforcement which came running. Not wanting to be caught up in more trouble than you ought, you had to grab Micah by the back of his collar and get running and galloping.

"Dutch tells us to lay low and you do the exact opposite! Can't have any damn peace with you around," you scolded as both of your horses relaxed and began to trot down the dirt roads back to Shady Belle.

"Can't blame me, Miss. That feller started it. I was in for a nice, peaceful time until he came along to ruin it," he complained, clearing his throat loudly and spitting on the ground.

You didn't hear a word he said. A quiet rustle in the woodland caught your attention, and you caught a glimpse of a rider on a horse. He was dressed in black and gray, having his hat down low over his eyes. He rode away from both of you down another dirt trail, not seeming to have noticed your presence. Micah was still talking your ears off and you hushed him.

"Shut it, Micah. I see an O'Driscoll."

He immediately stopped. "Where?" he whispered eagerly, craning his neck and peering forward to look in the same direction as you. When he spotted the fellow, he smirked.

Your eyes remained trained on the O'Driscoll, and you flicked your chin towards him. "Let's follow him."

And so the two of you did, keeping a safe distance and acting inconspicuously. Micah took the rear, not wanting to be recognized as he was seen before with Dutch by the wretches. You urged your horse forward to cover him and rode ahead.

The O'Driscoll took a winding route into the woods --a lesser known dirt trail-- and the two of you followed on behind him slowly, using the bushes, foliage, and dappled shadows for cover. The Sun, situated at the apex of the sky, shone down bright, making beads of sweat drip down your face even under the shade.

The O'Driscoll neared a run-down log cabin and hitched his horse right outside. The moss-covered cabin was shaded by the tall trees and the outsides of it were littered with broken bottles. It looked nothing like a proper O'Driscoll settlement, but rather a temporary dwelling. Only five horses were hitched outside the cabin, indicating only a few.

"He's dismounting," you whispered to Micah as the two of you stopped your horses at a safe distance.

Just as both of you dismounted, a blood-curdling scream erupted from within the cabin. You stopped in your tracks and looked at Micah with wide eyes. He looked back at you, not particularly perturbed. The scream seemed to make even the leaves of the trees tremble in fear.

"Stop! Please!" came the cry of a very familiar voice.

"Kieran!" you exclaimed under your breath. "Come on, we have to save him!"

Before Micah even said anything, you took the rifle off your back and began to stalk towards the cabin as fast and as unnoticed as you could. Micah followed behind you.

Crawling behind a crate, you asked Micah as you peeked out, "What do you think about shootin' up some O'Driscolls today?"

"Nothing makes me happier."

You grunted in response. "For once we agree."

It took you everything to not lose your cool at the shrieks echoing in the woods. You longed to burst into the cabin and shoot them all until they turned into a well-loved rag filled with holes, but you knew better than to be a fool.

Slinking away from the crate, the two of you continued to stalk towards the rundown cabin, careful not to jostle the broken bottles. You could hear the sounds of Kieran being punched, talked down to, and kicked around. Your stomach churned in anger as you ducked under the window and pressed your back against the wall next to the door. Micah positioned himself on the other side of the door, holding his guns up.

"You really thought you could escape us, huh?!" you heard one of the O'Driscolls yell from inside.

A loud thud and a groan of pain followed. "Please stop..." came Kieran's pathetic sounding wail.

You bit your lip and put your hand on the knob, trying to twist it open. It resisted.

"If you thought your Van Der Lindes would come and save you, you're dead wrong. It don't look like they care too much about scum like you," another O'Driscoll spoke. Another thud, followed by coughing and hacking.

"But don't you worry. We'll treat you real fine and head you back to them as a gift of the long standing friendship between us all," assured another O'Driscoll, laughing aloud.

You heard the rustle and scrub of cloth and wood creaking. Kieran begged, "No, no, no! Please don't!"

From within, the distinct scrape and clinking of knives was audible. Your heart was in your throat.

"I'll break this door open and you open fire," you hastily whispered to Micah, and he nodded, pushing himself off the wall and clenching his guns.

Kieran was starting to shriek. Lifting the butt of your rifle, you rammed it straight down on the doorknob, knocking it off. The door broke open from the impact and Micah sprung into action.

You followed immediately. Pulling the trigger, your first target was the head of the wretch who held his knife against Kieran's neck. He fell down, limp.

"Van Der Lindes at your fucking service, boys!" you roared.

Micah laughed aloud at your roar, pleased by your enthusiasm as he fired his bullets. "That's my girl!" he exclaimed snidely, "Finally you ain't so polite about your killin'."

"Shut your damned mouth and keep shootin'!"

There were more O'Driscolls in the cabin than you anticipated; about ten. But it was no hard task for two of the gang's most formidable gunslingers. Micah gleefully shot away, throwing down tables and using them for cover while Kieran was cowering in the corner of the room, hands and feet bound tightly in ropes. Finding an empty wardrobe next to him, you pushed it down on its side and rushed behind it.

"You okay, Kieran?!" you exclaimed as you exchanged fire.

"I-I-I'm okay!" he squeaked, hunching over his knees and trying to lay as flat as he could behind the defense of the wardrobe.

Your momentary distraction afforded a shot to the arm, but with adrenaline rushing in your blood, you felt no pain. You'd slaughter every last one of them for even daring to touch Kieran.

Finally, the last one fell, shot by Micah. The two of you breathed heavily from the exertion and Micah rose to his feet from behind the makeshift rampart, scanning the cabin once more. With a sigh, he returned his guns to their holsters. "Not enough of these fellers for me to kill," he quipped, disappointed.

You turned to Kieran, finally having the time to properly look at him. His pathetic face was red and bloodied from all the punches he took. His clothes were torn and soiled, bearing boot prints from being stepped on. Cuts were all over his arms and his neck, some shallow, some deep. Pulling out your knife, you cut off the ropes that bound him.

"You look like a mess..." you sighed, trying to keep calm for his sake, "What on earth did they do to you?"

Kieran grimaced as he explained the abuse he underwent the past two days. Sleep deprivation, starvation, beating, kicking, threatening, lashing, and so much worse else that he struggled to express. As you pulled out some clean cloth to wrap around the wounds on his neck, you felt your chest tighten with guilt that you couldn't come for him sooner.

You rose to your feet and held out your hand to him. He shakily raised his arm, taking it and rising to his feet with a pained groan. He held his back and his hip, still groaning.

"Y-You came at the right time," he said, quivering, "They was ready to cut my head off just when you entered."

Your eyes widened and you clenched your teeth. "God damn them bastards," you growled under your breath, not even meaning it vainly.

The three of you only had these few moments to breathe when more gunshots from behind the cabin-- all distant-- vibrated the quiet air. You started, looking at the rear windows of the dilapidated building.

"They must've heard our gunshots!" you exclaimed.

Micah grinned, instantly slinging his guns out of the holsters. "Leave them to me," he said, sauntering towards the windows and ramming the butt of his gun against the glass, shattering it.

"They look like too many to take alone" you said, joining him and standing by the other window. Turning to Kieran, you pulled out your Cattleman and handed it to him. "Here, use this. We're a bit outnumbered."

The roar of O'Driscolls over their gunfire was loud, but you and Micah held them back. Kieran struggled with all his aches and pains, but managed to shoot a few himself. It was a tense few minutes of heated exchange, but with the last one falling, silence immediately settled in.

Rising immediately, you said, "Let's get out of here before more O'Driscolls come."

After quickly looting the sparse cabin and the bodies, the three of you mounted your horses and rode out. Kieran sat behind you, quietly whimpering in pain as the horse rode along the rugged paths. Micah seemed to be addressing Kieran about something, but it was all muffled by your thoughts.

The thought of Kieran suffering worse than how you found him sickened you. Your stomach churned at the image of his neck sliced and his life blood spurting out. And knowing how ruthless the O'Driscolls could be, they definitely would've done significantly worse things to his dead body. You may have had a questionable relationship with the Lord Almighty, but you sure thanked Him that Kieran's warm hands still held fast to you.

It was a relief to see the familiar surroundings of Shady Belle bathed in the descending sunlight, and as soon as the three of you arrived, the sight of Kieran after his disappearance stirred excitement in the camp.

"You found him!" Mary-Beth, running up to you, exclaimed first as you dismounted and helped Kieran down.

"Those damn O'Driscolls caught him!" you roared for everyone in the gang to hear, and then told them all how you and Micah slaughtered every last one of them.

The other gang members praised you, and reluctantly praised Micah for the rare occasion of him taking part in saving a fellow gang member. As always, he was full of pompous words about how he "killed more than the little Miss".

You had no time to be offended. You and Mary-Beth helped Kieran into a room in the mansion where Ms. Grimshaw would treat his wounds.

"I do hope he'll be okay," Mary-Beth said worriedly, holding your arm.

"He'll live. That much I know."

Feeling weary, you pulled out of her grasp and headed downstairs. She followed you into the parlour of the mansion and watched as you sat down with a sigh. You begged her for a cup of water, which she promptly brought to you. As she took another chair and sat down next to you, she watched you relish the cool drink.

"I'm sure glad Kieran is back," she said softly, lacing her fingers over her lap.

You nodded vigorously, placing the empty cup on your thigh. "So am I. You wouldn't believe our luck. He would've... He would've gotten his head lopped off if we were a moment too late." You wiped your hand down your face, sighing shakily. "Thank the Lord we found him before they did."

Mary-Beth wrapped her arms around you, letting you rest your head in the crook of her neck as she rubbed your back. Your body eased against your friend's and you sighed again.

"You did a real good job, my dear," she whispered, lovingly stroking your hair.

The security tightened around the camp after this incident. More gang members stood on the perimeters of Shady Belle, vigilant. Not only was the gang up on their guard, but the general attitude towards Kieran changed too. Some of the more rougher gang members who bullied him previously seemed to express some concern for his wellbeing and recovery.

The camp was in no celebratory mood after learning that Kieran was whisked away during the party for Jack. It remained lively as it always was, but the perpetual shadow was cast by the O'Driscolls caused the heavy drinkers to sober up and keep their vigil, and Dutch to withdraw to himself to consider where to go next before they risked another kidnapping or attack.

