#arthur morgan x reader

[frogchiro]

Awww imagine high honor Arthur with a spoiled bratty reader 🥹 she would drive him wild since she always gave him demands and it made him happy to be of service but also made him hard as a rock to know no other man would be able to keep up with his darling's constant spoiled demands ✨

High Honor!Arthur would be a mess!

You can call him a lot of things; a scroundel, an outlaw, a bandit even but one thing you can't accuse him of is his lack of desire to serve you! He'd do anything for you, his pretty, spoiled princess!

He knew that before you joined the gang you were used to living in a certain...standard. A young lady from a rich family, used to luxuries of any kind, or at least before your family was killed for messing with the wrong men, you as the sole miracle survivor.

Arthur realized that going from a manor with servants to a tent in a camp with outlaws all around was certainly a...downgrade to say the least, but he's anything but determined to keep his lil' lady happy and content!

And you appreciate it of course! You love Arthur, you love how thoughtful and considerate he is, you love how he still treats you like a proper lady and you really try to give back as much as you can, it's just...Old habits die hard you guess.

Luckily for you whenever your bratty tone starts to shine through that you're so cold in your tent or that the pillows are hard or that the blankets are too thin, Arthur is immediately there, ready to serve on hand and foot the moment a whine escapes your pretty lips!

He will buy you all the pillows or thick warm furs to keep you warm, maybe even some precious stones or jewelry if a particular robbery goes well and nothing quite makes him smile so much (or makes him so hard it's painful) than seeing your delighted grin whenever you try on the new shiny necklace or try out the pretty perfume he got for you, anything for his precious lady!

And despite HH!Arthur being a perfect gentleman, the truth is that he's still only a man; a man with needs :((

He'd never try to force you into anything, God forbid, but he will never say no to a bit of...gratitude from you. He calls you a vixen, a little sly minx whenever you give him that coy look and purr up to him, your pretty, full breasts pressing against his chest as you beacon him further into your shared tent, closer to the wonderfully soft and warm nest of feather pillows and furs you made from his gifts.

There is that whine of yours too of course, but this time not demanding a pretty new ring or necklace, no. This time it's you whining because Arthur is just too far away from you and you need him with you; the furs weren't as warm as he expected and now he had to take responsibility and be the one to keep you warm at night <3

[twola]

I always feel guilty requesting stuff because you deserve so much more but if you write dubcon, I'd love some low honor Arthur dubcon breeding! Either way, your writing is amazing, keep up the good work ❤️

Low honor Arthur is a douchenozzle. And secretly has a breeding kink…? Sure, let's go with that. And maybe this is a little dubcon-ish? Bah, I feel like I am no good at dubcon. Also no good at LH Arthur…

Fortitude II

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link ➵ Previous

The sun has barely risen in the east, but in the warmth of the tent, you have been up for what feels like hours. Or it feels like hours that Arthur has been between your legs, lapping at your core, one hand holding your bucking hips down, the other up and squeezing your breast as you nearly cry from the overstimulation. 

“A-Arthur, p-lease-” You stutter as his rough tongue licks up the seam of your body for the umpteenth time. He grunts into your cunt; breath hot, and continues his assault. It is only after he has wracked from you another two orgasms that he relents, sitting up on his knees and wiping his damp beard. You can do nothing but stare at the pitch of the tent, utterly spent.

“Y’ make such nice little noises there, darlin’,” He rumbles with a self-satisfied smirk.

Perhaps, as you try to catch your breath, this is his penance for acting the fool yesterday. Perhaps this is him trying to garner your favor. 

You hear him spit into his hand and then the telltale sound of wet skin on skin fills the tent as you know he’s stroking his cock. One of his hands grabs the meat of one of your thighs, moving your leg to hook over his. Arthur leans over you and his face finally comes into your line of sight. 

You have the wherewithal, at this point, to move your other leg outside of his thigh, spreading yourself open for him and he hums in approval, leaning over you further with a hungry look in those blue eyes. 

Arthur’s cock prods at your entrance, and you spread your legs wider to grant him access. He hisses as his hips buck against yours, his cock sluicing through the arousal of multiple orgasms - cursing as he slides in so easily. He’s not a small man by any means - but you are just so goddamn wet and ready for him that before either of you realize it, he’s buried to the hilt.

“Fuck-” he spits out as his fingers splay across your thigh, clenching at your skin and leaving red marks in their wake as he finds a rhythm - hard, sharp, fast - there is no softness about this man, but as you’ve seen him beat other senseless, the restraint he has with you in his bed is probably as close as he can get.

A grunt that echoes through the tent recenters you, “Wanna fill you up-”

“We can’t - y’can’t,” you moan high and flighty as his cockhead keeps hitting that sensitive spot inside you, “You can’t get a child on me.”

“Why - oh goddamnit - why not?”

“Arthur- you’re not seri-”

One of your knees gets heaved over his shoulder, and you’re unable to respond in words, instead a hoarse, needy moan bubbles up from your chest.

“I should take you and find a little house and make you my little wife, come home and fuck y’ stupid every night.” Arthur snarls, heaving his hips into yours with little care for gentleness. A strangled noise escapes your throat as your other thigh is pulled up and propped on his other  shoulder. He looms, predatory, before slamming his hips down as he veritably bends you in half.

“I should put a baby in you. Yeah, you’d like that, huh?” He rasps through pounding, punishing thrusts, “Keep you home and chasin’ my children. Belongin’ utterly to me.”

“Ar-Arthur!”

“Yeah, girl, you want it?”

“I want it-!”

“Fuck-” 

He throws his head back and moans, loudly, as he pours his hot spend into your cunt. Spurt after vicious spurt, panting hoarsely as he wrings himself dry. You mewl, completely uncaring of volume out here in the woods, as your body seizes in response, making Arthur nearly collapse on top of you.

The gunslinger wheezes as he lets go of your legs, letting them fall to either side of his hips before he rolls off of you, landing on his back next to you in the bedroll. You recover your wits, gasping as the final throes of ecstasy roll through your body.

And then, you realize what he did. You realize what you said.

“Are you goddamn serious?” 

Arthur doesn’t look at you, covering his eyes with his forearms as he pants, coming down from his exertion.

You turn over in the bedroll facing away from him, hugging yourself, trying to calm yourself down, and failing miserably as you feel his spend drip between your thighs.

“Y-you can’t say that and not mean it.”

You’re ashamed as tears begin to roll down your face - mad at yourself for being so easily upset - mad at yourself for letting him upset you so - furious at him for using you for the cheap high of coming inside a warm cunt. Mad at yourself for wanting that - wanting him in that way. Wanting something that seems so entirely out of character for him, who on a good day, you would hesitate to call him ‘lover’. Mad at yourself at even thinking of a possibility of a future like that.

His burly arm wraps around you and pulls your entire body back against him, his skin still warm and clammy from exertion. 

“Why’re you sayin’ I don’t mean it?” His hand settles over your belly, rubbing gently. 

Your fists unclench, “Wh-what?”

Arthur sits up on his elbow, unwinds his arm from your waist. Drawing back the curtain of your hair, he scowls as he sees the wet trail of tears down your cheeks.

“Look’it me, woman.”

You turn, blinking up at him. His thumb, callused and trigger-worn, swipes across your wet cheek.

“D’you want to be with anyone else?”

“N-no.”  You sniffle.

“D’you want somethin’ after all the runnin’ around we’re doin’?”

“Yes….”

“Good. It’s settled.” He says, manner-of-factly, as if he didn’t just ask you for a future when your entire relationship has felt like a series of one-night stands.

“And if you just got a child on me?” You confront the issue head-on, and you can still feel the dripping of him from your body.

Arthur smirks, haughtily proud at the idea. Before you can make a retort, he leans in and presses his lips against yours insistently. You are surprised, letting him easily press his tongue into your mouth and against yours. One of his hands weaves into your hair, cupping the back of your head gently - almost lovingly.

At the sign of affection, you tremble in his embrace, moaning into his mouth as you throw your leg over his hip, opening your core to him again, rolling your hips against his pelvis and his member, hardening as it fills with blood once more.

He pulls away and you gasp, breathless, your hand tight on his bicep, holding on for dear life.

Arthur Morgan smirks, in that way that he does before he’s about to rob someone blind. 

“Then we best find someone to marry us. Cause I’m gonna keep on fillin’ you until it takes.”

[ak319]

Lovesick A.M x f!reader

₊⊹ Rose Hats and Rough Hearts ₊⊹

(AN: So, a fic idea I have serves as an inspo for this one-shot. The reader is a morally gray character and doesn't like being part of the gang. Anyway, enjoy reading!.) Syno: When her sharp tongue turns on Dutch, Arthur wonders if she’s gone too far, or if he’s fallen too deep. Warnings/MDNI: Age gap (you are in early 20's and Arthur is 30-31), pining, angst, fluff. ✰ -11k.

“Well, wasn’t that easy? Been a long time since I enjoyed a robbery like that,” Hosea chuckled, tugging down his bandana.

Arthur glanced at the bag tied to the horse, heavy with valuables, and gave a small nod. “Definitely.”

The two rode at a leisurely pace, the quiet night stretching around them like a blanket, the stars casting a soft glow over the landscape. Arthur’s eyes drifted as they moved, catching on a patch of bushes nearby.

Roses.

Even in the faint starlight, their delicate shapes stood out, and an idea bloomed in his mind.

“Uh, Hosea,” Arthur started, breaking the calm, “I’ve got an errand to run.”

“An errand? At this time of night?” Hosea raised a brow, his tone lightly scolding. “You oughta rest now, son. You’ve earned it.”

“No, no,” Arthur replied quickly, waving it off. “Just need to head into town for a bit. Won’t be long, don’t you worry.”

Hosea paused for a moment, then gave a knowing smile and nodded. “Alright, if you say so. Just don’t go gettin’ yourself into trouble.”

He handed Hosea the score and with a final farewell, the two parted ways, Arthur veering off towards the town, his thoughts already on the next step of his plan.

Arthur arrived at the shop and dismounted, but instead of heading inside, he lingered by his horse, running a hand over the animal’s neck. Was this even a good idea? Why was it all so damn complicated?

There’s no harm in buying something, right? Just a harmless gesture. He could figure out what to do with it later... later.

For days now, it had been the same cycle.

Don’t think about her. Just don’t.

There’s no harm in it, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t look at her, it’s strange. Keep your distance.

A few stolen glances don’t mean anything when she’s far away, right?

And yet he does.

Don’t buy her a gift. What kind of fool even does that? Who is he to her, anyway?

And here he is, standing outside the shop, heart pounding like a damn fool, a love fool.

“Yes, sir? How may I help you? By the way, there’s a 5% discount on the winter stock. Perhaps you’d like to try the waistcoats?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his eyes drifting around the shop. Was he in the right place? He scanned the shelves and displays until his gaze landed on the wall.

Yes, there it was. The item he’d noticed before.

“Can you show me that hat?”

The shopkeeper immediately retrieved it with a practiced hand and held it out with a smile. “Our latest and most popular piece, sir. Only $22.”

Arthur took the hat, turning it over in his hands. The black leather gleamed, unscathed and pristine, a far cry from his well-worn one. His eyes lingered on the rose corsage affixed to the middle, subtle but striking.

He stepped toward the mirror, setting the hat on his head, and studied his reflection. It was a fine hat

“Goes perfectly with your outfit, sir,” the shopkeeper remarked, his voice warm with flattery.

Arthur’s lips curled into a faint smile, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the shelves. “I saw a scarf, too. The one with the, uh... rose pattern.”

“Oh, the women’s one! Let me fetch it for you.”

The shopkeeper moved swiftly, his hands deftly retrieving the scarf. He prattled on about its fine quality and craftsmanship, but Arthur barely registered the words. They flew past him like horses leaping over a fence.

His thoughts were elsewhere, on you. On how the scarf would look wrapped around your neck, the way it might frame your face. The image was enough to push him to hand over the dollar bills for both items, not even noticing he’d given more than what was asked.

The shopkeeper’s voice called out behind him, but Arthur had already turned, mounting his Irish Draught, Clover, and riding off without a second glance.

He’d be wearing the rose hat, and you’d be wearing the scarf. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange mix of warmth and unease. Was he really going to give it to you now?

The wind tugged at his coat, but it couldn’t scatter the doubts and questions circling his mind. Was this... a confession?

Would you, confounding as you were, with your quicksilver moods and quiet distance, accept anything from him? You, who rarely spared him more than a glance, choosing instead to linger with the girls, Molly especially.

It ate at him sometimes, the way you seemed so unreachable. Always just out of his grasp, moving through the camp like a wisp of smoke, untouchable and wholly your own. And yet, he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop wanting.

You didn’t belong here, not like him, at least. You carried yourself with an air of defiance, tethered to the camp not by loyalty but necessity. A reluctant, bitter presence that had no reason to look twice at someone as rooted in this life as he was.

He saw the way you didn’t fit, the way you wanted to leave. And maybe that’s why the thought of you wearing the scarf--his scarf now--stirred something fierce inside him. The idea that, for once, he might give you something that tethered you to him, however briefly. Better than being tied to someone else. God, you have made him so selfish.

He clenched the scarf tighter, his jaw set. Maybe it wasn’t much, but it was a start.

He didn’t know much about you, except years ago when one day he came to the camp and discovered that Hosea and Bessie had found somewhere, taken you in, and raised you as their own as they always wanted a child. Nobody in the camp knew where they found you except perhaps Dutch but it was never told properly and he didn't pry much too, no one really did. Everything had been fine-peaceful, even, until Bessie passed.

After that, you’d wanted out. To leave the camp, carve out a life of your own, away from the shadow of the gang. But Hosea couldn’t let you go. He was your father, after all, the one who had protected you, shielding you from the blood and grime of their world just as Bessie had wished for.

And then there was himself whose hands were drenched in blood.

All of this screamed doom. Yet, he was doomed... doomed by his stupid feelings and that desperate longing to have someone to call his own, to have someone waiting for him. A foolish wish, considering the life he’d led, the blood he’d spilled, and the world he was tied to.

He slowed the stallion, the weight of bubbling anxiety and frustration pressing down on him. God, it was all a mess. Even if he could manage to stop thinking for a while, to quiet the storm in his head... when he'd return to the camp and see you again, just going about your business, sulking in some corner after an argument, or throwing those sharp, witty remarks, especially at Pearson as you cooked, that pull, that ache, would come rushing back.

Curiosity was the root of it all. He just wanted to know. Why? Why were you like this? Was it because of Molly, how she’d twisted your heart with her bitterness, making you turn your back on Dutch and the rest of the gang? Or did you simply not care at all about any of them?

He huffed at the thought of the stew you probably made, not out of love, but out of duty, or maybe a touch of malice. If it tasted so good, made with nothing but spite, he couldn’t help but wonder how much better it would be if you made it with love.

❀˖°

With a final pat to Clover’s neck, Arthur made his way back to camp, greeting the men as he passed. But there was something off, a silence hanging heavier than usual. He made his way toward Dutch, figuring he might have some thoughts on the score with Hosea.

"Dutch?"

The older man turned his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips as he exhaled a cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the lake.

"Arthur."

Before Arthur could speak, Dutch continued, his tone slow, almost contemplative. "You know we’re a family, right? That everything we do is for each other, not just for ourselves..."

"Of course, Dutch," Arthur replied, trying to understand where this was coming from.

Dutch chuckled softly, the sound more gravel than humor, before crushing the cigar underfoot with a casual motion. "Some people, immature people, just can't seem to understand that."

With that, Dutch turned and walked back to his tent, leaving Arthur standing there.

"Is... something the matter?" Arthur asked, his voice laced with curiosity and concern.

"Thing? No, someone is the matter." Dutch’s words were sharp, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Arthur.

Arthur gave him an impatient look, silently urging him to get to the point. This wasn’t how he’d planned to spend the evening. Not at all. He’d been hoping to retreat to his tent, to let his mind drift into thoughts of you, to finally sit and think about the gift he’d picked out for you, wondering if you'd even notice if you'd even like it. He could already picture himself, the soft scarf fabric between his fingers, tracing the rose pattern as his thoughts wandered, imagining what it would feel like to wrap it around your neck... his gift for you.

Dutch exhaled sharply, clearly agitated. "Hosea has let her get away with too much. You know what she did? When Hosea returned to drop off the share from your little endeavour, she-" He cut himself off with a frustrated growl. "She thought I wasn’t here. She came charging out, and started an argument, telling him he was doing the wrong thing--the wrong thing! Can you believe that?"

Dutch shook his head in disbelief. "She actually had the nerve to say that, Arthur. And that instead of doing this--helping us all--he should be out saving for them both and getting away from this life." He paused, his chest rising with each breath. "I swear, Arthur... turning one of my most trusted men, a friend, against me? Over some damn bills? But Hosea... being Hosea...what does he do? Runs out of camp to bring her back."

"So what did you suggest?!" Hosea’s voice cut through the tension as he entered the tent, his eyes flashing with frustration. "Let my daughter go out in the wild alone? At night? How could you do that, say 'get lost' just like that? Knowing she will take it seriously? She grew up right in front of you!"

Dutch’s face tightened at Hosea’s outburst, his anger simmering. "Oh, so it hurt her ego, huh?! Like I care. For me , nothing’s worse than a selfish, disloyal piece of trash that you just had to take in because-"

"Enough! No!" Hosea snapped, his voice sharp as a whip. "Don’t you dare bring that up."

With a heavy sigh, Hosea turned on his heel, walking away from the confrontation, leaving Dutch to seethe in silence.

Dutch watched him go, muttering under his breath, "Take those damn dollars you bestowed on us, Hosea, and gift her a house, for all I care! Fine by my ass!"

Arthur’s mind was a tangled mess, unable to process the whirlwind of events. So much had happened, so many emotions he could hardly keep up. Confusion clouded his mind, frustration clawed at his chest, exhaustion weighed down on his bones, and fury burned in his gut. But none of it made sense. He couldn't even figure out who--or what--his anger was really directed at.

Was it you? Was it your reckless, thoughtless actions that set this all in motion? Or was it Dutch's words and how casually he was ready to kick a girl out, kick you out, just like that?

It was at both.

It was both, but more than anything, it was you. Because you’d started it, hadn’t you? You always had a problem with Dutch’s authority, even when you kept your sweet little mouth shut. It was in your eyes, those eyes. The eyes he could never get enough of, the ones he craved to meet his own. If only for a second. A second where the same longing, the same hunger for something more, reflected back at him.

But instead, there you were. Acting like everything was just... nothing. Like none of it mattered. Like he didn’t matter. You went out there, reckless, careless, as if you could just walk away from everything. From him. How fucking could you? What if it had gotten worse and someone just decided to harm you in the camp and even Hosea couldn't do anything-

"Arthur?"

"U-Um, yes?"

Dutch’s sharp gaze fixed on him, deliberate and piercing. He let the silence stretch just long enough to unsettle, his expression unreadable. "What do you think? Hm?"

"About...what happened? I--it’s... yeah, she shouldn’t have said that," Arthur muttered, the words clumsy and heavy on his tongue.

Dutch hummed, a slow and pointed sound, as though weighing Arthur’s response and finding it just barely acceptable. Arthur didn’t wait for more. He muttered a farewell and slipped out of the tent, the cool air doing little to clear the haze in his mind.

His eyes found Hosea almost immediately. The old man was sitting on his bedroll, his posture stiff and guarded. His eyes screamed of hurt, Dutch's words had affected him deeply. After some seconds his eyes would flicker at your tent. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. Hosea’s protectiveness was undeniable.

Because no matter how much Hosea wanted to protect you, Arthur wanted something deeper, something more selfish.

What the hell am I even thinking? he chastised himself, shaking his head. She’s not my responsibility. She’s not mine.

He wanted to say something to Hosea, to offer comfort or at least commiseration, but his feet wouldn’t move. Instead, he turned away, retreating to his own tent with a heavy sigh. Once inside, he shut the flaps, placed his hat on the table, and dropped onto the cot with a grunt of annoyance.

Reaching for the scarf, Arthur held it above him, the dim light tracing over its soft, silken material. He let it graze his face, the faint scent of the shop lingering on it, but it was his mind that did the real work. He imagined the fabric tangled in your hair, how it would feel wrapped around you as he held you close. He could almost feel the tickle of those strands against his skin, his breath hot against the side of your neck.

The thought of having you there, in his arms, that close, his hands gripping you, pulling you to him, ignited something fierce inside him. It wasn’t just the touch. It was the idea that you could be his, fully, if only you’d let him. He clenched the scarf tighter, frustration and something darker simmering in his chest.

With that vision playing in his mind, he let the scarf fall, draping it across his face and chest, the weight of it somehow both comforting and unbearable.

Lying there in the dark, his lips brushed over the fabric absently, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips. It was maddening, the way you consumed his thoughts without even trying. Even now, with frustration still simmering under his skin, all he wanted was to see you, to watch your expression, even if it meant enduring one of your scowls.

You little menace, I swear one of these days I might just lose my patience.

But you didn’t care, did you? You’d stormed out, reckless and fiery, with no thought of him or anyone, not even yourself. And here he was, lying alone, haunted by the feeling of silk and the ghost of a life he’d never have. With a frustrated grunt, Arthur shifted onto his side, clutching it closer, the tension in his body growing. He couldn't help but think if he had been here earlier, he would have tied you to him, not out of malice, but out of desperate, aching need. The kind of need that he couldn’t push down, no matter how much he tried. The kind that made him crave something from you that you didn’t even know you had to give. Something more. Something that would finally make you stay.

Sleep wouldn’t come easily.

He wanted you to feel it, to bear the same punishment he carried every night. To know what it was like to lie awake, tormented by the thought of someone you couldn’t have, unable to chase the fleeting peace of sleep because they haunted you in ways you couldn’t name. He wanted you to understand how it felt to be unraveled by longing, to have your very being tethered to someone who wouldn’t even look your way.

But then...what was he even saying?

Why did he keep forgetting the truth? That you didn’t deserve his anger, his silent pleas for recognition. That the fault wasn’t yours for not seeing him, no, it was his for daring to want you in the first place. Of course, you wouldn’t ever look at him that way. He was older, too far removed from your world, your interests, your life. And he knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t ever imagine, not in a thousand years, that someone like him could ever be interested in you. Even he could admit it, this was all stupid, unexpected, and nothing more than a fantasy.

And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. And still, knowing this, he couldn’t stop himself. The heart never makes sense, does it? It doesn’t listen to reason or its owner, dragging you where it pleases, no matter the cost. Even he, a man who prided himself on control, had been reduced to a mere servant of its whims.

His fingers curled around the scarf as if it could somehow hold the pieces of him together. As if its softness could soothe the fire that burned inside him, one that you had lit and would never know.

Meanwhile, you lay in bed, staring at the worn canvas of the tent above. You weren’t leaving this tent. Not now. Not later. Not for anyone. They could all be damned for all you cared, it had all been damned ever since your mother died.

She was your anchor, the one thing tethering you to any sense of stability. And the moment she was gone, the world had cracked open, spilling truths you’d long suspected but never wanted confirmed. You weren’t really theirs. You weren’t their daughter.

Hosea refused to tell you why or how you ended up here, tucked into the folds of their chaos. But the truth was, you didn’t care anymore. You were tired. Tired of the games, the blind loyalty to Dutch’s every whim, the endless cycle of running and stealing and pretending any of it had meaning.

All you wanted was a normal life, a roof over your head that didn’t leak when it rained, a place where fear didn’t cling to the walls like smoke. But that dream stayed out of reach, just like everything else. Hosea wouldn’t let you go. He was scared to lose you, to lose something that was never even his.

Pathetic.

That’s what it was. That’s what they all were. And maybe Molly was right, Dutch’s charm was nothing but poison, bleeding into everything and everyone

"Bastard..."

You wanted a job, something stable to call your own. Or, if that wasn’t in the cards, maybe just to find some rich fool to marry so you could finally live in peace. Far from all this chaos. But no, these people couldn’t leave well enough alone, they had to loot every rich soul they came across.

Leave someone for me to marry at least, you scoffed bitterly, lips curling in a faint, humourless smile.

Sigh.

Dream on, (Y/N). Dream on.

Hosea’s familiar voice drifted in from nearby, low and steady as he spoke with Abigail. No doubt she was serving him food since you hadn’t bothered to. The sound grated on you, making you roll your eyes and turn to the other side of your bedroll. It wouldn’t be long, two days, maximum, before Hosea came to lecture you, or worse, dragged you out of this tent himself.

He was always so damn strict when it came to pulling your weight.

But right now?

Screw it. Screw him. Screw all of them.

Let them fend for themselves.

❀˖°

"Why do you do all this?"

Not did that. Do this.

Arthur’s voice was low, almost fragile, but there was a weight to it. A question layered with meanings he couldn’t bring himself to say outright. He just hoped you’d hear it, the real question, underneath the words. His gaze stayed fixed on the worn soles of your shoes, watching as you scrubbed at the dishes with an edge of restrained aggression that didn’t go unnoticed.

The sight would be funny to anyone in the camp right now. He was reduced to barely speaking above a whisper when it came to you, his usual steady tone faltering in a way it never did with anyone else. Whilst you were the only one who wasn't afraid of even him. While others tiptoed around him, wary of the weight his presence carried, you treated him with the same indifference, the same biting sharpness that you spared for everyone else.

Dammit, he fucking loved it.

It wasn’t fear he wanted from you, not respect or even obedience. It was something, anything, that showed he wasn’t just another face in the camp to you. It made him feel like that was all he was. Just another man under Dutch rule.

And it was maddening.

"I could ask the same question to everyone here," you replied, voice steady but sharp, like a blade dulled just enough to wound without cutting too deep.

"But you know the answer," he countered, quieter now, his words almost swallowed by the night air.

"And you do too," you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder, "but here you are. Playing the mediator of sorts."

Arthur exhaled sharply, his gaze falling to the ground as if the weight of your words had struck him in the chest. For someone who claimed to want nothing to do with this place, with these people, you had an uncanny way of stirring up trouble within it.

Perhaps you wanted that. You wanted to get kicked out.

He wanted to throw the thought out into the open, let it snap between you like a taut rope. But the bitterness in your tone, the heaviness in your stance, made him hesitate. Throwing oil on the fire wasn’t going to do either of you any good, not today.

"You’re wasting your breath on someone who isn't listening to whatever you have to say."

"Then I’ll just keep talkin’ until you do," he shot back, his voice low but resolute.

"Do whatever, I don't care. This place is full of people barking orders and trying to be big. Pft. How adorable."

At least spare me a glance. Just one.

"If you don't care about yourself, then at least do it for Hosea." His voice was strained, laced with a desperation he couldn't quite hide.

That made you turn, finally, but the look you gave him was anything but kind. Your gaze was sharp, cutting, laced with a mix of disdain and challenge. "Oh, so now you're worried about me being a bad daughter or something?" you said, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "I wonder if you all think the same way when you're out there making other daughters cry, making women widows and destroying families without a second thought."

This was the longest conversation you both had. Ever. And damn it was a wrecked one.

Your lips curled into a humorless smile as you snorted, mocking. "Tsk, I bet that's an exception, right? Family only exists here." You pitched your voice to mimic Dutch's smooth drawl, the mockery biting. Then, as if dismissing him entirely, you turned back to the washing, your hands moving with renewed fervor, the sound of water splashing filling the silence.

Arthur stood there, jaw tight, the weight of your words sinking into him like stones in a river.

He stood rooted in place, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. He wanted to say something, needed to say something, but the words lodged themselves somewhere in his throat, refusing to come out. Maybe it was the truth in your words that had him stunned.

Before Arthur could find a way to steer the conversation elsewhere, Hosea stepped into the fray, his tone calm yet firm. “(Y/N)...dear, today or tomorrow, you’ve got to apologize to Dutch and bury this hatchet.”

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side, the tension in the air thick enough to choke on. His heart thumped unevenly as he anticipated your response.

You turned to Hosea sharply, your expression a volatile mix of shock and simmering fury. “You want me to apologize to him?! For what?” Your voice rose, cutting through the camp’s quiet. “Just for talking to you about something I’ve wanted to for so damn long?!”

Arthur’s head snapped back in your direction. He could see the fire in your eyes now, blazing and relentless, and it struck something in him. That fire, he both loved and hated it, craved it and feared it. It was the very thing that made you impossible to ignore, yet it was also what pushed you farther from him. And still, he couldn’t help but think how maddeningly beautiful you looked right now, even if it tore him apart to watch you lock yourself away further from everyone, including him.

Hosea sighed, his calm facade slipping just slightly. “It’s not about what was said, it’s about how it was said. Dutch... he’s not perfect, but he’s trying. We all are.”

Your laugh was hollow, bitter. “Trying? Trying to keep us all in line like dogs? Sure, that sounds like a real noble effort.” You crossed your arms, your gaze icy as it met Hosea’s. “If you want to grovel to Dutch, go ahead. But don’t drag me into it.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, his fingers brushing against his holster as if searching for something to ground himself. He knew that your words were not only directed at Hosea but him too.

“You’ve got too much pride,” Hosea muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.

“And you’ve got too much blind loyalty,” you shot back, unrelenting.

Hosea held your gaze, his own softening but remaining firm. "Look, let me say this again, this isn’t about the words you said, it’s about the way you said them. You can stand by your beliefs without tearing everyone else down in the process, sweetheart."

You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. "So what? Dutch can tear everyone down, but when someone calls him out, it’s suddenly a problem?! That’s rich."

"It doesn't matter!" Hosea’s voice rose slightly before he caught himself, lowering it to a pleading tone. "And quiet down, don’t create a scene, again. Have mercy on your old man, at least. For now, we’re in the camp, and as long as we are, Dutch shouldn’t be disrespected like that. You can be as angry as you want with me, but please, just apologize to him. He’s always been like an uncle to you... (Y/N)."

You let out a bitter scoff, your lips curling in defiance. "And he's the one who clearly doesn't want me here but--fine...fine Papa," your hands slammed the plate down in the basin. "I’ll do whatever you say. Because, apparently, my words are nothing but bullets of disloyalty now. The same words that were once adorable wishes to you."

Your words hit like a lash, leaving Hosea standing frozen as you stormed off toward your tent. Arthur watched the older man, his chest tightening when he saw the same hurt settle in Hosea’s eyes, the kind of pain that only festers in the heart of someone who loves deeply and feels powerless.

"I wish..." Hosea began, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling under the weight of emotions he rarely let show. "I wish I never told her the truth... that she’s not my child. Maybe it messed her up... It broke me more than it broke her."