In the meantime, you made sure to tend to Kieran in any way you could, visiting him and talking to him to distract him from the pain. Sometimes Mary-Beth and Arthur would take your place when you weren't around.

Speaking of Arthur, he was especially upset about the whole thing.

"Damn O'Driscolls," he shook his head as he lit the cigarette between his lips, "I'm tired of this feud Colm and Dutch are having. When will it end?"

"I reckon it will go on till kingdom come," you answered resignedly. This was the first time since joining the gang that you witnessed O'Driscoll brutality firsthand after only knowing it in theory.

Arthur grumbled, taking a drag of the cigarette. "That aside, I'm surprised Micah cooperated. You know how he is. Kills more people than he saves."

You shrugged. "True. I guess he happily jumped right in because it was O'Driscolls we was dealing with. He gets to satisfy that damn itch in his hands and we get to cut down their forces."

"Hm." He nodded silently, staring at the ground of the porch he was standing on. "I'm glad Kieran is okay, though. You did well." He gave you a gentle pat on your shoulder in gratitude.

Though Arthur didn't show it, you could see the relief written all over his face. How distraught he would've been if the man that saved his life was killed like a dog with nobody to save him.

It was an especially quiet night and like usual, you sat in Kieran's room by the window, polishing your Cattleman to pass your time as you kept him company. His room was small, but sufficiently spaced for him to move about. After all the nights he spent sleeping outside, you were glad that he was given a roof over his head.

The camp was mostly quiet and relaxed, and conversations around the fire rose in the air in soft murmurs. You watched the night with alertness, and your rifle remained on your back. Kieran, seated on his humble bed, preferred to watch you.

"I-I cannot thank you enough for saving my life, Miss," he blurted. He'd been saying that everyday since.

You looked at him and smiled, shaking your head. "Are you going to thank me for the rest of your life?" you asked lightheartedly.

"I sure will. It's my life you saved, after all." He twiddled with his thumbs nervously.

You paused, looking at his slouched posture, his scruffy appearance, messy black hair and all the bandages wrapped around his arms and his neck. Your eyes softened at his plight, and you felt a surge of affection for him. "I'm glad you're back, Kieran. I missed you," you admitted softly.

An embarrassed flush bloomed on his cheeks at your loving address. "You did?" he asked, surprised. "I didn't think I was... visible enough in camp to be noticed, let alone missed."

"Well, Mary-Beth was the first to notice you was gone," you told him, "and you know the rest." But sensing the insecurity and vulnerability in his voice, you said, "Kieran, I don't know to what extent the camp as a whole trusts and likes you, but just know that I'll always trust you, like you, and miss you when you're gone."

You felt your cheeks flush a little, wondering if your speech betrayed your true feelings. But he smiled, feeling reassured.

"Thank you, Miss. I'm glad, really," he looked down at his feet on the floor, "I-I try so hard to be of use in the gang. I like it here better than with them O'Driscolls," his voice quieted as if in fear of even uttering the accursed name. "They're terrifying, but you all are nicer. And- And I want to prove myself that I-I ain't an O'Driscoll no more."

"Oh, Kieran," you shook your head, "You ain't an O'Driscoll no more, no matter what any of us say. You're one of us, a Van Der Linde." You rose to your feet and moved towards his bed. Situating yourself right next to him, you took his hand in yours and squeezed it, now saying in a soft whisper, "You'll never be an O'Driscoll again."

He nodded slowly, taking in the words. You looked at him. His eyes were fixed to the starry night outside the window, distant and thoughtful. You wondered if he thought of his time with the former gang. Your heart ached for what he had to go through with them, both now and in the past and to always be in fear of them, near or away.

"If they dare touch a single strand of your hair ever again, I promise I'll do worse things to them than what they planned to do to you," you declared, squeezing his hand again.

Kieran's eyes widened, alarmed by the extent of your harshness. He put his other hand on yours, clasping it. "Please, dear Miss, you don't have to go so far just for me," he begged.

"Why not?" you demanded, "They hurt you! I won't stand for that!"

"But-But the O'Driscolls ain't the sweetest people, you know... what if you get hurt because of me? I wouldn't want that."

Your brows furrowed, and Kieran feared he angered you. He shrunk a little, pulling his hand away from yours reluctantly. Noticing this, the anger on your face melted away.

"I... well," you stammered, "It ain't fair, Kieran. You're a nice guy. You've had a rough life even before them O'Driscolls. You take care of our horses and do your best around camp. You're an honest and innocent feller unlike the rest of us and I like that about you. It ain't fair or right that they can just whisk you away and not get the consequences of their actions for it!"

Your praise made his heart soar. He didn't think you thought so highly of him.

"And I know you ain't much a fighter," you continued, "And I ain't the best and showing people I care. Protecting you is the least I can do."

Kieran was both flattered and ashamed. Protecting was his job as a man. It didn't sit right with him that you took the dominant role when it was simply your right and privilege as a woman to be cared for and protected. But he didn't say it. He knew his limitations for the moment, but vowed to himself that he'd try and get stronger and braver so that he could one day protect you.

Afraid as he was to admit it, he admired you greatly. You were strong, hardy, beautiful, and brave. You knew your way around weapons and you were smart. He'd always looked on you with a certain awe and even jealousy that he wasn't anywhere near as impressive as you were. And to think that someone so amazing would condescend to be so attentive to him at this moment was both humbling and heart-fluttering.

"I could not have asked for a better friend than you, Miss," he smiled shyly. No sooner had the words come of his mouth, he worried if he took it too far by calling you a friend.

But the grin on your lovely, weathered face eased him. "I'm happy you think so, Kieran," you said gently, looking down at your lap.

He caught a hint of shyness in your face as you looked away, and his heart jumped. You, shy? He never saw this before.

Silence filled the room. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, and from your straight posture and how you clenched the sides of the bed, you looked like you had something more to say. Kieran shifted in his seat.

"Are you okay? You look a little... tense," he finally asked.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just... I just wanted to tell you something important."

"Of course," he encouraged, turning himself to face you.

"I- I love you, Kieran," you blurted with many blushes.

He stared at you with wide eyes, stunned and speechless. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

"I've fancied you ever since we was in Horseshoe Outlook," you admitted, "and I thought you was real sweet... even though we didn't really trust you. But I liked you."

He still stared, completely bewildered by this point. He never imagined anyone would ever like him, pathetic as he was.

"Me? A-Are you sure you do?" he sputtered.

"Of course I do. No doubt about it."

"But why me? I ain't impressive like Arthur or like Charles or-- I don't know-- John... Why me?"

"It's because you're kind," you explained in earnest, "and you're genuine. You're impressive in your own way. You work so hard to earn our trust. If nobody appreciates you for it, I do. And I even love you for it."

Nothing more could be said. He sat silent for a while, taking in your words. You watched him, worrying he'd not feel the same. You longed to ask him what he thought, but you waited for him to speak first.

"It's amazing that you'd choose me, my dear Miss, a pathetic O'Driscoll boy..."

You frowned. "You ain't an O'Driscoll boy. You're Kieran Duffy," you said firmly, "I could never love no O'Driscoll boy. But Kieran Duffy? I would."

He smiled abashedly. Though you scolded him, he couldn't help but feel so utterly over the moon. He just couldn't get enough of your repeated declarations of love. His smile dispelled your momentary annoyance, and your eyes softened, feeling the weight of your affection for him rest heavy on your heart.

His trembling hand ventured bravely to touch yours and your hand instinctively leaned into his light touch. Feeling encouraged, he wrapped his hand around yours, holding it gently. Both the touch and the confirmation of his feelings sent strong flutters and sparks flying all over inside you.

"I've always admired you," he admitted, "You're really purty, and strong. Always thought you was an amazing woman." His hand squeezed yours, and you squeezed back, "I-I really do love you too, my dear Miss."

Your lip trembled as you felt an overflow of emotions. "I'm sure glad you're alive, Kieran," you said breathlessly, "I don't know what I would've done if you was gone and I didn't never get to tell you how much I love you."

He moved closer, pressing his shoulder against yours. Without thinking, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. His heart jumped again, but he sat still.

"It's because of you I'm alive," he whispered, affectionately rubbing his thumb over your knuckles as he pressed his cheek against your head, "And I'm glad too." His voice cracked, "I'm glad to be alive to hear you say you love me."

You couldn't take it anymore. You wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him, something you've been desperate to do since you brought him back alive. His surprise only lasted for a moment before he responded by wrapping one arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders.

"I'm sorry to be so bold, Kieran, but I ain't never lettin' you go."

He smiled, burying his face in your neck. He could never be offended by your boldness; it was one of the many things he loved about you.

"And I ain't goin' nowhere."

[say-hwaet]

That's the Way it Is

Chapter Fifteen: Anchor Next Chapter: Sixteen Summary: Now that Kit and Arthur are finally past the first hump, there are repressed feelings that threaten to break through the surface. Arthur is in a dangerous sea of emotions. But, thankfully, he has an anchor. Word Count: ~13,200 Warnings: Mature themes, language, sensual stuff

You drag your feet out of your tent, rubbing your eyes. You’ve been with the gang for about a year now, and have come to know the few members that are in it. You’ve also begun to learn your place under the protection of Hosea. Since he brought you here, he’s taken on an almost fatherly role, and is eager to prove to the leader, Dutch Van Der Linde, that you are a valuable member. 

But one thing you’ve been struggling with these past few weeks, is sleep. 

It is not because you aren’t comfortable or go to bed at a terrible hour, no, it is because of an instinct you’ve had since you were young, since Antek was your responsibility. 

A simple whimper, or a whisper of your name, would wake you and you’d go to him. You’d find him wherever he was, and cradle him in your arms until he was comforted and fell back asleep. 

But now, that instinct has transferred to someone else. 

Your feet finding their way in the dark, you pull the tent flap back and the whimpering grows louder. It is a juvenile cry, a voice announcing disrupted reverie with things that really happened. 

You go to the boy, finding his sleeping form on his cot. Sitting down so you aren’t imposing on him, you gently bring him into your arms. 

He clings to you, completely unaware. In fact, he never knows, caught in a veil between sleeplessness and dreams. 

“Please, don’t…!” the boy cries. “Leave me alone…!”

“Shhh…” you whisper softly. “It’s alright.”

You’re tempted to hum, to sing the lullaby you know so well, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Instead, you rock the fourteen-year-old back and forth. 

And after several minutes, his body relaxes and his breathing slows. 

You lean down and kiss the top of his head, something he’d never let you do while he’s awake. He reminds you so much of him. So much of the brother that you lost. 

“Sladké sny, John,” you say. 

Sweet dreams. 

***

Tap! Tap! Tap! “Arthur…? Arthur, you in there…?”

You awake to John’s soft whisper behind the door, somehow still attuned to his voice. You motion to rise, and find yourself pressed against something firm. 

Something more firm than a pillow. 

In the darkness, with the moon still casting a faint glow through the window, you lift your head slowly…

And see Arthur sleeping beside you. 

He lays on top of the comforter, his boots off and toes twitching in his sleep. Your body is turned toward him, as though he were your anchor, and your body a sea vessel. You could drown in his eyes if he were to open them and look into yours. 

You smell the tobacco and leather and smile, now you know why you’ve taken to liking it so easily. 

You don’t want to break it, this fragile moment, this vulnerability. To see him so calm and peaceful stirs your heart in ways that you had wished to remember. He’s been stern, sullen, savage, but now he’s reduced to peace. 

You reach up, carefully taking his face in your hands. He still doesn’t move. 

You can’t believe it. He loves you. Arthur has loved you, and you two have loved each other for the past two years or so. And it was a secret? It is clear that many suspected something, but you can’t fathom how you both managed to not be open about it. 

You don’t remember. You hoped to have a dream about that day, the day you both declared your love for each other. You want to remember it, to feel it, like you did that kiss on the cliff nine years ago. You try to piece it together, to try to imagine when and where it was, but you are coming up empty.

You may not get your memories back. You may never find out what happened that day in Blackwater. All you know is how it left you and how it made Arthur feel. Your heart aches for him, knowing that he suffered alone, not sharing it with anyone. 

You have a feeling that is over now. 

Tap! Tap! “Arthur…!”

John isn’t going to wait. Soon he’ll open the door and see Arthur like this. The poor man is too private of a person, that would surely upset him. 

Planting a soft kiss on Arthur’s nose, you carefully let yourself out from under the covers and crawl out of the bed. Arthur slumps deeper into the pillows and it takes every bit of you to not return. 

But John’s tapping might eventually wake your neighbors and you hurry to the door. Turning it quietly, you open the door and meet John’s eyes. 

His eyes widen. “You’re awake…!” You quickly back away from the door and he steps in before you close the door behind him. Before you can do anything else, John quickly wraps you in his arms. “Hell, I missed you!”

You smile and pat your brother on the back. “I missed you too, John.”

He’s quiet for a moment and you feel him squeeze you tighter. “Thank you…for…I don’t know how to say it.”

You tighten your arms around him. “Is he safe?”

John answers through quivering lips. “Yeah. Jack is safe.”

You sigh. You’re relieved that the Braithewaites fulfilled their end of the deal. 

Deal. You remember the one you made with Bronte. Or rather, the one you were forced to make, and your heart sinks at the thought. 

“This isn’t over.”

John sighs and lets you out of his arms. “I know, sis, but we gotta go.”

“Now?”

And you hear Arthur speak quietly behind you. “Now.”

You and John turn to see him sitting up on the bed, putting on his boots. “The sun will be up soon. We need to get out of Saint Denis before Bronte’s eyes see us.”

You nod, remembering what the Italian had said to you, the underlying threat that he knows everything that goes on in “his city.” “Just tell me what to do.”

His eyes meet yours and he smiles. “I’ve missed you.”

You feel your cheeks burn and you tuck your chin, biting your lower lip. 

It is then that John’s eyes widen as he regards the bed. “Wait, did you two—?”

You quickly whip around, slapping John’s arm. “No, John! Quit with that…!”

He recoils, rubbing his arm. “Ow! Hell, woman!”

“Be quiet!” Arthur whispers, rising to a standing position. “We need to move. Now.”

Arthur’s right. Time is of the essence. There isn’t much to gather up, you didn’t have anything with you except for the clothes on your back, but you don’t have those anymore. Arthur and John gather their things quietly. The less attention you draw to yourselves the better.

“If we go out the front, people will see us,” John whispers. “The Saloon never closes.”

He has a point. As you three silently think about it, your attention is drawn to the window.

You get an idea.

"Let's use the alley," you suggest, voice barely above a whisper. Your eyes scan the shadows cast by the moonlight, outlining a narrow path free from the usual nighttime drifters and drunks.

Arthur nods in agreement, his face set in a grim determination. "Good thinkin’," he murmurs, and carefully opens the window. He sticks his head out and lets a puff of air escape his lips. “That’s a long way down.”

You come up behind him, letting your fingers trace along his back. “What, are you afraid of heights, Mr. Morgan?”

The teasing tone in your voice makes him chuckle, a low rumble that momentarily lightens the tension. "Not at all," he replies, turning to give you a quick, reassuring smile. "Just considerin' our options."

John is already moving towards the window, his usual impatience taking over. "Well, let's not dawdle here chattin' about it." He swings one leg over the sill, then stops and looks back at the two of you. "Are you comin’ or not?"

Arthur checks the pistol holstered at his side before he nods at you, signaling it's time to move. You edge closer to the window and look down as John grabs a drain pipe and shimmies on his way down. “Didn’t think you were a climber, John.”

Arthur nudges you. “He’s had a bit of practice recently.”

“Shut up…!” John barks through clenched teeth, trying to keep quiet.

And in a playful gesture, Arthur makes a sweep of his arm toward the window. “Ladies first.”

You do the honors, first removing your shoes. “I’m glad to be rid of these…” And after hiking up your dress to allow mobility in your legs, you see Arthur’s eyes cast downward. “Well, Arthur, I thought you were a gentleman…”

He clears his throat and looks through the window and down at John. “Keep a lookout, Marston!”

With a quick, playful wink thrown his way, you take Arthur’s offered hand and helps you into the window frame. The cool metal of the drainpipe feels uneasy under your grip; it's older, less reliable than the sturdy beams and ropes you had mastered back in your circus days. But necessity pushes you onward, and with careful, measured movements, you use your bare feet against the brick of the saloon to support your way down. Once your feet touch the ground, you look back up. “Careful, Arthur. That drain pipe might give out under your weight.”

Arthur's laughter rolls down from above, a rich sound that briefly warms the chill of the evening air. "I reckon it'll hold just fine," he calls back, already halfway through the window. 

You watch as he positions himself carefully, his movements deliberate and practiced—a reminder of the many times he's escaped tighter spots than this. You can’t help but eye his backside, biting your lower lip. “The view is quite nice from down here…”

John chuckles from his spot by the alleyway, glancing up at the scene unfolding above him. "Will you two quit flirtin' and get a move on?"

Arthur lands beside you with a soft thud, his boots stirring a small cloud of dust from the dry ground. He straightens himself and gives you a lingering look, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something softer, something achingly tender. "Quit flirtin', he says,” Arthur mocks gently, adjusting the brim of his hat. "As if there's somethin' wrong with admiring beauty under the moonlight."

You feel a blush creep on your cheeks and you cover them with your hands.

“Hell,” John mutters. “I liked it when you forgot you two had a thing.”

You glance at John, the corners of your mouth tilting up in a faint smile. "Well, it's hard to forget when he's always reminding me," you tease, nodding towards Arthur.

Arthur chuckles, his gaze still fixed on you with that same tender look. He reaches out, brushing a stray lock of your hair. “John’s got a point, though. We best move on.”

You sigh, nodding your head. “Did you bring your horses?”

John nods. “I hitched ‘em around the corner last night.”

Arthur nods approvingly. “Good thinkin’, John.” And he makes his way down the alley. “Maybe the wolves ate all your brain after all.”

John shakes his head, letting out a sigh. You pat him reassuringly and after sharing a look, you both follow Arthur out.

Sure enough, Montana and Old Boy are hitched nearby, waiting. After checking the coast is clear, you three crouch low in the shadowed areas of the street and reach the horses. John wastes no time in mounting Old Boy. “If we go down this way, it leads out toward Lagras. It’s quieter, but it’s longer.”

Arthur hoists himself on Montana and offering his arm, you take it and use it to swing yourself up behind him. You immediately take his waist, pressing your body close against him. “Quiet is what we need.”

John raises a brow. “Are you sure you can handle that?” he teases.

“Drive, Marston…!” Arthur orders under his breath.

And together, you three gallop down the street that leads to the outskirts of the city.

You three remain quiet as you pass through the slums of Saint Denis and little by little, the view becomes less shanty and wooden fences, and more marsh, water, and moon. It feels good to be leaving Saint Denis, though you know in three days you will have to return.

You remember what Bronte told you before he gave you that strange tea. “Get as much information that you can from this oil magnate. I want to know everything about his operations, who he’s tied up with, and how deep his pockets run. Understand?” His words were wrapped in velvet but carried the sting of iron nails. You had nodded, unable to anticipate the whirlwind your life would become thereafter. “When you return, I want you to report back to me, and then I will have your next task.” You aren’t sure how you are going to manage this, considering you aren’t going to see Mr. Cornwall at all. Maybe Hosea can help you figure out a plan that will placate the Italian, long enough for you to navigate your way out of his clutches. 

As you ride through the cooling night, the murmur of insects and distant cranes seem almost comforting compared to the chaos of the city. Arthur’s presence in front of you is steady and warm, his body a familiar contour against your own. You remember nights like these, before memory slipped away from you like sand through fingers—nights filled with whispered secrets and stolen kisses, hidden beneath the vast expanse of stars.

You hope to be married to this man one day. Maybe, when all of the chaos is over. The thought brings a bittersweet ache to your chest, a mixture of longing and fear. Fear that the same fate which had torn you from Arthur before could strike again, leaving your dreams as nothing more than whispered wishes in the wind. But tonight, under the canopy of the night sky, those fears are momentarily calmed by the palm of his hand as he gently places it over yours.

You let out a deep exhale, resting your forehead against his spine.

“Won’t be long now, Kit,” Arthur says softly. “You’ll be home.”