Arthur stepped forward, his boots crunching softly against the dirt as he hesitated for a moment before closing the distance. Hosea turned his head slightly, and Arthur's heart clenched when he saw the glint of tears streaking down the older man’s face. It was the second time Arthur had witnessed Hosea cry, the first being after Bessie's death.

"It... it terrified me," Hosea whispered, voice thick with emotion. "I kept thinkin' last night, what if one day I'm not here, and Dutch just turns on her like that? Sure, the women might object, but that’s it. They’re powerless against him. No one would stand up for her... and she'd be all alone..." He sniffed, wiping his eyes, trying to regain control. "And that’s what broke me, Arthur."

It broke me too...

Arthur stepped closer, his voice low but steady. "Jus' don't think about all that happened. Forget it and don't worry Dutch will forget about it. He won’t hold onto it, not like that. And she... she’ll forget too. You’ll see."

Hosea let out a dry chuckle, wiping a stray tear from his weathered cheek. "She? I don’t think so. Not about this. When it comes to this topic, she won’t let it go." He paused, leaning heavily against the wooden counter, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of years pressed harder in that moment. "I want it too, Arthur. The house, the quiet life… I want to give her that. But it’s not easy. It’s not."

He gestured vaguely toward the camp, the flickering lantern light catching in his tired eyes. "Leaving all this behind, all of you, it’d feel like... like a betrayal. Even if I left on a good note, it wouldn’t sit right. Do you get what I mean?"

Arthur nodded, his posture relaxing now that you weren’t there to sharpen the tension in the air. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think we all... kind of want that." His words trailed off, his thoughts unraveling into something more personal. Something he couldn’t bring himself to say.

I do. I want it... with you. Maybe. No...

Only.

Hosea turned his head to study him, an unspoken question hanging in the silence. Arthur caught the look and quickly shrugged it off, letting out a small exhale as if to clear the thought entirely. "Jus’ don’t let Dutch know," he muttered with a faint smirk. Hosea returned the gesture. " 'Course not. Let's go have some coffee, boy." He reached to pat the man's shoulder but Arthur’s hand shot out, grabbing Hosea’s with a suddenness that made the older man freeze. His eyes, wide and questioning, met Arthur’s with a flicker of concern, but also an understanding that something serious was coming.

"Um--there’s... something that I want to..." Arthur’s voice faltered as he cleared his throat. His gaze darted to the ground, to the side, anywhere but Hosea’s eyes. The same sheepish, uncertain look Hosea had seen a hundred times, but now it felt different.

Hosea arched a brow, waiting for him to continue. "Well, go on then. What did you do?"

Arthur’s mind was a mess, his thoughts tangled with nerves and fear. What the hell am I doing? His heart raced as his hand shook slightly. What the hell am I about to do?

His breath caught as he reached into the inside of his jacket, fingers brushing the fabric of the chest pocket where he’d hidden it. It was a decision that had plagued him for days, one that felt impossible to avoid now.

He pulled out the scarf--silken, covered in his scent, soft to the touch, but now burning in his hand like a symbol of everything he couldn’t say.

 For her.

It’s for her.

"I- I bought this..." he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, as if saying the words aloud made them too real, too vulnerable.

Hosea’s face was unreadable at first, but then he saw the scarf, and a brief chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "I thought it was clear I’m a man, Arthur."

The joke hit Arthur like a slap, and he couldn’t help but feel his chest tighten. God, this was harder than he’d imagined. His throat went dry, his fingers tightening around the scarf as if it could somehow anchor him, give him the courage to keep going. But he was drowning in hesitation.

Arthur’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his entire body trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite name. The thought of Hosea’s reaction, the uncertainty of what might follow this moment, made him question if he’d just made the biggest mistake of his life. Would Hosea kill him? Would he laugh at him? Or worse, would he pity him?

Hosea’s eyes bore into him, patient, yet expectant. "Well, boy?"

Arthur’s mouth went dry, but he forced the words out. "It’s for... (Y/N)."

For a moment, there was a stillness, and then to his shock, Hosea’s expression softened, eyes widening, almost in a kind of jubilant surprise. The older man’s lips curled into a smile, the warmth of it almost disarming.

Hosea took the scarf from Arthur, his hands gentle as he examined the gift. A sense of something unspoken passed between them, something Arthur couldn’t quite name, but it was there in the way Hosea’s gaze softened. "Really?"

Arthur barely had the strength to nod, his eyes avoiding Hosea’s, his face burning with embarrassment and a kind of fear he couldn’t even process. Was this really happening? He was spilling it to him, of all people, your father.

He nodded again, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah..."

Hosea’s hand reached out to pat Arthur’s arm in an almost fatherly gesture, the older man’s voice low and steady. "Well then... I’ll be sure to give it to her." He smiled, a knowing warmth in his eyes that made Arthur’s chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. "Thank you. Y’know... you’re the only one I trust after me."

Arthur’s heart skipped a beat, the words sinking in like the heaviest of weights. It felt like he’d won a game, but one he hadn’t even realized he was playing.

Arthur’s throat tightened at the thought, his breath catching. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d attached to the simple scarf until now. It was just a piece of fabric, yet the meaning behind it had become so much more than he’d ever expected.

"Just... tell her to, you know... don’t burn it at least," he muttered, his chuckle awkward and thin, as if trying to deflect the intensity of his own feelings. But the words weren’t a joke. They were the truth, and they hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

The image burned in his mind, you, angry, perhaps unaware, throwing it into the campfire or tearing it apart with a pair of scissors. The thought was almost unbearable, each possibility worse than the last. The way his hands clenched into fists at his sides showed just how deep the fear ran.

He couldn’t let that happen.

If you did something like that, if you so much as damaged it, he... he didn’t know what he’d do. His thoughts spiraled out of control. Would he lash out? Would he burn the whole camp down if it meant getting you back, getting that thing back, untainted by your disregard? The intensity of his protectiveness shocked him, made his pulse quicken.

He forced himself to exhale, slow and controlled, but the tightness in his chest remained.

"Tell her," he repeated softly, though his voice cracked with something that felt more desperate than he'd intended.

"I will, I will. Don't you worry."

❀˖°

You nearly sewed your own finger, but kept going, the needle trembling slightly in your hand as you tried to focus. Jack sure knew how to break his damn button every week. But you never minded of course. That adorable little kid is like your brother. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt calm enough to sit still and stitch something--anything--together without your mind wandering.

"I’m proud of you, y'know. You apologized. Thank you." Hosea’s voice broke through the silence, warm but layered with something else, something like relief, as he sipped his coffee. His words sank into the quiet of the tent, the flickering lamplight casting soft shadows over his face.

"Of course you are."

His response was a low chuckle, tinged with affection. He knew you loved him and valued his advice,. His mind played the memories of the times when you always waited worriedly whenever he went on jobs and made sure he was looked after in the camp. He couldn't be proud to have you as his daughter even if both of you clashed at moments like these.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Even if you’d done it for Hosea, for your own reasons, you couldn't shake the irritation that still lingered beneath your skin. But he was happy, and that was enough for him. His approval always mattered to you, more than you’d ever admit.

The silence stretched out between you as you continued to sew, the rhythmic motion almost comforting. But Hosea’s gaze shifted, the way it always did when something was on his mind. He glanced at the closed flap of the tent, his attention drawn to the world outside. Then, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Here," Hosea said, holding the item out to you, his expression tight, as if he wasn't entirely sure how you would take it. You eyed the scarf suspiciously before taking it, your fingers brushing against the fabric, your thoughts clouded.

"Wow, thanks...it's so pretty," you muttered, still trying to piece together what was happening. Though genuinely happy to receive a beautiful gift.

Hosea shifted on his feet, averting his gaze, as if the words were stuck in his throat. After a long pause, you saw the truth flicker in his eyes.

"It's...from Arthur."

"Wha---huh? Why?" you asked, the suspicion in your tone now more palpable than ever.

Hosea looked away again, the embarrassment and discomfort evident in his posture, but the message was clear. You felt the shift in the air, a kind of pressure that built between you both.

Your blood ran cold, and you couldn't stop the words that spilled from your lips. "Wha- excuse me??! Did you... did you just sell me or something?!"

The words landed, and Hosea's head snapped back, his face darkening, his jaw tight with frustration.

"What even---Are you out of your mind?" he shot back, his voice low, heated now. "Listen to me. I am not going to be here for you forever, and I worry for you, even if you think I don't! And him, he’s the only one I would trust to-"

"What are you on about?!" you cut him off, your voice rising with anger. "Am I some child that needs to be babysat?! I won’t stay here forever, either, Papa! Hell, I won't! And you’re here finding ways to bind me here?!" You could feel the heat rising in your chest, the frustration turning into something you couldn’t hold in any longer. "I understand everything! Don’t think I’m a fool!"

You couldn’t stop yourself. With a burst of pent-up fury, you threw the scarf on the floor, your hands shaking with the force of your frustration. "Handing me to some old lap dog, you’re out of your mind! I can't believe it, have some shame!."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence between you both, as Hosea stood there, his hand still frozen in the air where he'd offered you the scarf, his eyes full of something raw, hurt, frustration, confusion. Hosea opened his mouth, but no words came. His gaze softened, his lips parted as if he were trying to find something to say. But the words you had just spoken hung heavy in the air, too loud and too real to take back now.

"You think I want this for you?" he finally whispered, more to himself than to you, his voice strained with frustration. "I just want you safe, damn it. Safe."

"If you want that, then find someone else, someone normal. A proper suitor, maybe? A decent citizen? Like Mama would have wanted!"

"And you think a 'normal citizen,' or the rich kind you dream of marrying, won’t ask about our background? Won’t dig into our truth? You want something built on lies, instead of what’s real? The most honest person you could have is right here, willing to do anything for you. I raised that boy, and I damn well know he will never disappoint me."

You rolled your eyes, fed up with another one of his lectures. "Yeah, because after spending half my life with outlaws, I've definitely lost the chance to be with anyone 'normal,' haven’t I? Then I'd rather die alone! Every man here is raised by you in some way but that doesn't mean that I have to trust them let alone be with THEM! You are being delusional! Whatever--just give it back, for God's sake," you snapped, your voice thick with frustration as you turned away, trying to put distance between yourself and the scarf as if it could somehow erase the conversation.

Hosea didn't move to leave. He just stood there. After a long pause, he shook his head gently, as if reconciling himself with something painful. "No, no I won't. Gifts are not meant to be... given back."

He picked the scarf up, his hands cradling it carefully as if it were something fragile, and for a moment, you could see him lost in thought, his eyes distant, remembering something else.

"I remember... the first time I held you in my arms," he murmured, his voice softer now, the anger and frustration fading into something more vulnerable. "You were my gift, too. You still are."

Your heart stuttered for a moment, the memory of being held like that, cradled in his arms when you were small, a time before all the complexities of your relationship had gotten so tangled. The warmth of his embrace felt distant now, like a fading echo.

Or it's just his way of manipulation.

"Papa, please, why are you even siding with him-"

"Enough, because I know better and I know you better," he interrupted, his voice firm this time, though it cracked slightly with emotion. "Just keep it." His words hung in the air, and he turned to leave the tent but paused just before he stepped outside.

He looked back, his gaze meeting yours for a moment, something flickered in his eyes, something deep, filled with regret, but also resolve. "If I couldn't, or am unable to give you the life you want," he said softly, each word deliberate, "my heart says he will."

You shook your head, your voice bitter as it escaped you. "Oh please, wait till you see when he kicks me out one day on your beloved Dutch's orders."

Hosea didn’t respond right away. He just looked at you, his expression a mixture of sorrow and a kind of quiet resignation, before he finally turned and walked out of the tent.

He would never be able to make you understand that Arthur would be the last person to do that.

❀˖°

The days that followed felt heavier, like a fog had settled around you. Arthur's presence, once easily ignored, now seemed to infiltrate every corner of your space. He started lingering around more often, always appearing at the most inconvenient times when you and Hosea were sharing a quiet meal or having (tea/coffee). At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, maybe just a shared moment of camaraderie, but the more it happened, the more uncomfortable it made you.

Arthur wasn’t doing anything overtly wrong, of course. He sat quietly, politely joining the conversation when spoken to, sipping coffee, offering a nod here and there.

It bothered you. You loathed it.

Is this some sort of indirect courting? Were you imagining things, or was this his way of trying to ingratiate himself with you? Was he trying to get Hosea's approval? To intimidate you? Or, perhaps, was it something more direct? Was he trying to... what, win you over? Hosea, for all his kindness and wisdom, didn’t mind Arthur’s company, even encouraged it.

The words Hosea had said echoed in your mind, lingering like smoke. "If I couldn’t, or am unable to give you the life you want, my heart says he will."

You scoffed internally, trying to push it away, but the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you. Was that really true? Hosea seemed to believe it, but you weren’t so sure. Arthur? The golden boy of Dutch’s gang? Or was Hosea just trying to soften the blow, making it sound like there was hope when in reality there was none?

You rolled your eyes, staring out into the distance. Why would he go after you? Out of all the people in the camp, why you?

It didn’t make sense. None of it did.

Still, a small part of you wondered... Should you ask him?

But what if you were wrong? What if Hosea was just speaking out of some misplaced hope? You didn’t know. And that uncertainty, it made you uncomfortable. Because you weren’t one to be uncertain. You didn't like it.

He just wants someone young to play with now that he's lonely.

Arthur stared at the journal in his lap, the unfinished sketch of eyes glaring up at him, imperfect and frustrating. He let out a slow, almost imperceptible sigh, his pencil hovering over the page, but he couldn’t seem to get it right. The eyes, those eyes, kept staring back at him, their gaze too empty, too raw. The frown on his face deepened as he bit his lip, his mind spiraling in frustration.

But that frown, that damn cute frown, it wouldn't fade. It never did. The curve of your lips when you were irritated or deep in thought, the way your brows furrowed as you focused on something else... It was almost intoxicating how endearing it was. Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it, and worse, he couldn’t stop wanting to be the one to make that frown disappear.

If only you'd look at him once with a smile, he thought bitterly, the words tasting both sweet and impossible.

Because deep down, Arthur knew, he'd do anything. He’d break the sky and bring the world to your feet if you ever gave him that smile. 

He longed for that.

But no, that’s just a dream, Arthur thought with a resigned sigh, closing his journal and resting his hands on his knees. You wouldn’t even notice me that way. I'm just some damn fool in Dutch’s gang.

❀˖°

It was another evening, quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional crackle of the campfire. You were chopping vegetables at the makeshift table, the rhythmic thud of the knife against the wood filling the air. Hosea sat a few feet away on an overturned crate, sipping his coffee with a watchful but calm expression.

Arthur appeared at the edge of the clearing, his hat tilted low and his hands shoved into his pockets. You barely glanced at him, focused on your task, but the tension in his gait was impossible to ignore. Hosea caught it too, his brow raising ever so slightly as Arthur cleared his throat.

“Evenin’,” Arthur mumbled, his voice unusually hesitant.

Hosea nodded in acknowledgment, setting his cup down. “Evening, Arthur.”

Arthur glanced at you, then back at Hosea. His jaw worked for a moment, as though wrestling with what

And then you heard the words. Full of hesitation.

“I was wonderin’... if I could take her out. Just, ya know, get her outta this camp for a bit. I figure... she could use some air.” His words hung in the air, but his eyes seemed distant, almost like he was hoping for a miracle.

You stiffened immediately, your brows furrowing in disbelief. You hadn’t been in the mood for any of this, and you weren’t sure how you felt about Arthur’s proposal. "I am absolutely fine staying here, got it?"

Arthur’s jaw tightened as he stared at your hunched frame, your defiance practically radiating off you. His voice softened, though there was a trace of frustration. “You’re not fine. Not always, and not here.”

You turned sharply, glaring at him with a fire that made his breath hitch for a moment. “What do you know about what I need, huh? You think you can just waltz in here and decide things for me? I said I am not going so I am not!”

Arthur took a step back, but not because he was intimidated. He rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. “Ain’t about me decidin’ nothin’. You don’t even gotta like me. But you deserve better than to keep hiding in this damn camp, snappin' at everyone tryin' to care for you.”

 "You’ve got some nerve asking me that. I don't need anyone taking me anywhere. Just 'cause you brought me a damn scarf doesn’t mean I owe you a thing."

Arthur seemed to bristle at your sharp reaction, but Hosea leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying the both of you with a quiet smile. He wasn’t offended, he understood.

Your glare didn’t falter, but Hosea cleared his throat before you could respond. “He’s got a point, you know.” His tone was calm, measured. “A little ride won’t kill you.”

You crossed your arms. “I said no Papa and that means, NO."

Arthur stepped closer again, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I ain't Dutch. I ain’t gonna force ya into anything. But sometimes, you gotta trust someone’s tryin’ to help, even if it don’t make sense at first.. Just...give me a chance...please.”

Before you could reply, the unmistakable sound of Dutch’s boots approached. “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Dutch drawled, stepping into the space with a deliberate slowness that made everyone tense. He looked from Arthur to you, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Arthur, you’re not causin’ any trouble now, are you?”

Arthur’s shoulders squared. “Just talkin’. Nothin’ more.”

Dutch’s gaze flicked between the two of you, his smile growing sharper. “Talkin’, huh? Always knew you had a soft spot, Arthur. You got that puppy-dog look about you. But...you sure you’re barkin’ up the right tree here?”

The air went cold, and you froze, your grip tightening on the knife in your hand. Dutch’s words stung, a mixture of insult and insinuation that made your face burn with anger and shame.

“Dutch,” Hosea interjected, standing up from his crate, his tone calm but firm. “C'mon...don't say that."

Dutch laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave y’all to it. Just a little friendly advice, Arthur. Watch where you step. You wouldn’t want to trip.” With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered off, his laughter echoing behind him. Hosea shot Arthur a brief look before following after Dutch, likely to smooth things over or ensure the situation didn’t escalate further.

Arthur lingered awkwardly near the table. His fingers toyed with the brim of his hat, his eyes darting between you and the ground as though he couldn’t quite decide where to settle. He hesitated, his hand lifting slightly as if to reach out to you, his face a mix of guilt and frustration. “Look, I-”

You sighed, stabbing the knife into the cutting board and crossing your arms. "What? Just go away."

Arthur flinched, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Didn’t mean to bother you,” he muttered, his voice low and almost apologetic. “Just...ignore what he said.”

"But what he said was right."

"No, it wasn't." He looked up then, the defensiveness clear as day in his eyes. “It ain’t like that,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Dutch--he just likes to run his mouth. Don’t mean nothin’.”

“Doesn’t it?” you challenged, your tone sharp. “You didn’t exactly deny it back there.”

Arthur hesitated, his jaw tightening as though he was weighing his next words carefully. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to make your life harder. I thought maybe... I don’t know. Thought you’d wanna get out for a bit. Thought it might help.”

“Help with what, exactly?” You gestured around you, exasperated.

“I just… I thought it’d be nice. Thought maybe you’d... enjoy it.”

“Enjoy it?” you repeated, incredulous. “Arthur, I don’t even know what you’re trying to do here. Why you’re trying so hard.”

His jaw tightened, his hands balling into fists at his sides before relaxing again. “Maybe I am tryin’,” he admitted, his voice low and uneven. “Don’t know why you think that’s a crime.”

“I didn’t ask for any of it,” you said, your tone quieter now, less biting. “I didn’t ask for you to care.”

He laughed softly, a bitter sound that barely reached his lips. “Yeah. I know. But it ain’t somethin’ I can help. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

“You’re making it more complicated, you know.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d rather be here makin’ things complicated than not be here at all.”

The weight of his words hung in the air between you, suffocating and undeniable. You didn’t know what to do with it, with him, with any of this. So you did what you always did, you deflected.

“I’ve got work to do,” you said, pushing off the crate and brushing past him towards the wagon. As you walked past him, your voice cut through the heavy silence, sharp and low enough that he almost missed it.

"Why don’t you take all this energy and use it on something worthwhile? Perhaps finding the right tree." You chuckled tauntingly as you went inside the wagon.

He didn’t try to stop you, didn’t say anything else, not wanting to draw too much attention to the scene. With a heavy sigh, he decided to go for a ride.

❀˖°

When he returned later that night, most of the camp was either finishing up their dinner, indulging in late-night games, or sitting quietly by the fire.

He didn’t sense your presence anywhere, and he figured you were probably in your tent, finally savoring some solitude after a long day of work and being surrounded by the others. But he also knew that Dutch’s words from earlier weren’t easy to shake off, especially for you. Your blood was likely still boiling. Worse, you must be hurt too.

Taking advantage of everyone being preoccupied, his steps naturally gravitated toward your tent, your sanctuary. A place he had only ever dared to dream of being close to. What was it like inside? He often wondered. Would the air inside smell faintly of you? Would he ever be someone who belonged in your space? He imagined a future where he could step into it freely, with no hesitation, no uncertainty. A time when he wouldn’t even need to knock when he could enter with a smile on his face and a gift in his hand, your relationship so natural and warm that it felt like home.

But maybe that was the point. You didn’t need anyone in that space, and a part of him liked that. Liked that you existed here, hidden away, out of reach of the world’s harsh gaze. It wasn’t fair or right, but it soothed something deep and primal in him. If he had his way, the world would never touch you. You’d stay tucked away where only he could find you as if this tent was built for the two of you alone. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to see you in his world, in his tent, on his bed, wrapped up in everything that was his.

Hidden away, yes, but hidden with him.

He cleared his throat, his eyes too shy to even glance fully inside, though the tent flap hung half-open.

"Who is it now?"

"Me... I--uh...can I?"

A soft, irritated sound followed, then your voice gave reluctant confirmation. “Leave the flap wide open.”

He obeyed, pushing the fabric aside, the cool night air spilling in. Then he stood there like a fool, frozen for several seconds as his eyes found you sitting on the edge of the cot, one leg bouncing with impatience. Enchanting nonetheless.

“Well? What now?”

The sharpness of your tone jolted him back to his senses. For a moment, he still couldn’t believe you’d allowed him inside. Maybe you were too tired to step out yourself, but he couldn’t help feeling grateful anyway.

Taking a cautious step closer, his gaze drifted and landed on the scarf in the corner, dangling from the back of a chair.

At least you kept it.

You kept it.

That was enough for him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he dropped to his knee in front of you, his height aligning perfectly with yours now. The act wasn’t one of submission but of devotion, a silent acknowledgment that your hatred, cold and unyielding, loomed larger than the fire of his love. And yet, he stayed there, resolute.

If he had to kneel to earn even a fragment of your gaze, he would. If being this close meant bearing the weight of your disdain, so be it. Because in this moment, it wasn’t his pride that mattered, it was you.

Your first instinct was shock. His sudden closeness threw you off, but as the silence stretched and his hesitation became almost unbearable, you decided to speak, cutting through the tension.

“I think you’re only acting like this because Dutch reckons it’s the best way to keep me in line. So that you can scare me or something. Y’know, keep me stuck in this camp so Pa’s happy, Dutch is happy, and my life here is just that much more miserable.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed immediately, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “No,” he said firmly, his voice quiet but resolute. “It ain’t like that. It ain’t even close to that.”

He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting lightly on his knees as he searched for the right words. “Do I look like someone who’d think that way? Or...who’d go along with somethin’ like that? Do you really think Hosea would do that to you? Think about you like that?” His voice softened at the edges, but there was an undeniable conviction in it.

“You ain’t some animal we gotta control, alright?” He shook his head, as if shaking off the very thought of it. “You’re...more than that. Always have been."

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I know...there’s a whole lotta differences between us. But...I can’t help myself, y’know? I’ve tried. Lord knows I’ve tried.” His words faltered, and he cursed under his breath.

Damn, I forgot half of what I wanted to say.

You tilted your head, watching him struggle, your patience wearing thin.

He took a deep breath and pressed on, his voice quieter but no less earnest. “I don’t deserve this, I know that. Hell, you don’t deserve this, either. But one thing I can promise you, right here, right now...I’ll make this better. I’ll try every damn day to make your life here bearable, to give you somethin’ better. Until...”

He stopped himself, biting back the words he wasn’t sure you were ready to hear. “Until I can give you somethin’ far better than all this.”

He paused, his jaw tightening before he met your eyes again. “And no one, not a damn soul, will have the guts to disrespect you here. Not while I’m around.”

You raised a brow, skepticism clear in your voice. “Not even Dutch?”

Arthur swallowed hard, but he nodded firmly. “Yeah....not even him.”

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped your hands, his touch rough but grounding. He held on like it was the only thing tethering him to the moment, his eyes searching yours for any sign of trust, of understanding, of...hope.

"But why though? All of a sudden? And me?"

"I...wish I knew. But I am helpless right now. Helpless against these questions and these...feelings."

His eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading, but your words cut through him like a knife.

“If this is all true, then...why didn’t your lover, what was her name? Oh yeah, Mary, who even loved you, stick around?”

Arthur flinched as if you’d struck him. His heart trembled at the weight of your words, your tone unclear, was it innocent? Genuine? Or just plain cruel?

"That...that was different."

Your gaze didn’t waver, and your tongue stayed edged. “Okay but if she didn’t trust you enough to stay, then why should I? We’re not even-”

He moved before you could finish, his jaw tightening as he stood. With a single step, he reached for the scarf draped over the chair. Silent and deliberate, he placed it on the bed beside you, his every motion measured.

You watched him, confused and uncertain, as he pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket. He smoothed them flat and placed them in the middle of the scarf. His hands moved deftly, folding the fabric around the money with a care that felt almost reverent.

Finally, he turned to you, kneeling once more. His rough, calloused hands gently wrapped around yours, closing your fingers firmly over the bundle. His touch was warm, grounding, yet carried the weight of something far greater.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. “This...this is the only proof I can give you. I’ll keep fillin’ it, day by day, until we’ve got enough to leave. And you’ll keep it safe. You’ll keep it with you. It's yours. Only yours."

And I am too.

"I know...that the money is not gonna come from honest ways which you hate of course, but...there's no other way it can be done...but it will be done, alright?"

His breath hitched as he leaned closer, his shadow falling over you like a shroud. The proximity made your heart thrum unevenly, though you’d never admit it.

You stared at the scarf in your hands, his grip firm but trembling ever so slightly. You couldn’t bring yourself to look up, to meet his eyes. A dozen questions churned in your mind, your heart caught between disbelief and something else you couldn’t name.

Why was he doing this? Why for you? Damn, you never pegged him for such a fool.

It was as if he could sense the weight of your weariness. His voice softened, low and earnest.

“I just want you to greet me every time I come back…and every time I go. With that smile of yours.” He paused, his gaze dropping for a moment, as though the vulnerability of his words was too much. “That’s all I ask of you...that’s all this idiot asks of you.”

And to have you in my arms every night.

The thought came unbidden, a longing too deep and too dangerous to voice aloud. No, he couldn’t say that, not yet. It was too much to ask.

You blinked at him, caught off guard, your lips parting slightly as if to respond. “Um...I don't--” You cleared your throat, but the words still wouldn’t come.

When you finally looked up, he saw it, emotions swirling in your eyes, unguarded for once. Fear, confusion, a flicker of nervousness. But there was something else, something softer, buried beneath it all. His heart, racing only moments ago, steadied as if your gaze alone could calm him.

Unable to stop himself, he leaned closer, closing the space between you. His lips brushed the top of your head in a tender kiss, one that lingered longer than it should have.

You flinched a little but didn't pull away, and that, to him, was enough. A sign of acceptance, no matter how small.

The scent of your hair, the warmth of your presence, it was intoxicating. For the first time, he felt hope unfurling in his chest. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours once more. He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to break the fragile moment, and instead rose to his feet. His shadow stretched across the tent as he turned toward the flap, his steps deliberate and slow.

And just before he stepped out into the night, he glanced over his shoulder. “Goodnight, darlin’.”

Tonight, he might finally be able to sleep.

Arthur lay down on his cot, an idiotic smile tugging at his lips as he stared at the hat resting on the table. It wasn’t just a hat, it was your approval, your silent acknowledgment, your acceptance. For the first time in a long while, he felt...hopeful.

And now, he thought, he’d finally be able to wear it.

❀˖°

The outlaw's gaze drifted to the sketches, one was complete, your softer expression, that innocent curiosity you had when your guard wasn’t up. The other remained unfinished, a portrait of your infamous frown. Not that he hated it, hell, that frown had a charm of its own, sharp and stubborn. But something about leaving it incomplete felt right. He decided it would remain that way. He didn’t want to immortalise that side of you, not in his art or heart.

Arthur reached for the softer sketch, running a thumb over the lines as if touching the paper could bring you closer to him. He studied it, his heart aching with an almost unbearable tenderness.

No, you deserved better. You deserved to keep smiling. And if it took him a lifetime to make that happen, so be it.

Hosea watched from a distance, a quiet smile tugging at the corners of his lips as Arthur hugged your stiff form, bidding you farewell. He observed the way Arthur's demeanour had softened, the usual rough edges of the man becoming more relaxed in your presence. The smile and the way he tipped his hat to you before mounting the horse were enough to confirm the change that had occurred in him.

Arthur's gaze briefly flicked over to where Hosea stood, his eyes meeting the older man’s. With a small, almost sheepish nod of acknowledgment, Arthur gave a quick tip of his head. It was subtle, but Hosea had known him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, the lightness in his eyes.

The mentor's smile deepened, though there was a softness to it that spoke of more than just amusement. It was the kind of smile a father would give when he saw something unexpected in a child, something tender, something hopeful.

It was good to see Arthur's content again. What truly surprised him, though, was that it was his daughter who had made it possible after all this time. The last person he imagined to ever do that and that made him chuckle quietly.

A match made in heaven indeed...

(AN: •⩊• u better interact for high honour++)

[messrmoonyy]

Keeping warm in colter ( drabble )

Inspired by this post by @noxspluto because I saw it and immediately had to get this little like 500 ish word vomit out

Also. Here’s my masterlist if you’re so inclined

“ the hell you doin out here? Back inside it’s freezin” Arthur used as a greeting, grumbling but with no real malice in his words, as you appeared by his side at the campfire. You were used to his grumpy tone, but he always had a soft spot for you.

“ makin’ sure you ain’t froze to death “ you said softly, rubbing at your arms as you joined him by the fire. It was Arthur’s turn on watch and he’d been out there a good couple of hours now “ and I can’t listen to Abigail and John argue for a second longer “ you sighed. At least in their old camps you could get away from their squabbles. But with everyone all squished into one cabin it was impossible now.