***

The ride was long, and it took everything that you had to stay awake. You didn’t want to run the risk of falling off, but you also wanted so desperately to be awake to soak in the time with Arthur. The landscape changed hardly at all, the woods and marshes thick with wildlife, you could hear alligators rumbling as they sensed the horses.

And you get to watch the sunrise just as you near Shady Belle.

John leads the way to your new home, a narrow road that is guarded by trees. Curious, you weakly look around Arthur to see someone guarding the entrance.

It is Charles.

And before he can even ask who it is, he sees John, then Arthur, then you.

“Hey!” he calls out to everyone. “They got Kit! Kit’s back…!”

The announcement creates a chain reaction in you and you squeeze Arthur tight, your eyes stinging with tears. You weren’t sure when you would be amongst your family again.

The relief flowing through you feels like the first rain after a long drought, refreshing and vital. Arthur's grip tightens around your hand in response, it both protective and reassuring. The familiarity of the gesture stirs memories deep within, flickers of your past life with him igniting in your mind.

Charles follows you three into camp and you see people begin to gather around the horses. John dismounts and embraces Abigail, who shares relief to have him back after two days, and in the joy that you have returned.

Arthur, twisting at his waist, helps you slide off Montana and land on your feet.

As Charles approaches, his face breaks into a broad smile, his weathered features softening with genuine affection. "Can't believe my eyes, Kit. We thought..."

Tears brim in your own eyes as he reaches out, pulling you into a rough embrace, the kind only shared between those who have endured hardships together.

“You just can’t seem to get rid of me, Charles,” you chuckle, and you hear others laugh softly with you. He holds you out at arm's length and you smile. “I’m so happy to be back.”

You begin to walk towards the group and feel Arthur close behind you, it makes your heart flitter knowing he's there, like a shadow you’d long forgotten the shape of but immediately recognize once it’s cast again. The rustle of leaves and the soft murmur of voices welcome you back into the fold, and for a moment, everything feels slightly surreal.

Sadie steps forward with a grin, rough and resolute as she was when you last saw her. “Did you get to kill anyone while you was gone?”

You snort and wrap her in a hug. She doesn’t resist and you feel her pat your back once.

You let her go and look around at the other faces. Mary Beth, with tears in her eyes. “Dobrý den, příteli.”

And she nods, mouthing the words back to you.

“Aunt Kit…!!!” Jack charges at you, and you scoop down to pick him up. You hold him tightly, planting soft kisses on his head. He giggles joyfully. 

“Oh, Jack, I’m so glad you’re safe!”

Keeping him in your arms, you look out to see more familiar faces: Tilly, Jack, Kieran, Lenny, Bill, Pearson, Uncle, Susan, Hosea…

And your eyes fall on Karen. She doesn’t wear a smile, her eyes convey a deep sorrow. Something isn’t right. “Karen?” The gathering falls silent and you take a step toward her. “What’s wrong?”

You feel a hand take your arm and you turn to see Arthur. “There weren’t a good time to tell you…”

Your brow pinches and you set Jack down. “What is it?”

He swallows, his eyes soft. “Sean…is dead.”

The news hits you like a punch, sudden and breath-stealing. For a moment, you can't breathe, the world around you blurring into a mess of colors and sounds that make no sense. Sean—the young, vibrant lad with so much life ahead of him—gone. Your knees weaken, and if not for Arthur catching you, you would have fallen to the ground.

“Sean? Dead?”

“Yes, darlin’,” Arthur says as you lean into his arms. “I couldn’t…”

“You did all you could, Arthur,” Hosea says solemnly. “Nobody blames you for that.”

Karen begins to sob and Tilly hugs her. What was starting to be a happy reunion is turning into a somber remembrance. The air grows thick with the scent of sorrow, as if the very atmosphere mourns with you. You pull yourself from Arthur's arms, standing straight despite the heaviness in your heart.

"We need to honor him," you say, your voice steady though it trembles at the edges. “Did he have a burial?”

You see Karen nod. “Yes.”

“But it was rushed,” you assume. “If you all ended up here, you must have left recently.” Everyone nods, validating your assumption. “What happened?”

“Kit!” The booming voice coming out of the mansion has everyone turning around. Dutch comes out, his smile not meeting his eyes. “How did—?” And then he looks at Arthur and John. “You boys brought her back?”

Arthur nods, a hand laying protectively on your shoulder. “Yeah, Dutch. We did.”

Dutch tilts his head. “Bronte had her?”

“Yeah, Dutch. He had plans to use her,” John answers with a bite  

Dutch raises his brow, his eyelids lowering as he studies you and your attire. “For what, I wonder?”

You feel a twinge of discomfort at Dutch's tone, but you stand firm, meeting his gaze with a quiet strength. "Doesn't matter now," you say, the edge in your voice sharper than intended. "I'm not a pawn in anyone's game anymore."

Dutch chuckles lightly, a sound that doesn’t feel comforting at all. “Of course, you’re not, Kit. You’re one of us,” he assures with a sweeping gesture that encompasses the somber group. His attempt at reassurance doesn't settle the unease in your stomach; his words sound hollow, almost rehearsed.

“Thank you, Dutch,” you reply cautiously, not fully convinced of his remark. “But it isn’t over, yet.”

Hosea steps closer. “What do you mean, Kit?”

You feel everyone’s eyes on you now, much more than you would prefer. Every performance, every time you walked a tightrope or danced, none of them have given you so great anxiety.

You feel Arthur squeeze your shoulder and he looks at Hosea. “It’s been a long trip, Hosea…”

Hosea seems to understand, giving a soft nod. “We can talk about it later. For now, get some rest, have something to eat, and we'll gather by the fire tonight. We need to discuss our next steps as a family.” His voice carries a weight, an undercurrent of solemnity that matches the circumstance.

You nod, grateful for the momentary reprieve. As the group disperses, Arthur’s grip on your shoulder lingers a little longer, his presence reassuring amidst the swirling uncertainty. He leans in close, his voice low and steady. "You alright, Kit?"

You nod slightly, too exhausted to muster more. "Just tired, Arthur. It's been... a lot."

Arthur’s eyes search yours for a moment longer before he nods understandingly. "Let’s get you set up then, Susan’s been keepin’ your things safe.” Just as he starts to lead you, you grab his hand and pull him back. You see his ears turn pink at your open gesture and you catch Mary Beth and Pearson watching you.

“I want to see Odliv. She here?”

Arthur smiles. “She found her way back to us.” Expecting for him to let go of your hand, he doesn’t and you can’t help but smile. “Let’s go see her.”

As you walk toward the horses, you catch Mary Beth’s grin and you avert her gaze by staring at your feet with every stride. Your cheeks burn and you know it won’t be long before she will start with her parade of questions when she catches you alone.

Arthur leads you past the edge of the camp, where the horses are tethered, their breath misting in the air. Odliv, your faithful mare, hears your approach and lifts her head, nickering softly. Arthur chuckles beside you, his hand still warm in yours. "She missed you, Kit," he says softly, his eyes not leaving you.

You reach your free hand up to her and pet her slowly. “I don’t deserve her,” you say soberly. “Twice now, we’ve been separated. I’ve failed her.”

“Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s true,” you sigh. “If I were a good owner, she wouldn’t have been put in danger those times.”

Arthur shakes his head, the frown creasing his brow deepening. “Odliv ain’t holdin’ no grudges, Kit. Animals know who loves 'em, and with that mare, there’s no doubt of your love and care.”

You lower your head and smile. You know he means every word.

You squeeze his hand. “Thank you, můj král.”

He squeezes it back. “You’re welcome.”

You feel your knees feel weak, the fatigue finally unable to be fought off. “I think I’m ready to lie down, now.”

“You want me to carry you?”

“And have everyone see?” You feel your cheeks grow hot. “I don’t think so.”

Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly, a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he ignores your protest. "Well, I reckon they've seen worse," he murmurs with a low chuckle, and you can't help but laugh, the sound mingling with the morning air.

Arthur carries you back toward the camp, his arms strong and stable, your arms wrapped around his neck. If you were concerned about the stares when you were holding hands, you are certainly getting your fill of them now as he strides confidently through the camp. Despite your chiding, you feel a sense of comfort being thus enfolded, his presence a shield against the world.

As he sets you down gently next to a small, fire-warmed tent, you catch sight of Mary Beth again. She is sitting by the fire, a book open in her lap, but she's not reading. Her eyes follow you and Arthur, a soft smile playing on her lips. She knows, perhaps more than others, the trials that love can bring; and in her look, there is an understanding, almost an encouragement.

Arthur notices your glance and follows it to Mary Beth. He gives her a brief nod, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them before he turns his focus back to you.

"You gonna be alright here while I get some water?" Arthur asks, brow furrowed slightly with concern.

You nod, feeling the soft earth beneath you, the warmth from the fire. “Don’t be too long, or I might just sleep where I’m at.”

He lets a warm chuckle escape his lips before he rises and walks away.

You feel Mary Beth’s gaze still on you and without lifting your eyes, you decide to call her out. “Alright, Mary Beth, you going to tell me why you haven’t turned a page yet?” You keep your voice light, teasing, though a part of you genuinely wants to understand her silent conversation.

She closes her book with a soft thud and leans towards you, her expression open and a bit wistful. “I think I’ve found somethin’ much more interestin’.”

You look up at her and lift a brow. “Oh?” Then look back down again, fiddling with a button on your dress. “I don’t know what you mean.”

She must tell you are messing with her, for she tosses her book at you and you catch it in your hands, laughing.

“Come now, don’t play coy with me, Kit,” she chides gently, her voice rich with the drama of a seasoned storyteller. “It’s clear as day. You and Arthur, whatever it is that’s brewin’ between you—it’s somethin’ fierce.” She shakes her head. “I’m startin’ to regret not takin’ a peak at that journal when I snatched it.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t, either.”

She gasps. “What?! After all that? I did that thievin' for nothing?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Not exactly…” While the idea of keeping a secret gnaws at the back of your mind, you have a feeling it would be mute. “I think it’s safe to say…” You bite your bottom lip, thinking of the last kiss you shared. “I think we’re in a courtship.”

Mary Beth’s eyes light up, a grin spreading across her face, as if she’s just heard the most delicious gossip. “A courtship, is it?” Her tone teases, but there’s an undeniable warmth there, a sisterly kind of approval. “Well, I reckon that beats any love story in all the books I’ve read!”