You’d rather take the cold outside with Arthur. You pulled your thick shawl tighter around yourself and held your hands out to the flames, you’d only been out there a few minutes and already you felt like ice. And he’d been out there hours. So you’d suck it up.

“ c’mere “ he grumbled and unbuttoned his coat, a gentle hand on your arm tugging you into the welcoming warmth of the thick material. You wrapped your arms around his middle and rested your head to his chest, a soft sigh leaving your chapped lips. He wrapped the coat tightly around you, his arms following suit and holding you close. He was like a walking oven, his body heat seeping through the thick wool of your shawl and chasing the chill away. “ better?”

“ mhm. Thank you sugar “ you sighed and let yourself relax a little more in his hold, taking in his familiar scent. The comforting feel of his sturdy body in your embrace. Always strong for you. Always a rock when things got rough “ we’re gonna be alright. Ain’t we Arthur?” You asked softly after a few moments. The last few days had been hellish. You’d liked Blackwater. You’d liked the camp. The town. And it wasn’t covered in inches of snow which really made it a favorite at the current moment.

“ course we are. Dutch has a plan “ Dutch always had a plan. But you don’t want to get into that conversation right now. So you simply nodded and let out another shaky exhale, a puff of fog as you did “ and y’know I always keep you safe darlin’ I won’t let nothin’ bad happen to ya. Ever “

He did. Always. You’d been the first person he grabbed at the Blackwater camp after everything went crazy, not letting you out of his sight for a second like he was scared you’d get left behind somehow. He’d never allow that. He’d move heaven and earth to keep you safe. Set the dark world ablaze to keep you warm. Nothing would ever get in the way of Arthur keeping you safe.

“ I know “ you tipped your head to look up at him with a soft smile and he leant down pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your turned away as he did with a small laugh

“ what’s got you giggling’ now?”

“ you got lips like damn ice Arthur!” He chuckled at that and simply did it again, pressing his cold chapped lips against your forehead.

“ oh I do? I do?” He asked as he held you tightly and kept pressing his frozen lips to your forehead, your nose, your cheek. Wherever he could reach as you giggled and squirmed in his embrace

“ Arthur!” Your cheeks ached from smiling for the first time since leaving Blackwater, and Arthur’s chuckles alone were enough to ease your worries. Because as long you had him maybe everything would be okay.

[mx-pastelwriting]

Kinktober Day 20: Glory Hole

Arthur Morgan x GN! Reader

Summary: Hearing the Vader Linde gang is in town you sit and wait knowing at least one of the gunslingers were bound to walk in.

Warnings: Established Relationship, Smut, Public Bathroom Sex, Glory Hole, Blowjob, Mention of being payed for sexual acts

Kinktober Masterlist

Minors do not interact!

Pain engulfed your knees as they dug into the bathroom's wooden flooring, hearing as the man on the other side sighed, unbuckling his belt. The man being not so mysterious as some working girls passed around rumored the Vader Linde gang was in town, though that's all you heard from them as you worked from the back of the house.

Not being all bad, hearing some gossip that was too great to be heard up front by those girls, just like hearing the name of the man whose cock popped through the hole ready for your warm mouth.

'Arthur'

The famous wanted gunslinger Arthur Morgan.

Having heard the man named Dutch lead Arthur in, saying, "Blow off some stream in here. I will be upstairs" before leaving gunslinger in your hands and mouth.

Watching only for a second as his cock twitched before taking it into your mouth earning a breathy groan. Holding the base of his cock, keeping it steady for your tongue to wrap around softly, not daring to hum just yet in case he was too shy.

Slowly bobbing your head as Arthur's moans grew, with every bob and slurp, his caution on volume faded, allowing his rough groans to escape.

Feeling the thin wood wall between you start to shake, looking up to see his fingers poking out from the above as he began to thrust. Letting him do all the work, only humming along the shaft of his cock, mixing with the sounds of his groans and balls hitting against the wall, it all fills the small room.

Shaking the wall harder with moans growing louder told you he was close. With little warning, Arthur cums in your mouth, gasping for air as he does.

Just as quickly as it all started, it ended, quickly pulling his cock back out, not even letting you clean him up. Whispering a small "thank you" before dropping a few bucks on the floor hearing as he puts himself back together, then walks out of the bathroom and back into the Wild West.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI, or reposted on any other platform without permission.

♥ mx-pastelwriting does give consent to "reblog," sharing links to direct work, and being in recommend lists.

Kinktober Taglist: @littlebitchsposts @mrsmorgan7 @sophieissleepy @d3k4z-bl00d

@reidsbookcase @themoonwithprophets @wh0re4-alexademi @caffeine-addict3295

@supergingerlocks @laurenyas @taylorthetable @fran-soup

@raajali3 @crustyowos @fly-on-the-wall @carolb111

@thays0 @theescorpiolovechile @lokiiified @warmsideofthepillow03

[bread-bowl]

I’m not sure if it’s just me but one of my biggest pet peeves is when authors have warnings/triggers for a story but don’t put pregnancy or having kids in there. Like maybe I am being sensitive but I just don’t want to read about that. Can someone tell me if I’m valid or being crazy 😓

[saddleups]

Low honor Arthur with a darling who got daddy issues? Please?

★ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 . . . 4.7k

★ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 . . . request , complete. LOW HONOR ARTHUR MORGAN X F!READER !! 18+ SMUT MDNI !!

★ 𝐂𝐖 . . . low honor arthur isn't the nicest guy. breeding, i couldn't help it. you're his best girl and he wants you to know that. p_rn w/o a plot !

★ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 . . . actually proud of this? since working on my short!fic i've been trying to "mimic" arthur's voice better. oddly enough, it's easier for me to do it when he's low honor. he's a bastard and he says the meanest things but good grief! he sure knows how to make it up to you! thanks for requesting, i hope this captures the vibe <3

Sitting alone, waiting. The fire crackled low in the dark, casting faint shadows. There was something raw in the silence—an emptiness that lingered after him whenever he left. Arthur Morgan was no husband, not even close. Hell, he wasn't a boyfriend either. To others in the camp, you were just the "pretty little thing" he kept nearby for his own satisfaction. Sometimes you wondered if that's all you were to him too. Regardless, you stayed, because Arthur was all you had. And for as much as he was a bastard, he was your bastard.

Just as the embers started to die, you caught sight of him stumbling into camp, the night clinging to him like an old friend. He was battered—blood crusting over his knuckles, his face marred with fresh scratches and fading bruises. Each scar, each wound, he wore them like badges of honor, proof of the wild life he led. Yet here he was, staggering over to you with a look in eyes that was almost…needy.

Underneath normal circumstances, you'd run into his arms. Feet gravitating off the floor as Arthur wrapped you up in his arms, you'd sear your lips into his. The groans of commune fading as you stumble into your shared tent. Instead, you remain watching him stumble toward you.

"Hey now," he murmured, his voice thick and gravelly, reaching out for you as he sat down heavily on the tree stump nearby. "C'mon, pretty girl… ain't ya glad t'see me?"

You said nothing, just took a rag and dipped it in the bowl of water beside you. He was watching you, eyes soft in a way they rarely were.

"Oh. That damn look," you say just above a whisper.

"What look, baby?"

Arthur's fingers twitched, reaching toward your hip, but before he could make contact, you slapped his hand away without a word.

“Ow, darlin’,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Ain't no way t’treat a man who's been out fightin’ fer ya, is it?”

You ignored his words, the charm he tried to wrap around them like some fool’s gold trinket. You pressed the damp cloth to his forehead, dabbing at the blood smearing his brow and cheek in silence, ignoring his exagerrated winces and whimpers. His eyes searched your face, almost expectant, but you kept your expression steady, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your love.

"Well, if yer not gonna say nothin'," he drawled, smirking in that way that made you ache and hate him all at once. "Guess I'll have t'find other ways t’make ya sweet again."

You clenched your jaw, finishing your task with swift, controlled motions. When you were done, you stood, turning away without another word, leaving him alone with nothing but the faint warmth of your touch and the silence that stretched in your absence.

Arthur watched you go, the easy grin slipping from his face as he sat alone on that stump, his fingers curling into fists, reopening wounds he hadn’t let heal.

The firelight flickered as you walked away, leaving Arthur sitting alone on the tree stump, though you hadn’t taken more than a few steps before you felt his presence behind you. His hand wrapped around your arm, firm yet careful, pulling you back against his chest. The scent of leather, smoke, and faint blood clung to him as his low, gruff voice sounded near your ear.

“Where d���ya think yer goin’, princess?” His grip was taut, but there was a warmth to it, a kind of possessiveness that he wore as naturally as the rough coat on his shoulders. “Thinkin' you could just walk away like that, after all I’ve done fer ya?”

You felt his arm snake around your waist, drawing you closer. His calloused fingers grazed your side, holding you there against him, reminding you just how easily he could keep you where he wanted.

“You know better than that,” he murmured, his lips just brushing your ear. “You’re mine, ain't ya? My pretty girl. Ain't nobody else in this world who’d take care of ya the way I do.”

A shiver ran through you as he tightened his grip, his voice dropping even lower, carrying that familiar mix of harshness and something close to tenderness. “Now, how ‘bout you show me a bit of that sweetness I been missin’? Not gonna act like you don’t want me just as much as I want you.”

You turned, meeting his gaze. There was a flicker in his eyes, something unspoken yet undeniable, and without waiting for a reply, he leaned in, his mouth pressing against yours, claiming you in a way that was rough and yet familiar. And as much as you wanted to pull away, his hold kept you grounded, unable to deny the undeniable pull he had over you. His lips felt oddly sweet, despite his demanor. He must've ate those peaches you packed for him. He must've thought of you, right?

Parting from the kiss for air, Arthur's grip remained firm. In response, you twisted in his arms, anger flashing in your eyes.

“Do you even know how worried I’ve been?” you snapped, shoving against his chest. “You disappear for weeks, not a single letter, not a damn word. I thought—” Your voice broke, the fear and frustration spilling out despite yourself.

Arthur’s brow furrowed, his grip loosening as he stared down at you. “Now, don’t start on that,” he muttered, the words defensive. “I been busy, doin' what needs doin'. You know how it is.”

You shook your head, unable to hide the hurt that had been festering in his absence. “What I know is you think you can just vanish and expect me to sit here like some fool, waiting on you. You don’t even care what that does to me, Arthur. Not one bit.”

His jaw tightened, eyes hardening. “Careful now,” he warned, but then, almost like he couldn’t help himself, he muttered, “Guess that’s why you’re so needy, huh? Daddy wasn’t around either, if I remember right.”

The words cut deeper than any bullet. You flinched, the anger giving way to something raw and wounded. A part of your history that was shared in confidence, not as possible ammunition in an argument. Lashes flutter as you look up at him, tears flooding in the rims of your eyes. At the first sight of tears, Arthur’s expression shifted the second he realized what he’d said, the regret visible in the tight line of his mouth as he loosened his hold. He attempted to wipe a tear, you refuse his touch deepening the guilt he felt.

“Hey now, darlin’,” he murmured, voice softer, and this time, he gently took hold of your arms, his touch almost tender. “Didn’t mean it like that. Just… you know I ain’t the best with words.”

You tried to pull away, but he held on, his thumb brushing over your shoulder, almost apologetic. “Look, it’s just—” he took a breath, gathering himself. “You mean more to me than anythin’. I know I’m gone a lot, and maybe I don’t always say the right things, but I keep you here ‘cause I can’t let go. Don’t wanna lose ya, alright?”

His eyes met yours, a hint of vulnerability in them that you rarely saw, and he pulled you closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I need ya. Ain’t nobody else who can put up with me like you do.”

The anger softened, though the hurt lingered. Arthur’s hands drifted to cradle your face, his thumb gently brushing your cheek. “Forgive me, darlin’. I’ll do better. I swear it.”

You stood there, the words he’d just said still echoing in your mind, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you reached out, taking his wrist in your hand, and without a word, you began leading him toward the small tent the two of you shared.

Arthur chuckled low under his breath, shaking his head. “Oh, so now you’re givin’ orders, huh? Didn’t take ya for the bossy type, sweetheart.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder but said nothing, and his smirk faded as he followed you, the quiet between you both heavy and unspoken. Once inside, you gestured toward the thin pallet on the ground, barely even glancing at him.

“Lay down,” you instructed, your voice steady.

Arthur’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, the usual glint in them softened by something else, something almost vulnerable. He held your gaze, his expression shifting as he took you in, then, without a fight, he lowered himself to the bedroll. Arching himself up on his elbows, Arthur watches you in silence, as though waiting for you to make the next move.

You settled yourself on Arthur’s lap, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders, watching his surprise turn into something far more expectant as his eyes drifted over you. He looked like he was already expecting something else entirely.

“Listen close, Morgan,” you said, voice low but firm. “Tomorrow, you’re going into town and buying me a new dress. Something nice. To make up for the way you talked to me.”

Arthur raised a brow, a lazy smirk curving his lips as he streched his back, hands drifting to your hips. “Oh, so now I’m runnin’ errands, too? What’s next, princess—gonna have me pickin’ out your fancy shoes?” he teased, voice dripping with sarcasm. His fingers tightened on your waist, and you could feel the shift in his grip, the weight of his gaze that said he wasn’t too broken up about you being here, right where he wanted you.

You held his gaze, unflinching. “If I wanted new shoes, you’d be buyin’ those too. Lucky for you, I’m only askin’ for a dress.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous, his fingers tracing small circles along your waist as he looked up at you, clearly relishing the control he still felt, even if he was playing along. “You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?” He let his hand drift up your side, a smug grin spreading as he spoke. “Bossin’ me around, actin' all high and mighty. But let’s not pretend that dress is all ya came here for, darlin’.”

He looked at you, his eyes dark with that rough, insistent need he barely tried to hide. But you kept your cool, leaning in just close enough that he could feel your breath against his skin.

“You’re goin’ to town tomorrow, Arthur,” you repeated, each word soft but unwavering. “And if you want me to be sweet for you, you’ll come back with what I asked for.”

For a moment, he didn’t answer, his eyes narrowing as if he were weighing his choices. Then, with a quiet grunt, he leaned back, his smirk fading just enough to show a hint of compliance.

“All right, all right,” he muttered, feigned reluctance in his tone. “But don’t go gettin’ any ideas ‘bout makin’ this a habit.”

You gave a small, satisfied smile, and though you could tell he wanted more, he held back, just this once, watching you with that defiant glint in his eye and the promise of what was to come. It was almost like he was relishing in your newfound dominance, proud of his girl for standing up against a bastard like him.

However, his impatience had gotten the better of him. Arthur’s hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of your dress as he pulled you closer. He sat up with ease, adjusting your frame atop his. The rough texture of his calloused palms sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body, mingling with the tension that hung heavy in the air between you both.

“You sure know how to keep a man waitin’, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, like the scrape of stone against steel. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and piercing, filled with a mixture of hunger and something deeper—something possessive that made your heart pound in your chest.

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze without flinching, unwilling to reward him so easily. “Maybe I just like seeing you squirm, Morgan.”

Arthur chuckled, a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated through his chest and into yours. “Oh, I’m squirmin’ alright, darlin’. Just not the way you think.”

His hands shifted, one sliding up your back while the other drifted lower, fingers brushing boldly over the curve of your rear. “Ever thought ‘bout what it’d be like if I didn’t come back one day? Hmm?” His voice dropped, the hint of a challenge in it. “If I just disappeared, left ya here all alone like some poor, helpless damsel?”

Your breath caught for a moment at his words, but you forced yourself to stay steady. “Don’t flatter yourself, Arthur. You’re not that important.”

His lips curved into a slow, wolfish grin. “Liar,” he muttered, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours, noses almost touching. “You wouldn’t be stickin’ around this long if I wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath warm against your face, tempting and maddening, but you held your ground, refusing to give him the satisfaction. Instead, you let your hands trail down his chest, feeling the solid muscle beneath his worn shirt.

“Maybe I just like having someone to boss around,” you murmured, fingers tracing the edge of his belt. “Or maybe…” You paused, biting your lip before continuing, “Maybe I just like seeing you beg.”

Arthur’s eyes darkened at that, a glint of challenge sparking as he tilted his head back, his smirk widening. “Beg?” he drawled, mockingly. “You think you got it in ya to make me beg, princess?”

You shrugged, playing it cool despite the way your heart raced. “Guess we’ll see.”

Before he could get a word in, you moved swiftly, straddling his lap and pinning his wrists down. His brows shot up, surprised, but he quickly narrowed his eyes, a thrill of excitement glinting in their depths.

“Goin’ down on me?” he asked, voice low, thick with amusement.

You shook your head, leaning in until your lips were just a breath away from his. “Not yet. First, we need to talk.”

He groaned, exasperation clear in his tone. “Damn it, woman, I said I’d get ya the damn dress! Don’t tell me we’re really gonna do this talkin’ thing now,” he muttered, the frustration in his voice barely masking the eagerness simmering underneath.

You ignored his frustration, instead focusing on the way his chest heaved beneath you, the steady rise and fall of his breath. “How many times have I told you to be careful out there?” You asked softly, punctuating each word with a gentle nip to his earlobe. “How many times have I begged you to come back to me safe?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with something that looked like guilt. “I know, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice gruff. “But sometimes it ain’t up to me.”

You nodded, understanding but not willing to let him off the hook so easily. “I get that, Arthur. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to worry.”

He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, looking up at you with a strange mix of vulnerability and strength. “I’ll try harder, alright? For you.”

There was a sincerity in his tone that made your heart swell, but you knew better than to let him off too easy. “We’ll see,” you said again, this time with a hint of a smile. “Now… how about we start with you showing me just how sorry you really are?”

Arthur’s eyes gleamed with a dangerous light, his smirk returning full force. “Oh, you want to play games, huh?” He flexed his wrists, testing your grip, but you held firm. “Alright then… what do you want, pretty girl?”

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you spoke.

“First… I want you to watch.”

As you rise to your feet, the tension between you and Arthur charges the air. The fire outside casts flickering shadows through the thin canvas of the tent, playing across your body. You unbutton your blouse slowly, teasingly, the fabric whispering against your skin as it parts. Your eyes never leave Arthur's, watching the way his breath hitches, his gaze darkening with desire.

You let the blouse fall to the ground, revealing the simple chemise underneath. Your movements are calculated to draw out the anticipation. You reach behind your back, slipping the straps down your arms, letting the chemise join the blouse on the ground. Arthur’s eyes follow every inch of exposed skin, his fingers twitching as if ready to touch but restrained by some invisible tether.

Next, you hook your thumbs into the waistband of your skirt, glancing down at Arthur with a coy smile. “Like what you see?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Arthur’s throat works as he swallows, his voice rough when he finally replies. “Damn right I do,” he growls, his eyes burning with intensity.

“But don’t think for a second that this is just about lookin’.”

You lower the skirt, step out of it, leaving you in just your undergarments. The cool air touches your heated skin, causing goosebumps to rise along your arms and legs. You stand there, basking in his hungry gaze, feeling powerful and desired.

Arthur’s hands flex on the bedroll, his restraint evident in the tenseness of his muscles. “C’mere,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “Let me show you how much I need ya.”

You move closer, your hips swaying with each step, drawing out his impatience. When you’re within reach, Arthur’s hands snap out, pulling you down onto the bedroll. He rolls over, positioning himself above you, those same calloused hands roaming over your body with a reverence that takes your breath away.

He kisses your neck, teeth grazing gently before his lips press a tender kiss to the spot. “M’gonna take care of ya,” he whispers, his voice vibrating against your skin. “Keep ya safe, make damn sure nothin’ ever hurts ya again.”

His mouth moves lower, tracing down your collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt of your skin. His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple. “And I ain’t just talkin’ about buyin’ a dress, darlin’. I’m thinkin’ bout buildin’ somethin’ real with ya.”

You arch into his touch, feeling the heat pooling low in your belly. His words send a shiver through you, stirring emotions that go beyond physical desire. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly.

Arthur lifts his head, his eyes locking with yours. There’s a raw honesty in them that makes your heart ache. “How ‘bout you change that name of yours to Mrs. Morgan?” he drawled, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “Get rid of that man’s ugly name, show the world ya got someone who ain't ever gonna walk out on ya.”

He kisses the valleys between your chest, his warm breath all too familiar. His hands firmly grip your thighs, massaging the flesh as he punctuates his words.

“I wanna marry you,” he says simply, as if stating a fact. “Make you mine proper, not just in name. And…” He pauses, swallowing hard, “I wanna give you a baby. Our baby.”

The weight of his words settles over you, heavy and warm, filling the hollow places inside you that had ached so long. You reach up, tangling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. “You promise?” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“I swear it,” he answers, his voice fierce. “On my life, I swear it.”

With that vow hanging in the air between you, Arthur kisses you again, deeper this time, his tongue seeking entrance to your mouth. The world narrows down to just the two of you, the heat of his body, the roughness of his beard against your skin. He shifts slightly, maneuvering until he’s positioned between your legs, his hardness pressing against your core.

You tilt your hips up, inviting him closer, the friction sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Arthur groans, the sound muffled by your kiss, his fingers digging into your hip as he grinds against you. The pressure builds, a slow burn that you both feed with desperate motions.

Arthur breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot and ragged. “Tell me you want this too,” he rasps, his voice strained with need. “Tell me you want me to be your man, to give you everythin’.”

You nod, unable to speak past the lump in your throat, your body trembling with the force of your arousal. With a swallow, you shudder into his mouth, "I'm yours...and you're mine."

Arthur’s grip tightens, and he enters you with one smooth thrust, filling you completely. The coarse hairs of his pubic region scrape against your tender skin, sending jolts of both pain and pleasure throughout your body. You gasp for air, your lungs struggling to keep up with the overwhelming sensations.

"Take all of me," you beg, voice rough with desire. "I want to feel you deep inside."

As he sinks deeper into you, your wetness engulfs him, slicking his shaft and creating a slippery rhythm. Every thrust is like fire, burning through you until you can no longer contain your moans. The thought of maintaining composure for the sake of the camp is a distant memory as you give in to the primal urges consuming you.

"It's been too long," you whisper breathlessly. "I've missed you..."

But Arthur only grunts in response, lost in the ecstasy of being buried inside you again. "Missed ya too, darlin'," he manages to say through gritted teeth. "Missed how tight you always get around me." He pauses, making sure you're okay before beginning a steady pace, each movement deliberate and calculated. "I'll protect you," he growls. "Love you and our baby better than anyone else ever could."

Your nails dig into his back, anchoring yourself to him as waves of pleasure wash over you. His words feel like promises that could actually come true in this moment, surrounded by his love and strength.

Despite the prolonged desire that built up inside Arthur while he was away, he kept his movements rhythmic. Though he was eager, the sensation of you around him was one he wanted to drown in. Your body trembled underneath him, frenzying for release. "Come inside me," you gasp, eyes locked with his.

Arthur's calloused hands moved with surprising gentleness as he took your leg and lifted it, placing it over his shoulder. The shift in position allowed him to angle his cock deeper inside you, making you gasp at the sudden fullness. His thumbs pressed against your inner thighs, spreading your folds apart, revealing the glistening pink of your arousal. He was mesmerized by the sight, Arthur couldn't help but to stare at the way his cock disappeared into you.

"You’re so pretty," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "So beautiful when you take me like this. Just imagine how pretty you'll be when yer my wife, carryin’ my child."

What a thrill it was, the thought of it all. More than a bastard, but a husband too? Right now, all that mattered was the way he filled you, the way his thrusts grew more insistent, drawing gasps and moans from deep within you.

"That’s it, darlin'," he encouraged, his grip tightening on your thigh. "Take it. Take all of me. You’re doin’ so good, so damn good for me."

His praise fueled your arousal, making you push back against him, accepting every inch he gave. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter inside you, every thrust bringing you closer to the edge. Arthur’s breath was ragged, his chest heaving as he watched you, his own pleasure evident in the way his hips snapped forward with increasing urgency.

"Look at'cha," he whispered, his voice thick with admiration. "You are perfect. My perfect girl, takin’ me like a pro. Soon enough, you’ll be wearin’ my ring, feelin’ my baby growin’ inside you."

The intensity of his words, coupled with the way he was driving into you, made your vision blur with tears of pleasure. You could feel the warmth pooling low in your belly, the pressure building to an almost unbearable point. Arthur’s hands shifted, one still holding your thigh steady, while the other moved to cradle your face, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped.

"Almost there, sweetheart," he said, his voice a low growl. "Gonna make you come hard, just like you deserve. Just like I promised."

His fingers dug into your skin, not painfully, but possessively, as if he were branding you with his touch. The sensation, combined with the relentless rhythm of his hips, pushed you over the edge. Your body stiffened, muscles clenching around him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you. You cried out, your voice trembling with the force of your orgasm, your nails digging into his shoulders.

Arthur grunted, his own climax nearing as he continued to thrust into you, milking every last drop of pleasure from the moment. His hand left your face to press against your lower back, urging you to stay close, to keep taking him until he was spent. The combination of his praise and his unrelenting touch was too much, sending you spiraling through another wave of pleasure even as the first one began to wane.

"That’s it," he growled, his voice breaking as he finally reached his own peak. "Come for me, darlin'. Come hard, just like I know you can."

His words, laced with raw emotion and possessive heat, pushed you over once more, your body convulsing around him as you rode out the storm of your climax. Arthur followed soon after, his body tensing as he spilled himself deep inside you, his release marked by a guttural groan that echoed in the small tent.

For a moment, neither of you moved, locked in the aftermath of passion. Arthur’s breathing slowly returned to normal, his hands still resting on you, holding you close as if afraid to let go. You could feel the sticky warmth of his release between your legs, the evidence of his claim mingling with your own wetness.

"Damn, darlin'," he muttered, his voice still thick with satisfaction. "You never cease to amaze me. Always takin’ me so good, always wantin’ more."

You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, the mixture of love and frustration swirling within you. Despite everything, despite the arguments and the hurt, there was no denying the bond between you, the way he owned every part of you, body and soul.

"Don’t get used to it," you managed to say, your voice shaky but defiant. "I ain’t some doll you can play with and put away whenever you please."

Arthur chuckled, low and dark, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. "Oh, princess, trust me. I know exactly what you are. And I wouldn’t have it any other way."

His words meant something to you, the implications clear. He wasn’t just talking about tonight, about this moment. He was talking about forever, about the life you would build together, the family you would raise. The thought both thrilled and terrified you, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

But before you could respond, before you could decide what to do next, Arthur’s hand shifted, moving down to cup your ass, pulling you closer. His cock, already softening, twitched inside you, a reminder of the connection that refused to break.

"Now," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "How ‘bout we see if we can make that baby together, just like we talked about?"

You shivered at the suggestion, the thought of carrying his child both exhilarating and daunting. But before you could answer, before you could even form a coherent thought, Arthur was already moving, adjusting you on his lap, positioning himself for another round.

"Let’s make sure," he whispered, his voice a seductive promise. "Make sure that when I come home with that dress, there’s somethin’ else waitin’ for me too."

[blackenedsnow]

Male Reader thinks low honor Arthur is attractive.

Watching Arthur put stolen money and valuables in his satchel gives Reader joy.

If Arthur needs to practice outlaw stuff like tying people up, carrying them over his shoulder, or riding his horse with them across the back of the horse, Reader is always willing to be his practice piece.

male reader who thinks low honor arthur morgan is attractive ; headcanons

WARNING: Outlaw activities LOL (theft, tying people up, etc.)

PAIRING: Low Honor! Arthur Morgan x (Male) Reader

NOTE: Hi there, love this vibe so much! I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed making them <3 Thank you so much for the request!

The rougher Arthur gets, the harder you fall.

Watching him talk his way out of sticky situations or throw a few punches when words fail makes your heart race.

He’s dangerous, blunt, and sometimes downright rude—but that’s half the appeal.

Seeing Arthur shove stolen jewelry, watches, and cash into his satchel fills you with this weird thrill.

Maybe you should feel guilty, but hey, watching Arthur do what he does best is like watching an artist at work.

The casual way he pockets “rich folks’ luxuries” with that small, satisfied grin?

Chef’s kiss.

Need someone to “tie up” or “haul over your shoulder?”

That’s you.

You even joke that he should add a few extra knots for good measure, which he does with that sly smirk of his.

Arthur doesn’t even ask anymore—he’ll just casually gesture to you with a “C’mere” before slinging you over his shoulder, the way he would a real bounty.

You’re thrown on the back of his horse while he mutters “just a drill” like it’s an excuse, but you both know this is becoming a routine neither of you minds.

When he’s done practicing, he’ll toss you in front of him on his horse for the ride back.

Whether he’s adjusting his hat with a bloodied hand or straightening his bandana before a job, you find yourself hanging on every little detail.

Arthur notices, of course, but he usually just rolls his eyes, smirking, with a gruff

“Y’got something to say?”

[photo1030]

Leather and Lace - Chapter 25: As The Wicked Snow Begins to Thaw

Summary:  The drama continues up in Colter, pushing Arthur to his breaking point. 

*Some of the dialogue in this chapter is not mine but from the game. I’ve also added elements to the original storyline to meld with my own. This is the longest chapter I've written yet at 19K+! It's long but alot of good stuff goin' on!

Warnings: 18+ please. Minors - DNI; NSFW

*This fantastic image comes from @sixgunluvr

Special thank you, as always, to @appalachiancowboy99 for being my cheerleader and beta-reader.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter - still in progress but there are a handful of future chapters that were posted ahead of time

Arthur ambles over to Buck, tucking his scarred chin into the fur lining of his heavy blue coat as he walks alongside Dutch out into the blistering cold wind of the Grizzlies. The outlaw flexes his stiff fingers as he listens to Dutch drone on and on about his plan and what they need to do. And the first thing on the gang leader's list is to go looking for Colm O’Driscoll.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” huffs Arthur, his breath frosting in the air in front of his red nose as they stand by the horses, waiting for the others to join them. “Folks here been through enough lately. I know you hate him, Dutch.”

Dutch slices his hand emphatically through the air. “He’s here for us,” he avows resolutely with a nod.

A quiet snort of derision quips out of Arthur’s throat. “I doubt that,” he murmurs, cupping his gloved hands to his lips to blow warm air into them.

Dutch’s eyebrows turn down in irritation as he casts his equally chilly gaze onto Arthur. “No, you just doubt me.” His tone is calm enough, but the challenge is right there, clear as day as he passive-aggressively adjusts his horse’s saddle.