You look at her incredulously. “Even with all them…love scenes?”

She blushes, gasping. “Don’t mean to tell me you’ve—!”

And you quickly hold up a palm, shaking your head. “No! No, it hasn’t…come to that…”

She nods. “Oh, good! ‘Cause that would have meant I missed your wedding.”

You’re grateful she still respects that aspect of you. Even though it was only just a week or so ago, you would have gone that far with Arthur, if he hadn’t stopped you. You smile and shake your head. “No, we aren’t married.” You sigh, the weight of the unspoken words heavy between you. “But I wouldn’t mind it.” Your voice is a whisper, a confession that feels as vast as the open prairies you used to explore in.

Your fingers go to trace where your mother's ring would be, but when the Braithewaites kidnapped you, you woke up to find it gone. You figure it’s lost now, perhaps sequestered away along with the other supposed treasure the Braithewaites were supposed to have. Your heart sinks a little deeper, but you figure that you’ve lost so much already, that there isn’t a point in dwelling on the pain of its loss. 

Mary Beth reaches out and takes your hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Well, maybe that can still happen for you.”

You nod. “Maybe.”

“Hope you ladies haven’t been talkin’ bad about me.” You twist at your waist and look up to see Arthur with a tin cup. He squats down and when he meets your eyes, he offers it to you. “Be a shame since I weren’t there to defend myself.”

You chuckle softly and bring the cup to your lips to drink the water. It isn’t like the fresh water from the Heartlands, but you are so thirsty, you don’t care.

Mary Beth rests her hands on her hips, a playful smile on her face. “Kit won’t speak ill of you even if her life depended on it.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow, a wry smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Is that so?” His voice is teasing, but there's an undercurrent of something more tender, a softness reserved just for you.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the knowledge of years of friendship and love making your answer more confident, more intimate. You finish your water and hand the cup back to him.

“Would rather you bruise my ego if it meant you lived.” He takes the cup and holds it by the rim in between his fingers. “I reckon you oughta get some rest, now.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He helps you to your feet and you walk over to the small tent. Crawling inside, you see your belongings and sigh, glad to see them again. You lay on top of your bedroll and tucking your arm underneath your head for support, you find yourself falling asleep.

***

By the time you wake up, it is dark again. It feels like in the last few days you’ve hardly seen the sun. You can’t wait to go back to sleep again, to sleep the darkness away. You keep having more dreams and the promise of morning after rest excites you. 

This last dream you had was about your family. The circus. The first day you had begun performing on horses. You had trained a gelding to parade in a circle as you stood on his back, keeping your balance as he cantered around and around. 

The thrill excited you in your dream, and when you woke up, the excitement was tinged with a headache. They’ve been occurring less and less, but occasionally you’ll have a good one, and this is one of those times. 

You rub your temple as you crawl out of the tent, and you hear Javier playing on his guitar nearby. There are others gathered around, swaying to the song that he plays and sings. It is a contrast to the sullenness you all felt earlier, given the revelation that Sean had been killed. 

Oh, Sean. He had a way to get under your skin, despite his propensity to annoy you for sport. You still don’t have any memories of him, but you will hold onto the new ones. 

As you rise to your feet, Javier looks in your direction and spots you just as he finishes his song. “Ey, Kit, come join us!”

You smile and stretch before approaching them. As you look at all of their fire-glowed faces, you don’t see Arthur among them. Maybe he went to go rest like you did? Where does he sleep?

Tilly, holding Karen’s hand, pats an empty space on the other side of her. “Sit by me, Kit.”

Brushing past Karen, you sit opposite Tilly and feel Susan pat your shoulder as she walks behind you. 

“We should celebrate now that Kit is back!” Uncle insists. “I could use a party.”

“You just want a reason to get drunk,” Charles grumbles. 

Uncle chuckles undeniably. “And what’s wrong with that?”

Charles groans, shaking his head.

You’re glad to be back. Though most of your past still eludes you, this feels familiar and safe. The opulence and luxury in Saint Denis could never compare to the open air and fire smoke. 

You look around and notice that your best friend, Mary Beth, isn’t among you. You turn to Tilly and whisper close to her ear. “Where did Mary Beth go?”

She gives you a mischievous side eye and smirks. “Gettin’ some inspiration for her next novel.”

Karen actually lets out a snort. “And it’s about time too.” She reaches across Tilly and pokes your thigh. “You’re next, Kit. I see it comin’ for you.”

Trying to ignore your blushing cheeks, you shake your head. “You presume too much. Mary Beth could be alone.”

Tilly looks around with exaggeration. “Oh? Do you see Kieran around here?”

And you quickly retort with, “Well, I don’t see Arthur here, either. Are you going to tell me—?”

“I’m right here.”

Your words are swallowed in your mouth at the sound of Arthur’s voice behind you. You and the girls turn at your waists and your eyes travel upward in a pleasurable way. 

But when you meet his eyes, you don’t see a smile. “Arthur? What is it?”

He gestures behind him with a light toss of his head. “Hosea and Dutch wanna talk to you.”

Oh. It must be about Bronte. 

You nod and motion to get up, lifting your dress so you can step over the log. You find it a relief when he offers his arm to you and smiling, you take it and let him escort you toward the mansion. 

“Where do you sleep?” you ask. 

“Inside. John and Abigail are in there, too.”

“And Dutch?”

Arthur nods. “Him too, Molly’s with him…sometimes.”

Your brow pinches. “Sometimes?”

You both near the house and you can hear the raised voice of Hosea, he sounds upset. 

Arthur leans close to you and speaks quietly. “I’ll tell you later.” And with that, he opens the door and lets you step in first. 

Inside, the room feels warmer than the night air, crowded with intense emotions and thick cigar smoke that makes the walls seem to close in. It is dark, aside from a light coming from another room.

You feel a gentle hand on your back, and hear Arthur speak to you quietly. “In here.”

With a gentle push, Arthur guides you towards the lit room. Walking into the threshold, you see Dutch Van Der Linde standing near the fireplace, his broad back illuminated by the flickering light of a lantern, while Hosea sits at a table covered in maps and papers, a look of frustration evident on his face.

“There is nothing for us here, Dutch. There are much better places that we could go to that would prove more successful. I say we move out as quick as possible and lay low.”

“But Kit has given us an opportunity here!” He looks up at you, his eyes looking at you with great intensity. “Haven’t you, Kit?”

You shift on your feet. “I wouldn’t say that it is an opportunity…” you begin. “I would say that it is something that I didn’t have choice but to do it.”

Hosea looks at you with concern. “What did Bronte have you do, Kit?”

You look up at Arthur, and you can see the tightness in his jaw. You aren’t sure if he knows, but the fact that he was the one who got you…

He must have seen you. Dressed that way, dancing with fire.

You swallow and look back at Dutch. “He wants me to spy for him.”

Dutch’s expression shifts, the lines around his mouth tightening as he processes your words. Hosea rubs his forehead, the weight of the situation evident. "Spying, Kit?" He glances between you and Dutch, shaking his head slowly.

Dutch steps closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “On who? Us?”

You remember all of the information that Bronte had on you, your past with the circus, and the talents that you’ve mastered over your lifetime. You shake your head. “If he knows who we are, he has other means to get that information.” You pause. “He believes that I’m under the care of Mr. Cornwall’s men.” You look up at Arthur again. “Entertaining them.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow slightly, a shadow of distress flickering across his features, quickly masked by a hardened resolve. "That rascal Bronte," he mutters under his breath, his voice laced with a tinge of anger and concern. “is a sick bastard.”

Dutch smirks lightly, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “The important thing is, Kitka, what do you think of all this?” Dutch’s hand reaches out, resting it on your shoulder with a weight heavy enough to feel like an anchor pulling you back into this life of shadows and schemes.

You look around the room, the eyes of the men who had become your makeshift family starting back when you were just a girl. Oh, how things have changed, from that portrait you took with them to now this.

You swallow. “I think I cannot raise suspicion. If he has any idea of who we are or where we are, we might as well turn ourselves in to the Pinkertons now.”

“You think he has connections with them?” Hosea asks.

You look at him, unflinching. “It wouldn’t surprise me. He had me dance in front of some of his “investors,” he calls them.”

“Arthur mentioned this party,” Dutch says methodically. “At the mayor’s house. Bronte wants you there?”

You sigh. “Yes, he does. To probably entertain or get information, no doubt.”

Dutch nods, stroking his mustache. “And so will we.”

Hosea clearly dislikes this idea. “Dutch! It would be enough having John and Arthur go back with her. But to have us there will be like wearing a target on our backs. A sign that says, ‘kill me now!’”

Dutch’s eyes gleam with that dangerous kind of excitement that you’ve learned to both respect and fear. “Sometimes, Hosea, the best place to hide is right under the enemy’s nose.”

“Like how we did in Rhodes?” Arthur steps forward, his presence like a shield in itself. “I’m not letting her walk into that lion's den again, Dutch. Not this time.” His voice is firm, resolute, and it’s clear that his decision is final.

You look up at Arthur, feeling a mixture of relief and concern wash over you. His protectiveness brings you a sense of security, yet the danger of not doing what Bronte wanted of you feels just as threatening. The lines on Arthur's face, carved deep with the turmoil of past regrets and unspoken promises, seem to tighten. The silence that follows is charged, each person in the room holding their breath, knowing the gravity of what defiance might bring.

"Then I reckon we best be prepared," Dutch finally says. “You, me, Kit, and Hosea will go. Just us.” He looks at you. “You will spy for us, as well as for him.”

What?

“He wanted information on Cornwall,” you remind him. “How do you suppose that I do that when I am not anywhere near him?”

Dutch dismisses your concern with a statement of his own. “I thought coming up with stories on a dime was one of your many talents.” He grins slyly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches, a silent fury building like a storm on the horizon. It’s clear that he doesn't want you anywhere near those men, but he’s too hesitant to say anything.

Dutch turns to Hosea. “Any objections, friend?”

The room falls silent as you all wait patiently for Hosea’s verdict.