Arthur’s lips pull inward as he mulls over his answer, painfully aware of the line Dutch believes he has crossed. “I would never doubt you, just that you always say revenge is a luxury we can’t afford, Dutch.”

“This ain’t revenge, Arthur. This is the right call. This is about more than revenge and business of long ago. They were talking about trains and detonators in that cabin.” Of course, Dutch is referring to the O’Driscoll’s that had attacked Mrs. Adler and her husband. “Colm always had good information.”

“And you think now is the right time to hit a train?” Arthur rubs Buck’s neck briefly before he pulls himself up into his saddle as the others have made their way over to the hitching post. 

“Now, you might fancy living on deer piss and rabbit shit,” chuckles Dutch,  “but I’m getting too old for that life.” And Dutch nudges his horse out of camp, with Arthur, Bill, Micah, Lenny, and Javier in tow. 

They proceed to push their way southwest, heading towards the frozen lake that sits at the base of these Siberian-like mountains. The horses' hooves plunge deeper into the powdery snow, causing them to stumble here and there as they move along. But these animals are used to the hardship of their masters. Despite extreme heat and polar cold, the jarring sound of bullets raining down and the lightning speed of the getaway, the gang’s horses are an extension of the gang itself, another collection of members, if you will. They are sure of foot and each man would trust their horse with his life.  

Scanning the thick blanket of white as they travel, the gang eventually comes upon horse tracks in the snow and they begin to track them along the river. 

“I know you don’t think much of my ideas recently, but this is the right move,” Dutch preaches to Arthur as he reaches down to run his fingers over the Count’s neck in reassurance to urge the horse on through the heavy, wet snow.

“Alright,” Arthur agrees tiredly. “You know I always got your back, Dutch.” And he desperately tries to resist a pouty groan from escaping his lips. 

“I learned a long time ago, you hit Colm O'Driscoll, you wait for him, and people you love will die.” Dutch’s voice carries that hint of seething fury that most people cringe from when they hear it, lest they draw his ire. 

“This feud between you two needs to be put to an end,” insists Arthur. 

“It will be,” assures Dutch, waving his hand decisively. “Some things I can forgive, some things I can forget. What he did to Annabelle…” His speech halts for a moment as a painful lump catches in his throat for a moment at the thought of his beloved. “I can’t do neither.” Dutch’s dark eyes burn like coals as his gaze turns forward into the white expanse ahead of them.  

“You killed his brother, Dutch,” Arthur reminds him.

“Yes, I did. And I hope the bastards will be reunited soon enough. And that is how this’ll end.”

But suddenly, Dutch’s keen eyes pick up a smoke trail in the distance. Making the educated guess that this is the elusive O’Driscoll camp, they carefully make their way in that direction. And sure enough, they have found what they were looking for. 

The rivalry gang has made its nest in what appears to be another mining town that neighbors their own. And although it sits along the river’s edge, it is situated at the bottom of a ridge line. Idiots. It makes them sitting ducks for anyone to find them. 

The Van Der Linde men assess the makeshift camp, determining targets and escape routes before splitting up to encircle the O’Driscoll camp. Dutch and Arthur scan the raggedy group of men at the bottom of the hill through binoculars, the cold metal biting into their faces as they watch with interest. And suddenly, Colm himself comes into view. After observing them for a bit, Arthur and Dutch watch Colm ride off in an obvious disgruntled huff. 

“He don’t look too happy. Should we go after him?” suggests Arthur, looking over his shoulder to Dutch, knowing full well how much his friend is itching to get his hands on this wretched bastard.

“No, Colm can wait. Best to get some of them outta there.” He lifts his chin towards the broken-down village. “Our needs right now are supplies and equipment. A way outta here,” says Dutch in a moment of clarity. “Everything else can wait, including Colm.”

The group of men proceed to carefully make their way down towards the O’Driscoll camp. The whole exercise is done and over within twenty minutes. Colm may have the numbers in his gang, but Dutch’s boys can shoot with lethal speed and accuracy, which has earned them the deadly reputation that they have. The Van der Linde gang shoots up the little camp with little effort despite being outnumbered, bodies dropping into the snow in bloody heaps. 

Once the echo of gunfire ceases to ricochet off the landscape, the boys scavenge the bodies for what they can find, taking pocket watches and other useful trinkets to sell once they leave this area. They begin to tear the run-down place apart trying to find anything about this train that’s coming. And Arthur finds a large amount of dynamite and detonators collected inside one of the buildings. 

Bill comes in behind Arthur to inspect the crates that have caught the outlaw’s attention. His bear-paw reaches past Arthur and into the box to pick up a bundle of the deadly material, flipping it over to examine it. 

“What do ya think, Bill? Looks good?” Arthur watches as Bill assesses the material, his brows furrowed as if in deep thought.

“Yeah, looks fine,” the burly man finally confirms as he scans the rest of the box. “Smells good. I think we got ourselves a nice little score here.” A prideful smirk breaks across Bill’s face as he carefully sets the lid back upon the crate. 

“Let’s keep looking around,” insists Dutch, shifting his weight in the cold as he stands outside watching his men drift from building to building. “If the dynamite is here, they probably have more around that could be useful.”

And oh how right Dutch is. As they continue their search of the small buildings, Micah makes his way over to Dutch, offering up a rolled up scroll.

“Found this on one of “em, Boss.” Micah hands the paperwork to Dutch, watching expectantly as his leader unrolls it to examine the contents.

A spark of gratification flickers within Dutch’s piercing eyes. “Interesting. This is something about the train they was gonna rob.” 

As it turns out, these are the plans for a train belonging to Mr. Leviticus Cornwall, one of the largest business magnates in the country. He is a prominent and very rich man, rivaling the likes of Cornelius Vanderbilt and Andrew Carnegie. Dutch lets out a triumphant laugh as he carefully rolls the paper into his hands. It is like a perfectly laid out gift for the Van Der Linde gang: the plans, the dynamite, the ammo. Everything they need to rob this coming train.  

“Let’s mount up and head back to camp,” announces Dutch, a smug smile plastered on his face from ear to ear. “I’m proud of you boys! Not a man down!”

“Not bad for some starvin’ down and outs,” Arthur mutters, pleased to finally be heading back to camp and essentially back to you. The last few weeks have been so hard, a constant strain on your relationship. And despite the bickering between you two lately, there is still no place he’d rather be than out of this god forsaken cold and wrapped up in your arms.

“They can pummel us all they like,” declares Dutch. “But we always get back up. That’s who we are. Outlaws for life, fellers.” The words of encouragement elicit hoots and hollers from the other men, excited to see something finally going their way for once. 

But despite the prospect of a large score, something sits uneasily in Arthur’s gut as he leads Buck back towards your camp. Arthur’s mind immediately flashes to you and your safety as the gravity of the situation becomes all too clear to him now. It's one thing to live an outlaw life, but another to deliberately put you in danger because of it. 

Arthur hadn’t thought of Annabelle in quite some time, the subject being too sore a subject. But having Dutch bring her name up again jolts Arthur’s memory back to life. The vivid and gruesome images of her death still sit in the farthest reaches of Arthur’s mind, images of Colm’s cruelty flashing clear as day. And after what the O’Driscoll’s did to Annabelle, it makes Arthur’s stomach turn sour that it could very well happen to you, as well. And heaven help the entire world if such a thing were to ever happen to you. 

“Colm ain’t gonna like this,” he warns Dutch, as they head back up the pass to head home.  “Especially if we rob this train, too. He’ll come after us.” 

“Of course he will, just like all the rest,” smirks Dutch. “But we’ll just always stay one step ahead, always know where they are before they know where we are.” 

Dutch’s arrogance is always nothing short of astounding. But then again, it is that arrogance, that confidence that he carries, that has kept the notorious outlaw’s neck out of the lawman’s noose all these years.

The boys head back, digging in to make haste to get out of the cold when they see someone running off through the trees up ahead. 

“Wasn’t that guy at the camp?” Dutch shouts over the howling wind to Arthur.

“Yeah, I think so,” sighs Arthur as he turns Buck off to the right. “Leave him to me.”

“Ok, make your way back to camp,” directs Dutch. “And bring him alive. He could be useful.”

Arthur takes off like a bat out of hell through the snow. The sunlight is quickly fading and casts him and Buck in an ominous red and orange backlight, Buck’s breath heaving out of his nostrils in clouds, making them look like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse as Arthur chases down the lone rider who begins to dart back and forth in a sad attempt to lose his stalker. 

“Leave me alone!” hollers the man, his voice cracking in terror of the large rider mercilessly barreling down on him. 

As soon as he is close enough, Arthur’s arm shoots out from his body with a rope, dropping a lasso around the fleeing man and abruptly yanking him from the skittish horse to drop him face first in the snow with an ungraceful thud. 

“You don’t need to do this!” he wails, spitting out clumps of snow from his freezing lips as he turns to see Arthur looming over him. 

“You’re coming with me,” says Arthur coldly. And he proceeds to hogtie the O’Driscoll and toss him onto Buck’s rump like a deer carcass.

Arthur climbs back into the saddle, giving a quick glance over his shoulder at the sad sight  behind him. “What’s your name, boy?”

“Kieran Duffy.”

“Well, Kieran Duffy, I ain’t gonna lie, this is a real bad day for you.” He nudges his spurs into Buck’s side and the two head out back to camp.

Mr. Duffy tries to turn his head to see the fearsome rider, panic settling deeper and deeper with each step the large horse takes. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere you ain’t gonna like.”

“Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Something you ain’t gonna like. So I suggest you save your breath for screaming.” And Mr. Duffy is not sure what is worse, what the rider is saying to him or how he is saying it, as Arthur’s voice is cold and unfeeling as if this were nothing more than a Sunday chore. 

“No, please! They didn’t tell me nothing!” The poor man sputters his pleas to Arthur with eyes wide and full of fear, but all they do is irritate his captor even more. 

Arthur pitches a hard glare over his shoulder again. “You better shut your mouth, you little shit, or I will shut it for you.”

“I don’t know nothin’! Honest! I don’t want to die!”

“Are you testing me? What did I just say? Because I will break every bone in your body.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“Not one more goddamn word. Am I clear?”

“Okay, okay!”

“That’s two bones right there.”

Luckily, this Kieran Duffy is smart enough to close his mouth for the rest of the ride and the banter ceases, as Arthur’s patience is just about to its end. And they eventually make it to camp by nightfall, the lanterns illuminating their refuge in the distance. 

“Alight, here we are. Let’s introduce you to the boys,” announces Arthur as he pulls Buck to a halt at the hitching post. 

“Don’t hurt me, please!” sobs Kieran, as his trembling body is hauled over Arthur’s broad shoulder like a sack of flour. 

“Oh, don’t worry. They’re real nice,” snarks Arthur, tossing the man down in the snow at Dutch’s feet. 

“Uncle, Mr. Williamson, tie this maggot up somewhere,” hollers Dutch. The two men quickly grab Mr. Duffy, hauling him to his feet to stand face to face before the gang leader. 

“I got a saying, my friend.” Dutch’s voice is as smooth as the finest Tennessee whiskey. “We shoot fellers as need shooting, save fellers as need saving, and feed ‘em as need feedin’. We’re gonna find out what you need.”

“I ain’t no O'Driscoll!,” screams Kieran in a panic, his feet spasmodically kicking out from under him as he is whisked away by Uncle and Bill, each with a painful grip on his thin arms. “I hate that feller!”

With today’s adventure now coming to an end, Dutch turns to his second in command. “Well done, Arthur.”

Arthur gives a short appreciative nod. “Sorry we didn’t get Colm.”

“It’s alright. Time enough for that. We gotta see about hitting this train.” The devil’s grin dances along Dutch’s dark features before he disappears into the main building in search of a warm fire and Hosea to begin the next phase of his plan. 

Finally finding himself alone in the quiet, Arthur moves to one of the benches to sit a spell to rest his sore and exhausted body. 

Upon hearing the commotion of the men returning to camp, you come to stand in the doorway of the main cabin and watch Arthur from across the yard, his broad frame looking even more hulking bundled up in his blue winter coat as he gets this hostage that they brought back situated. The wet snow clings to him, just like everyone and everything else in this world. And yet, he shrugs it off as if it were nothing. Because he doesn’t have time for misgivings. People are counting on him.

Everything about Arthur Morgan is bigger than the world. His stature stands out against the white expanse that engulfs him. The way he carries himself with such knowing and capability compared to the others, it’s so natural as if he doesn’t know how else to be. Everything about him is greater to you: his strength, his loyalty, his heart. But with that comes the flip to the same coin. The fists land harder, the bullets ring more often, and the bounties on his head keep stacking up. The pressure, the responsibility, they also are greater for him than for anyone else. It’s a good thing his back is broad and shoulders strong, for the weight of the world sits upon him. 

Since you’ve arrived here in this decrepit mining town, you have been working with Mr. Pearson to try to create meals to sustain everyone. But supplies are low due to your hastened departure from Blackwater and what you do have available is not the best quality, either. Rations are becoming more meager as the larder continues to deplete. 

You are quick to note how tired Arthur looks, even from across the yard. He’s been out there too long, doing too much, in your opinion. You currently have two bowls of watery soup in your hands and looking down at them, you discreetly pour one bowl into the other, doubling its paltry contents and set the empty bowl aside. 

When Arthur finally sits still long enough, you make your way over to him, treading lightly as you can see he’s still carrying his foul mood. 

“Hey you,” you call softly. 

His tired eyes lift at the sound of your voice and the tension instantly drains away from his face as he floats you an exhausted grin as he leans back into the rough wooden siding of the building. “Hey, there’s my girl. How you doin’, Sweetheart?”

“I’m alright. Especially now that you’re back. Here, I brought you something to eat.” You hand him the soup bowl as you sit down next to him. “It’s not much, but it’ll put something in your belly.” 

He gives you a grateful nod as he carefully takes the bowl with his cold fingers. He brings it up to his face for a quick sniff, before taking the spoon and laddeling some of the soup into his mouth. A small smile of relief dusts your features as you watch him eat, a few droplets of broth catching on his frosted beard. 

But Arthur’s brow knits when he notices that you do not have a bowl of your own. “Aren’t you eating anything?”

“I already had a bit when I was cooking.” You try to assure him, but he knows you too well and can see right through you.

An exasperated sigh pushes through his cold nose as he tries to shove the bowl back into your hands. “I ain’t doin’ this.”

You shoot straight up as if a string is pulling your spine. “Arthur-”

“I ain’t takin’ food out of your mouth for myself, Y/N,” he argues. “Ain’t happenin’.” 

“You need it, Arthur.” You push the bowl back into his chest in annoyance. 

“Y/N-”

“Arthur, I swear to god, I’ll dump this in the snow! Now just stop your foolishness and eat the damn soup.”

He doesn’t argue back when your eyes flash at him. He just hangs his head, his lips pulled inward as he wrestles with his internal demons. 

“If we are going to survive this mess, Arthur, we need you strong and with your wits about you.” Your hand lands on his forearm as your tone softens now, exposing your concern. “Because I don’t know if anyone else can do it. So, please. Just eat.” 

He lifts his guilt-ridden eyes to meet yours as he looks into your beautiful face. “I can’t be saving everyone else if I’m worried about you, though,” he pouts. “We need you too, you know.” 