Hosea lets out a slow, deliberate breath, his eyes reflecting a tempered spark of resistance. "Dutch, my concerns don't change the tides," he starts with a weary tone, the weight of years spent on the fringes of society pressing down upon his words. "But if we're to do this, we need to look our best, act our best, and above all, keep our intentions hidden deep beneath the surface." Hosea's gaze flickers to you briefly, a silent message of both warning and reassurance passed in that short exchange. "Kitka is capable, but even the finest blade can snap under too much pressure."

Dutch nods, seeming satisfied with Hosea's cautious endorsement. His hand pats Hosea’s back, approvingly, and he motions to leave the room. “I guess that’s the plan then. We have two days. I suggest you find some dirt on Cornwall, Kit, and ready yourself for the ball.”

He turns around the corner to head up into his room, leaving the three of you in the silence of the decision.

You can’t remain silent for long, your eyes casting pleading glances to Hosea. “Are we really doing this?”

He nods slowly. “I believe so, my dear.”

Your brow furrows, a heated anger building in your chest. “Just to obey? Without question?”

Hosea answers tiredly, running a hand down his face. “It is less of a matter of question and more about the results, Kit. This could go either way, and if we are able to charm our way to Bronte, we might come out of this better off.”

“He has his tendrils all throughout the city, Hosea,” you say. “I don’t think he’s open to having any allies right now.”

Hosea lowers his head, his face showing more fatigue and age than in the past few months. You imagine this has all taken a toll on him, and you have a feeling, by his downcast gaze, he has burdens that weigh heavy on his heart and mind. “And I don’t think we are applying for that position.”

“You think Dutch wants to take Bronte out?” Arthur asks lowly.

Hosea shrugs. “I don’t know, Arthur, but if Bronte is the one with money and power…Well, you know how Dutch is.”

Your heart beats a little faster at the implications, cold dread mingling with the adrenal rush of an impending heist. The thought of going head-to-head with Angelo Bronte, a man as notorious in these parts as the plague, sends shivers down your spine. Yet, there’s an undeniable thrill in the challenge, to have Arthur there this time, at your side, finding Bronte’s weakness and exploiting it, after what he was planning on making you do. 

But you feel defeated still. “I don’t know where to begin, if we only have two days.”

Hosea shrugs. “Perhaps start where we last saw Cornwall’s signature.”

Arthur’s brow pinches. “Valentine?”

“No,” Hosea says calmly. “The oil fields.”

You nod slowly, absorbing Hosea's words. The oil fields - of course. Where the influence of men like Cornwall spreads thick like the black gold that seeps from the ground. "The oil fields," you repeat, tasting the words, your mind already turning over every known detail about the locale.

Arthur leans against the wooden table. “I guess we gotta start somewhere.”

Hosea nods. “It would be best if you left at first light.” He eyes you both. “You should go together.” And a small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I have a feeling you two make a great team.”

Arthur looks at you, openly taking your hand. “I reckon we do.” And you feel the heat in your cheeks. 

Hosea’s smile grows. “Good.” And he gently waves you off. “Go ahead and do what you need to do to get ready, Kit. I want to talk to Arthur for a moment.”

You give Arthur a reassuring squeeze before releasing his hand and stepping away. As you leave Hosea and Arthur to their private conversation, you can’t help but feel a tingle of excitement mixed with nerves. The oil fields are dangerously guarded, but you’ve navigated perilous situations before, in fact, you just escaped from one.

But what excites you the most, is to be able to enter danger with Arthur by your side.

You step out into the evening air, hearing the faint music and singing from the fire. You think to look for Mary Beth, curiosity entering your mind and you walk down the front steps. 

“Glad to see you back…” The voice of Micah Bell makes you stop in your stride. You turn on your heels to see him leaning against one of the columns of the mansion. He tips his hat at you, but it still speaks vile. “We…missed you.”

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing. “Oh, Micah, don’t ever say things you don’t mean. It isn’t a good look for you.”

And just as you see his jaw tighten and his face darken, you turn and walk away. 

You just realize that you’d prefer Bronte to Micah. At least he can make a convincing liar. 

***

You and Arthur left at dawn. Riding Montana and Odliv, you took with you enough provisions for the trip and your chosen weaponry. 

Catching the sunrise, you and Arthur ride North in the direction of the Heartland Oil Fields, where you know Cornwall’s operation is still going strong. As you ride, the air changes from thick and humid, to clear and crisp, and you find yourself taking more deep breaths and enjoying the scenery.

It feels odd to be back this way again, as though it has been years, but it is only months. You find yourself constantly looking Arthur’s way, and when he turns to look at you, you don’t avert his gaze, but hold it, just long enough before you have to focus on what is ahead of you.

The journey is mostly silent, the unspoken words hanging between you like the mist that clings to the morning fields. You appreciate these quiet moments, knowing well that they are fleeting, especially as you draw closer to your destination, where the unknown may greet you.

Arthur finally breaks the silence as you near a hill covered in sagebrush. “You ever get that feelin', Kit? Like somethin's waitin' right over the next hill?” His voice carries a mix of anticipation and caution, typical of a man who's seen as much as he has.

You nod, understanding completely. “Ano, every time.” Your use of your native tongue slips easily now, and you find yourself thinking and speaking it more and more. “But this is quite literal, isn’t it?”

You both reach the top and stop for a moment looking out at the landscape below.

Arthur chuckles, leaning over the saddle horn. “Yeah, I guess. But I also meant it not so literally.” He pauses a moment and lets out a deep sigh. “I mean that you get to a point where you’re tired, but if you just make it to the next hill—”

“And the next one? And the next one?”

Arthur laughs, getting your point, and finishes his thought. “But you never seem to get there.”

You study him for a moment. “Do you think this is a fool’s errand?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know what I think. It all seems like a mess, all this with Bronte. I just…” He sits back up and looks away from you.

“You think he’s going to hurt me, don’t you?”

Arthur shifts uncomfortably in his saddle, the leather creaking under his weight. He doesn’t meet your gaze this time, instead staring out across the sprawling expanse before him. His jaw clenches, a telltale sign of his inner turmoil. “It ain’t just about him, Kit,” he finally says, voice lower than usual, strained with unsaid thoughts. “It’s about this whole damned situation. We’re walkin’ into trouble, and I can’t stand the thought of you gettin’ hurt.”

You let the silence settle around his words, feeling the weight of them pressing against your chest. The brisk wind picks up, dust flying and you have to squint your eyes. You two are alone here, the most you have been in a while. You’ve tried to remember what Arthur has told you, keeping your love a secret, but it has all come empty, aside from the blips that you’ve had in your dreams for the past few months. “Have you ever thought about…you know…leaving?”

That’s when he looks at you, eyes widened at your suggestion. “Have you?”

You shrug. It hadn’t really occurred to you, at least not until recently. You can sense things are changing, twisting into something that you can’t control. Dutch’s plans have become more erratic, more, well, planless. He seems to make decisions on a whim. “I don’t know, I just think that we can’t do this forever.”

Arthur's brow furrows as he considers your words, the tension in his shoulders palpable even from a distance. "Kit, I...," he starts, his voice trailing off as he searches for the right words. The afternoon sun hangs high, making everything look bright and heated, yet there is a coolness to his words. "You ought to know how I feel about all this. It's like every day we're spinnin’ our wheels, gettin’ deeper in with no clear way out. And after... after what happened to you, I can't help but think maybe there's somethin' better than this life." He pauses, the lines of his face softening as he turns away again. “And here we are, doin’ what we always do.”

You nod. It is almost like you can’t escape it. As though this is as ingrained in you as the memories you’ve recovered. “Do you think we’d ever have a chance?” you ask softly. “At a normal life? If we really wanted it?”

Arthur's gaze shifts back to you, the blue of his eyes piercing and deep, like the vast ocean during a storm. He takes a step closer, his presence towering yet comforting as the distance between you lessens. "Kit, if there's one thing I've learned," he starts, his voice rough with the dust of the trail and the years of hardship, "it’s that a normal life ain’t just somethin’ you pick off a tree. But with you...yes, I think we might find somethin' close to it."

He reaches out to you as you sit on Odliv beside him, and his hand finds yours, calloused yet gentle, and for a moment, the turmoil of your situation fades under a sliver of hope.

“We need to help the gang see that.”

He nods. “We can try.”

And after another moment, you continue on.

You ride down the other side of the hill and as you navigate around large rocks and bushes, Arthur calls to you. “There’s somethin’ up ahead.”

You both pick up your speed and you notice it. A tall, wooden structure, and as you draw closer, you see that it is an oil derrick. But Cornwall’s operation is much larger than this.

Arthur has Montana come to a stop and he dismounts. “Let’s have a look.”

You might as well. You pat Odliv on the neck and dismount.

Arthur walks toward the oil derrick and puts a hand on one of the beams. “This don’t look too old…”

You take a look at the area. There are boxes and canned goods strung around everywhere. It reminds you of when you were looking for Trelawny.

Speaking of, where is he? Did he disappear when things in Rhodes went to hell?

“Kit…” Arthur interrupts your thoughts. “Come here…”

You look up and you see Arthur, crouched down and looking at something. The way he spoke, suggests he’s looking at something that isn’t good.

You find your way over to him, walking around a stack of crates to get to him. You walk on a wooden platform and you see a hole deep in the middle of the oil derrick.

But your eyes return to Arthur as he is hunched over a dead body.

Your breath catches and you come closer. You have seen death before, but what shocks you is to come across a dead body out in the middle of nowhere. You remember what that deputy in Rhodes did.

“Is there anything to tell us who he is?”

In his hand, Arthur has a piece of paper. He rises to a standing position and offers it to you. “Just this letter. His name is Varley.”

You take the letter from him and read it aloud. “It is very regrettable that you have rejected the various extremely generous purchase offers presented to you by Cornwall…” You lift your eyes to look at Arthur. “Leviticus Cornwall…”

Arthur points to the letter. “The letter implies that Mr. Varley refused to sell out to him. My guess is they didn’t like it that much.”

You look at the body of Mr. Varley, the state of the oil derrick, the scattered goods everywhere. This wasn’t an accident.

Arthur looks down at Mr. Varley, shaking his head. "They made a proper mess of him," he murmurs, his voice tinged with the kind of detached sorrow you've come to recognize. The kind that shows he's seen far too much, yet still finds the heart to care.

You fold the letter and offer it back to Arthur. “Keep this in your satchel. It’s important.”

He takes it from you, brushing his fingers with yours, and puts it in his satchel. “Think Bronte will find it interestin’?”

“I’d say knowing that a man you want to utilize isn’t afraid to kill those who cross him is pretty important.” You find your eyes going back to the body again and your heart sinks. “How long do you think he’s been dead?”

Arthur looks over at the body. “I’d say not that long. It was recent. Charles would have a better clue, maybe. Days.”

“Someone might be looking for him.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

“How do you figure?”

“A man on his own like this would have risked or given up everythin’ to strike oil.” His lips flatten to a thin line. “If he had someone, he would have brought her with ‘em.”

You watch him closely as he speaks, and you have a feeling that there is a deeper meaning to his words, a vicarious feeling that he’s placing on this poor victim of lost dreams. “Maybe we should tell the sheriff in Valentine,” you suggest. “It’s not far.”

Arthur shakes his head. “He don’t care. Besides, someone would’ve come across his body before us.”

“Maybe.” You pause, letting something roam in your thoughts. “Maybe we should bury him.”

Arthur nods. “Would if I had a shovel. A shallow grave out here is only prey for coyotes.”

He’s right. You’d want to do it right, anyway. But you will need proof long after his body is gone. “I wish there was a way we could get a photograph.”

“What?”

“I feel like that letter won’t be enough, Arthur. Bronte could say that I just as easily made it up.”

Arthur looks back at you, speaking as candidly as he can. “Well, I have a camera.”

You blink and let a smirk play on your lips. “Well, aren’t you just full of surprises?”

Even in this dismal situation, Arthur looks down bashfully. “I’ve been takin’ photos of gunslingers.” He begins to pull the camera out of his satchel. What does he all keep in there? “‘Course, all of ‘em so far I’ve had to duel.”

“And they lost, I suppose?”

Arthur nods, positioning himself in front of the body to take a picture. “You’d be supposin’ right.”

And with a gentle click, your proof is captured in that little, black box. “I guess we keep going then?”

Arthur nods, his eyes not leaving the body as he puts the camera away. “Yeah.”

You reach and take his hand, and feel his fingers tighten around yours. You begin to back away from the site and feeling your pull, he follows. 

You walk back to your horses, mount up, and carry on. 

***

You and Arthur ride up on an incline that overlooks the valley into Cornwall Kerosine and Tar. The clank clank of the pump jacks is loud enough to make you want to turn around and head back. What a disruption of the beautiful land that makes up the Heartlands! 

“This is awful,” you say. “It’s worse than when I last passed through here.”

Arthur grumbles. “That’s Cornwall’s signature, alright.”

The land is dark, like tar, and you see men in the distance, walking around the building that stands as a memorial to the land that once was. You look over to Arthur and see he is using his binoculars, pointing them in the direction of the oil plant. 

“There are more guards, too,” he observes. 

You nod, chortling. “No doubt there are, especially after that stunt you and John pulled a couple of months ago.”

You see his smile as he moves the binoculars in a slow sweep. “That was one of our better ideas, even though the law showed up real quick.”

“Would I have gone with you? If I was my old self by then?”

He lowers the binoculars to look into your eyes. “I wouldn’t have wanted you to.”

You scoff. “Arthur—”

“I mean it. In fact, I don’t think you would have wanted to, either.”

You blink. “No?”

He shakes his head as he puts his binoculars away. “No.”

You feel your shoulders droop and exhale slowly as you look out over the Heartlands. “Arthur, I didn’t die, and I don’t intend to. I know you thought that I did, and I know that I’m not exactly who I used to be, but I’m here now.” You pause a minute to look into his eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s quiet for a minute and without saying anything, he dismounts his horse. Your eyes follow his movements as he walks over to you, stopping on the left side of Odliv. He holds out his arms to you. “C’mere.”

You don’t know what he’s doing and you still sense the urgency to reach the oil plant. “Arthur—”

He motions for you to get down with a quick rotation of his wrists. “C’mon.”

You exhale and, leaning down, you support yourself on his shoulders. He takes you by the waist and helps you down. “What is going on…?”

Your voice trails off when he pulls you into his embrace, his arms pulling you in tight, your face sinking into his chest and you instinctively inhale his scent. You feel him bury his face in your hair and you hear his steady breaths as he holds you. 

“I’ve…” he begins, his voice muffled. “I’ve been holdin’ it back but I couldn’t wait no more.”

You can hear the weight in his words, causing a chain reaction of aches to well up inside you. “Hold it back?” you ask as you blink away unshed tears. “Why?”

“‘Cause you still don’t remember, though you love me, but I…I’m at a different place than you.” 

“I’m sorry for that.”

“I ain’t mad at you, Kit. I’m just…” He leans away from your body and you look up at him and you see something in his eyes. “You just have no idea what it was like…” His lip quivers and he pauses before speaking again. “To have to go on livin’…knowin'…” You feel his hand hold your chin, encouraging you to keep looking in his eyes. “There’s so much I wanna do…but even just to hug you when you’ve only just—” He exhales sharply, his lips forming a thin line. “I don’t wanna scare you.”

“A hug isn’t going to scare me, Arthur,” you say with a soft smile, your brown pinched in sympathy. Then your voice lowers. “A kiss won’t, either.”

“But if I kiss you…” He stops, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know if I can…” His hand that is on the small of your back begins to grip your jacket, the fabric bunching in his fingers. 

You’re finally beginning to understand him. This entire time it wasn’t about not having faith in you, or not trusting you. It was fear. Fear of losing you. To go through that pain another time, when he’s lost so much already. You bring up your hands to caress his face. “Kiss me, Arthur.” Then you caress his cheek. “It’s alright.”

You see the fear in his eyes. The restraint. You can only imagine it’s the pent-up ache and loneliness from losing you, finding out you’re alive, to learning you don’t remember the past two years of love and secrecy. You can only imagine what he must be feeling, the desire to hold you close and not let go. He can’t just ease into it. He’s all or nothing. 

His hand trembles as it holds your chin. 

“Go on,” you whisper, almost a little too eagerly. “Go on and let me love you.”

He nearly grimaces and he emits a cry, so low and soft that you’re almost taken by surprise. This is so much more than what you’ve made it out to be. Something deep within his being, on the edge of this stupid task you’ve set out on. He’s breaking apart, after holding himself together for so long. 

Your hands go to his neck and you bring him to you, letting him tuck his head in the crook of your neck. 

And he sobs. 

He begins to feel heavy in your embrace and goes to his knees, you bending over as your arms remain around him. His close proximity makes his hat push off his head and he clutches onto you tightly, suppressing his sobs and his groans as this ache finally comes to the surface. 

“I missed you…” he cries into your jacket. “I-I’ve…”

You press your cheek against the top of his head, smelling the crisp wind in his hair. “It’s alright.”

He chokes on his words, his hands gripping you like a vice. “I didn’t wanna…I couldn’t go on no more…!”

You say nothing, only holding him close. 

“I couldn’t—can’t take it!” he cries. “Oh god…!”

You finally go to the ground and he rolls into you, letting his weight be supported in your arms, letting himself be held for once. 

“Let me carry you, Arthur…” you whisper into his hair, planting a gentle kiss there. “Let it go…”

His grip only tightens, so tight that you feel like you could break in two, but you don’t care. There’s something in this moment, something fragile in the vulnerability, that you dare not threaten its catharsis. Arthur is raw, unfiltered, unadulterated as you hold him, finally releasing the grief he felt when he thought he lost you and the joy of seeing you again. 

This is what you saw that day in Valentine, a mere glimpse of it in his eyes when he had a hold of your wrist, what he wanted to express as he called your name. To have to hold it in as you tried and are still failing to figure all of this out, was pure torture and agony for him. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Arthur,” you say. 

“You better not…” he groans. “Don’t leave me, Kit.”

You adjust your arms, cupping his face in your hand as you pull away to look in his eyes. “Never.” And you kiss him deeply, instantly getting a response as his hands go to the sides of your head, pulling you into him. You roll as he falls backward, landing on his chest as you kiss him deeper. 

You can sense the urgency in his kiss, his mouth as you let him in, unlike the one you shared in the hotel room. You know now that he was holding back, even then. 

Such self-control. Such strength. 

Such love, for a man like him to want to protect you. 

His hand travels down to your back and he takes the lead, rolling you over and supporting your head in the crook of his other arm. When you touch his face, you can feel the tear streaks on his cheeks and you emit a soft moan in empathy. 

When you told him you loved him, in the hotel, you meant it, but you didn’t know how deep it ran. 

Until now. 

And suddenly, as you come to this reality, you feel the slow ebbing in the back of your head. A heaviness in your eyes. 

No…not now…!

You pull away from Arthur, your lips lingering long enough for him to nibble at your bottom lip. Then his face whitens as he realizes how heavy you are becoming in his arms. 

“Kit…?!” he breathes, worry leaving his lips as he tries to catch his breath. 

You try to speak, but the pain is too great. You grimace, close your eyes tightly, and reach for the sides of your head. 

“Is it another one?” he asks. “Kit? Tell me what to do…!”

It is too painful, swallowing you whole, you don’t want to go, you want to stay and bring him to you, to kiss him with hunger, but you want the pain to go away. 

So you surrender. 

***

“I’m going to get you…!” you playfully taunt as you chase Jack. Since learning to walk, he’s been keeping Abigail on her toes, and so you’ve been spending more time at camp to help her. You were worried that would upset Dutch and Hosea, but you’ve come to learn that they’d rather have laughter than cries and screams in camp.

And you’re good at making Jack laugh.

“No! No! No!” You know to disregard this, as Jack’s favorite word is no. Whether he’s eating his favorite treats or being chased around, it's always the same gleeful stubbornness. But today, his laughter fills the air like music, a sweet release from the tension that often knots at the edges of camp life.

You scoop him up, spinning around until you're both dizzy with laughter. He shrieks, delighted, and you blow raspberries on his little, round belly.

“Jsi stále rychlejší a rychlejší, brouček! Brzy tě nebudu moci chytit!”

Jack’s giggles continue as he tries to squirm from your grip. “No, Kit, no!”

“Yes, you have such fast little legs!”

You hear footfalls in the dirt come up behind you and so you begin to turn around. “Abigail, I think you must have given Jack some sort of tonic, because—”

But it isn’t Abigail, it’s Arthur.

He must have just returned from another job, it is evidenced from the dirt on his clothes and the cuts on his knuckles. But he’s smiling, so it must not have gone too bad.

Arthur's eyes soften considerably as they land on you, Jack still in your arms, his small body bubbling with unrestrained laughter. You feel a surge of warmth, despite the heavy layer of dust coating your own spirit from the week's weary tasks.

"Seems like Jack here's got the better of you, Kit," he says with a chuckle. “Who knew all it would take was a two-year-old rascal?”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes as you try to conceal your smile, but the effort is fruitless; Arthur always had a way of teasing a smile out of you, even in the grimmest times.

"Maybe he's got the better of me," you concede, settling Jack in your arms. "but only because I let him."

Arthur steps closer, his gaze lingering on your face as he offers to take the boy. “Let’s bring him back to his mama,” he says softly and you pass the giggling Jack over to him. He holds him so expertly, and you know it is because of his experience with his own son, since he had told you of that tragedy when Jack was born. “I wanna talk to you.”

Your smile fades and your brow pinches. “Something wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, but begins to walk into camp. “Just wait here.”

You watch him stride away, Jack's laughter echoing through the camp, mixing with the crackling of fires and distant murmurs of other gang members. The late afternoon sun marks the day already half gone, but you feel like it has just begun. Your heart also beats a little faster, not knowing what to expect from Arthur's solemn tone.

Arthur returns without the boy and gestures to Boadicea, who is hitched to a tree nearby. “Care to ride with me?”

You tilt your head. “Just to talk?”

He shrugs, rolling his eyes. “Or we can walk.”

You look down at your bare feet, letting your toes dig into the soft South Dakota earth. “I don’t mind walking.”

Arthur nods, with a soft chuckle. “Imagine that.”

You look back up and swat him playfully. “Don’t make fun of me.”

Arthur grins, the lines by his eyes crinkling as he leads you away from the bustle of camp. The two of you walk side by side, your strides matching almost perfectly despite his being longer and more assured. Silence stretches between you like an old, familiar blanket, comforting enough until he finally breaks it.

"I found an abandoned house an hour’s ride from here,” Arthur says casually. “They left a money box behind.”

“Is that where you were?” you ask. “Where did you get the cuts on your hands?”

He offers a mischievous grin. “Someone got there first.”

And you mirror his expression. “I take it you were the one who got the box?”

He nods. “And a nice new watch.”

You laugh. Arthur has always been very straightforward, but you've noticed that when he manages to find humor in his adventures, it means he's in good spirits. It's a relief to see, especially after the tense weeks that have plagued the gang. Things seem to get hard before they get better. John has just returned after being gone a year, and while everyone else has welcomed him with open arms, Arthur has kept him at arm's length.

You understand why, but you have to keep it to yourself.

“So, I reckon we’ll have a bit more cash for supplies,” he continues, kicking a small stone along the dirt path. “Abigail can get some things for Jack.”

“It’s good that you look out for him.”

Arthur replies with a bitter tone. “Someone has to.”

He falls silent again, his gaze wandering to the horizon where the setting sun painted the sky a fiery orange. You watch him, noticing the way his jaw clenches and unclenches. The lines of worry seemed more pronounced today, and you wonder if there’s more he’s not saying.

“You ever think about leaving all this?” you ask. “I sometimes wonder how Abigail plans to raise Jack as long as she stays with us.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “I ain’t got the right mind to leave.” He lowers his head. “Even when I have a reason.”

Your heart can’t help but sink at this. You know that he’s grieved the loss of his son these last four years. You tried to give him space, as you know only time can heal the ache. You should know, it still hurts sometimes when you think of Antek.

Arthur’s voice softens, a rare vulnerability seeping through the rough edges. “Kit, there ain’t a day goes by I don’t think about Isaac. But it’s this life that keeps me going, now — keeps me from thinking too much, y’know?”

You nod, understanding all too well the escape that constant movement can give. You both walk off the beaten path, further into the trees. You notice how the leaves above you look like stained glass windows, letting the light through the beautiful green. “I understand. Since being with the gang, my life has purpose again, and that has helped me with the loss of my brother.”

You continue silently for a little while, until suddenly, Arthur holds out his arm to stop you. “Shh…” he says as you are about to speak to him and you close your mouth. With a silent gesture, he points ahead of you towards a cluster of bushes. You focus your gaze, and suppress a gasp.

It is a doe and a fawn. They haven’t noticed you both, grazing peacefully on the tender shoots. Arthur’s hand tightens slightly on your arm, his eyes softening as he watches the creatures. It's a rare moment of tranquility in a life otherwise filled with chaos and danger.

“Reminds me of…” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper as if afraid to admit anything out loud.

You then reach for his hand, and take it softly. His breath catches, which is loud enough to startle the doe and she and her baby take off deeper into the woods.

His eyes focus on his hand as it is clasped into yours and when he looks up at you, he is met with your smile. His hand tightens its grip. “You’ve always been there, Kit,” he says softly. “Even when I weren’t the most kind.”

You furrow your brow. “When were you ever rude to me?”

“Maybe I should have been more attentive to you…”

You sense a shift in the air between you and you study him curiously. “Arthur, are you alright?”

He nods his head, a smile growing on his lips. “Yeah, for the first time in a long while…” His gaze lingers on you a moment longer before he looks back where the doe disappeared. “I reckon I am." When he looks back at you, he brings your hand to his chest and holds it over his heart. You can feel the steady beat, quick and strong. “Kit, I ain’t a good man…”

You shake your head. “It isn’t for you to judge that.”

He continues. “Let me finish. I ain’t. I’ve done things I ain’t proud of, but…” He takes off his hat and holds it in his free hand. “I can’t go on knowin’ that I ain’t got a reason to fight anymore. Or, at least, if that reason don’t feel the same way…”

You blink. “Arthur…?”

“Kitka…I…I love you.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick and undeniable. Your heart pounds against your chest so fiercely you fear he might feel it through your hand still pressed against him. His confession, raw and uncertain, echoes the very fears and hopes tangled deep within your own spirit.

You swallow hard, the words you need to say arenot coming out as they should.

Arthur swallows thickly. “I can understand if you don’t feel the same way…I know things change over the years…It’s just that these past few months…I’ve started wonderin’ if I did any amount of good in my life to have another chance…to feel special to someone, and here you were, bein’ so kind and gentle to me as I’ve fought my own demons from my past.” Then a soft smile softly appears on his face and he looks down. “And how you’ve been with little Jack, it’s…it’s the nicest thing I’ve witnessed in a long spell.”

You feel a warmth spread through your body, reaching every cold corner left untouched from the years of living in the shadows, always ready to disappear at a moment's notice. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you realize the weight of his words, the depth of his vulnerability. It’s just as special and rare as seeing that doe and her baby, a precious moment that you don’t want to ever disturb.

His eyes meet yours again and they search you for a moment. “Well, ain’t you gonna say somethin’?”

Your breath catches in your throat, and for a moment, the world around you falls silent except for the steady beat of Arthur's heart under your palm. The words you've longed to say, the feelings you've buried deep within, now claw their way up, desperate for release. "Arthur," you begin, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’ve loved you. For the longest time, I’ve loved you. I just want you to be happy,” you sniff. “Always.”

You feel his heart beat even faster under your palm and he steps closer to you, closing the gap so that your bodies are pressed together. He takes your face in his hands, and you look up into his eyes. “It would make me happy if you’d be my woman.”

You giggle. “Your sweetheart?”

“My darlin’,” he says and he leans in to kiss your cheek softly. “My kitten…” And he kisses your other cheek.

Your cheeks feel hot but you let them burn. He’s never called you kitten before, but it fits. “And you’ll be my man?” You ask quietly, your voice still quivering with emotion. The look in his eyes is tender, filled with a warmth that ignites a spark of hope in your heart. “My strong hart?” And a tear falls down your cheek. “My king?”

“Always,” Arthur replies, his voice low and sincere. He draws you closer into his embrace, the familiar scent of leather and earth enveloping you, and you lean into it. “If you’ll let me.”

You think about the atmosphere in camp, and the danger of the life you lead. If others were to know, what could this mean for Arthur, the gang’s enforcer?

You gently push him back and when your eyes meet he looks at you with curiosity. “What’s wrong?”

“What if the others know?”

He goes quiet for a moment before speaking. “Do you want them to know?”

You think about it then shake your head. “No.”

He relaxes his shoulders and then takes hold of your waist. “It might be a little challenging to keep it a secret,” he says, with almost a flirtatious air.

And you respond in kind, “But secrecy is one of my many talents.” And you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing your faces close together. You can feel his soft breath on your face, on your mouth.

Arthur chuckles, the sound deep and reassuring. "That's true enough, Kitka. I've seen you disappear into thin air more times than I can count." His fingers trace along your waist to your back, a touch so gentle it could be the breeze itself. “Just as long as you don’t go disappearin’ on me.” He then holds you tighter, his hands traveling down to your backside, making your breath catch.

Settling in the feeling of his hands, you bite your lower lip. “You can always track me down, can’t you?”

Arthur’s laugh rumbles softly in his chest, and the sound stirs a curious blend of comfort and excitement within you. “That I can, Kit. You leave a mark deeper than you reckon.” His gaze lingers on you with a mix of admiration and earnestness that makes your heart flutter uncontrollably.

“What kind of mark are we talking?” you tease.

At your words, you see his eyes migrate to your lips. “I can think of a good one…”

And leaning in the rest of the way, he closes the gap between your lips, kissing you gingerly. You can tell he’s being deliberate, this being your first real kiss now that he’s reciprocating your feelings and as he pulls away, you quickly bring him back. Arthur laughs from his throat and his response is immediate, deepening the kiss with a passion that has been simmering under the surface, restrained by fears and doubts only whispered to the wind. His hands grip you more firmly, bringing an intensity that makes your pulse quicken, your heart pounding against your rib cage as if trying to break free.

But you are already flying.

And you doubt you will ever come down.

Thank you for reading!

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