“I’m alright, I promise. Does it look like I’m starving?” you jest sarcastically as you motion to yourself with a mocking chuckle. But all it does is set him off again. 

“Don’t do that. I hate when you do that,” he gripes bitterly.

“Do what?”

“Tear yourself down like that. You’re worth the whole lot of us and then some. Don’t you ever forget that.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up as a deep sigh escapes you. “I wish you would stop putting me on a damn pedestal all the time,” you mutter as you avoid his stare. 

Arthur drops the spoon into the bowl with a loud exasperated huff as the last of his patience has finally been expended. “Listen, don’t give me shit for tryin’ to treat you right. If I had any damn sense at all, I’d get you outta here now, tonight. You’re the only damn good thing I got right now, so will you just let me have this? Please?” 

His sapphire eyes burn bright and intense. He is ever intolerant of bullshit. Never has the time for it. 

You avert your eyes to your boots, noting how the seams are starting to split, your hands fidgeting and roll over each other.

“I’m hungry but I’m not starving,” you admit quietly, sheepishly looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“I need you to be honest with me, Y/N.” Arthur takes your chin with his thumb and forefinger, making you look him in the eye. He is starting to speak louder and faster now, as he quickly shifts from exhaustion to agitation. “No hiding shit. If you’re in a bad way, you better tell me. Because if anything ever happens to you-”

“I will, Arthur. I promise.” You swiftly place your hands along his chest to quiet him lest he gets worked up yet again. “I’ll tell you anything you need to know.” 

And with silent acceptance, Arthur finishes his soup as you lean into his side, your head gently laying against his shoulder as he eats. 

You stare out into the purple sky as the last shadows of the sun expire for the day, pulling the moon and the stars in their wake behind them. The temperature continues to dip, causing a shiver to run the length of your body as you snuggle in closer to Arthur. And yet, neither of you dare to move and break the spell of contentment that you have found for this fleeting moment. The two of you may be disconnected, but you’re not alone. Not yet, anyway. 

____________________________________

“It's been a bad few weeks. And Dutch being Dutch, he’s busy making plans and Dutch being Dutch, those plans involve robberies and dreams.”

The cabin where John is resting is cold and dark. You’ve kept the moth-eaten curtains drawn over the filthy windows to ward off the drafts as well as keep the sunlight to a minimum. Because of the damage to John's eye from the wolf attack, you are trying to avoid any strain to the good socket as much as possible. 

The days here in Colter keep dragging on, and while John was in bad shape when Arthur and Javier found him, he has managed to recover quite well, considering the pitiful circumstances. But of course, Arthur attributes that to you, muttering how John is “damn lucky you’re here”. But you are not 100% sure you agree. You’ve already lost Davey and Jenny, a fact that still eats at your gut more than the hunger. Which is why you are almost obsessively watching over John, making sure his many wounds are clean and stitched, his bandages dry, and is clear of fever. You try to keep him warm and rested with someone always sitting vigil in case he should take a turn for the worse. 

Rev. Swanson leans back from John’s pale and trembling body, tucking the syringe back into its case as you stand over them, carefully observing the administration. You are not happy with giving John morphine, the horrible substance being too unpredictable. But given his condition, it will help to alleviate John’s jittery nerves as well as ease his pain. John softly whimpers as the elixir pushes through his veins, rolling his bandaged head to the side, careful to avoid pushing on his damaged eye. 

“Thought you were reading him his last rites.” Arthur’s voice resonates into the room as he saunters in to check on everyone. You glance over your shoulder at the sound of his presence, filling you with both a mixture of relief to see his face, yet apprehension at the growing tension between him and John. “Now I see you’re introducing him to your other passion.” He points at the small black case clutched in Swanson’s hand.

“I’ll mind you to show me some respect, Mr. Morgan,” snaps the Reverend, his eyes narrowing at the hulking man as he stands up and adjusts his coat to keep warm.

“Mind away, Reverend,” Arthur smirks dismissively, waving him off as the man exits the room in a mild distemper. Arthur catches your eye and gives you a nod as he casually walks over to the bed where John lays sprawled out under threadbare blankets. “You’re still here, then?” he snarks, tilting his head with a condescending scowl. “Maybe I should scratch myself and feign a limp?”

Mary-Beth stops wrapping up the last of the bandages she used to help you redress John’s wounds and shoves her hands into her lap in frustration, snapping her head towards Arthur.  “Ain’t you got nothing better to do, Arthur? Whatever the beef is between you two, now ain’t the time.” 

But John seems to pay no mind to Arthur’s jeering. He’s used to it by now after all these years. “I owe you,” sighs John as he peers up at Arthur with his good eye. 

“And you’ll pay me. But, for now, just rest.” Arthur taps your elbow and nods over his shoulder, indicating a private conversation is requested. You turn to follow him and take a few steps back from the bed, leaving Mary-Beth to finish cleaning up.

“How is he?” Arthur asks, his voice low as he leans in close to you, a fleck of genuine concern skipping over his face. 

“I think he’ll survive unless he throws a fever or something like that,” you confirm, reassuring yourself as well as Arthur as you rub your arm in an attempt at self-soothing. “He’ll probably lose some of his sight in that eye, though.”

A whimsical half grin cracks Arthur’s bearded face. “You only need one eye to shoot with.” His response results in your humorless laugh in return.

But the conversation is interrupted when Dutch abruptly pushes his way into the cabin. “Ah, Arthur, there you are! I’ve been looking for you! I think it’s time for the train.”

The talk of another job sparks John’s interest, flooding his weak body with an energy he hasn’t had in a few days. He manages to roll himself up on his elbow, eager to join the conversation. “Want me to come, Dutch?” 

A look of surprise graces Dutch’s dark features for a moment. “Of course I do, John, but look at you.” 

“I was always ugly, Dutch. It’s just a scratch.” John shakes his head as he tries to will his broken body to sit up. 

“Lie still, son”. Dutch sits down next to the bed and gently pushes John’s shoulder to ease him back down onto the thin mattress.

Before you can even interject with your own opinion about John even thinking of leaving that bed let alone robbing a train, the cabin door opens yet again as Abigail and Jack walk through. The woman walks with an agitation in her step, her expression closed-up and hard to read as she wrestles with her constant worry for John versus her anger at his behavior. 

“The boy wanted to see you, John.” Abigail stands with her chin lifted in annoyance as Jack shifts warily behind his mother, peering his little face around her hip to see his father on the bed. The shock of John’s bloodied face resonates into Jack’s view and he quickly casts his eyes away. 

“Well, he’s seen me now. Or what’s left of me,” sighs John. “How ‘bout you?”

“Guess I was hoping to see a corpse,” she bites back harshly.

“Bide your time, you’ll see plenty of ‘em.”

But his response sets her off yet again. She was hoping that in his time of weakness, John would show a little compassion and comfort towards his son, to let him know that he appreciates the boy’s concern. But once again, John’s dismissal of little Jack is like a red-hot poker in Abigail's heart.  “You’re a rotten man, John Marston,” she hisses as she wraps her arm around Jack to usher him away.

“He’s an idiot, Abigail, we all know it,” Dutch calls after her as she marches out of the cold cabin.

The sight of disappointment on Jack’s red cheeks is finally your breaking point. “You know, John Marston, I really wish you’d put a little more effort into your relationship with them.” You could stab a deer with the look of daggers you are shooting him right now. 

But the young outlaw only huffs angrily at you. “And I really wish people would mind their own goddamn business.”

“Is that so?” Your hands plant firmly onto your hips as you stride over to the bed, bending over him with a cold and bitter glower. “Well, if people were minding their own business, you’d still be out there on that damn ledge, a frozen carcass for the scavengers to pick at. Abigail is the one who insisted they go out to find you, you know. Maybe keep that in mind.” You point your finger inches from his face.

When John gives you nothing but a scowl in reply, you roll your eyes and turn on your heel to go after Abigail, slamming the door behind you. 

“You really are a stubborn ass, you know that, Marston?” Arthur drags his hand over his tired face. 

“Fuck you, Morgan. Don’t you start. You’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me?” Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline at the challenge. 

But John locks his good eye with Arthur’s, not afraid to back down. Say what you will about John, but he’s been holding his own with Arthur since he was a kid. “You ain’t got no right to lecture me on being stubborn. I’ve seen how you’ve been pickin’ at Y/N since we left Blackwater. You ain’t no model citizen. Get off your damn high horse.”

The accusation brings Arthur’s shoulders back, squaring up and ready for a fight. “Now, you look here-”

“Alright, that’s enough,” barks Dutch, cutting this off before it escalates out of hand. “Arthur, can’t you see the man is down? Leave him be, for Christ’s sake.” 

Outside the dingy cabin, you rush to catch up to Abigail. “Abigail, wait!” Your hand lands on her trembling shoulder, her eyes welling with tears of frustration and concern as you look into her face. “John will be okay, try not to worry.”

“Oh, I am not concerning myself with that fool right now!” Her eyes flash as her body sways back and forth with nervous energy. “It’s Jack I’m worried about.”

“Jack?”

“Yes, Y/N.” Her gaze darts over to land on the little boy who has now wandered aimlessly over towards Mr. Pearson to see what he is cooking for the day.  “What if…what if this is all too much for him? What if this running and starving and seeing his daddy ripped to pieces messes him up?” Abigail shakes her head as the tears start to break free from her lashes and slowly streak her cold face. 

“He’ll be okay, Abigail.” You rub your hand along her arm and give her a warm smile. “Jack’s a strong boy. He’s got his momma’s smarts and his daddy’s resilience.”

“You think so?” she sniffles.

“Listen, stars shine their brightest when surrounded by the darkness, Abigail. And Jack is the brightest of us, yet. He’ll be okay.” 

Abigail takes a long, shuddered breath as she collects herself. “I’m sorry, YN. It’s just…John makes me crazy! What do I do? How can I get him to treat us better?”

Her question breaks your heart. Despite the ever-present resentment she may show John, it is clear she is still deeply in love with the man, whether he accepts that love or not. “You can’t make a man treat you right. But you can sure as hell make him wish he did.” 

“How the hell did I ever give my heart to him?” she moans with a watery eye-roll, her lips quivering slightly.  

“The heart wants what it wants, Abigail. Can't do nothing about it,” you chuckle softly. “And besides, he’s awfully cute when he’s not being a total jack-ass.” 

“Yeah, but Arthur’s not like that.” 

“Oh, Arthur can be a total jack-ass, trust me,” you nod. “But I think John acts this way because he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. So he figures by not doing anything, he won’t screw it up. And then the shit is on you if it goes wrong, not him. He didn’t have good parents to teach him properly.”

“But Dutch and Hosea raised him, same as Arthur.” 

“True,” you admit, “But, Arthur had his momma for a bit. John did not. And I think that made a big difference. Unfortunately, you had men raising men. So don’t be surprised when you get an idiot as the outcome.”

A quick cackle bursts from Abigail at your comment before she covers her mouth, looking at you with playful disbelief. 

“Come on, let’s go inside and see if Ms. Grimshaw has any of that horribly bitter coffee left on the stove.” You loop your arm through Abigail’s to head off to the main cabin together. But when you see Dutch and Arthur pushing out of the small cabin again, you pause to see what’s happening now. “Go on ahead, Abigail. I’ll be right behind you.” You smile as you usher her towards the door. 

“Gentleman! Now is the time!” Dutch declares to everyone within earshot with his arms spread wide to his sides like the messiah. “Bill! Ride ahead and set the charge at the water tower, just before the tunnel.”

“Ain’t a problem!” agrees Bill as he sprints to the barn to collect the dynamite and detonators that he and Arthur found at the O’Driscoll camp. 

“Why are we doing this?” asks Hosea in exasperation as he approaches Dutch, his labored breath whirling in the cold air. “Weather is breaking, we should leave. I thought we was lying low?”

A measured puff of air pushes out of Dutch’s nose. “What do you want from me, Hosea? We’re lying low but not living. We need money and all of ours is in Blackwater. You fancy you want to head back there?”

“No.” Hosea pauses for a moment, his gaze falling to the snow before skipping back up to Dutch. “I ain’t trying to undermine you, Dutch. I just don’t want anymore people dying, is all. Just want to stick to the plan. Lie low and head back west.” This is a comment that grabs your attention as you stand off to the side witnessing this whole discussion. 

“What choice have we got?” Dutch says simply, his hands laid out in expectation.

“Leviticus Cornwall is no joke, Dutch.” Hosea’s tone turns serious and dark, carrying the concern well-earned of a man of his years.

“Well, sounds to me like he’s got more than enough.” Dutch gives his old friend that mischievous look that Hosea knows all too well before turning to address the gang once more. “Gentleman! Let’s all go and make something of ourselves! Get your horses ready, we have a train to rob!” And the men scatter to their respective tasks, an air of excitement amongst them as they move. But Hosea and Arthur share a quick look of doubt between them before Arthur heads over to his horse. 

Shock and dismay rocks you to your core as you stand in the snow listening to the three of them. Your stomach turns at the thought of this plan. You came from a railroad town when you met Arthur and you are also well aware of who Leviticus Cornwall is. So you have a pretty good idea how this whole thing could go down. 

The moment Dutch walks away, you dart towards the horses. Your hand shoots out to Arthur’s arm, pulling him aside. He gives you a look of confusion at your sudden appearance and your face instantly up in his. “Have you all lost your damn minds?!” Your eyes blaze intensely at him. “We’re up here freezing and barely hanging on because of one over-reaching plan and now you’re fixing to do another?!”

Arthur takes a quick glance around to see if anyone else has seen your little tantrum before he addresses it himself. “That’s how it goes,” he shrugs as if it were nothing more than heading to town for supplies. 

“How it goes?!” Your hand flies to your forehead as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

Arthur’s eyes turn icy despite his face flushing red with irritation as his fists flex slightly. “Let me worry about that,” he warns. “You just mind the people here.”

“I’m worried for you, Arthur.” You step up even closer to him, cupping his cold cheeks in your hands. “Who do you think Dutch is going to march up there, front and center? Surely not his ass!”

Arthur collects your hands into his own, giving them a slight squeeze as he pulls them from his face. Guilt floods his chest as he registers the fear in your eyes. But what can he do? Dutch calls and it is his obligation to obey. “I ain’t got time for this now, Y/N.” His gravelly voice is low and soft for you. “Just stay put and out of the way.” You can see in his eyes the unspoken ask for forgiveness, the idea of keeping you protected paramount in his mind. 

Your shoulders slump in defeat, knowing there is nothing you can say or do to prevent this from happening. When he sees you’ve quieted down, Arthur pulls you in to him to place a brief kiss to your temple before slinging himself up into Buck’s awaiting saddle. He gives you a quick nod before leading Buck off to follow the others who have already started to head out of the camp. 

You stand alone in the snow as you watch them all head out, the wind picking up to lift the few strands of hair from your face. That all-too familiar feeling of dread swirls in your chest like a maelstrom. And all you can do is pray that Dutch has a solid enough plan and everyone else does their part so that Arthur doesn’t have to take the brunt of it all. 

___________________________________

*This is another fantastic image by @sixgunluvr

You have never been this far north before, never been in such a desolate landscape. Growing up back east outside of Boston, there was always somewhere to go, always shelter, food or help if needed. But here, in the Western Grizzlies, there is no one and nothing. It is both freeing, and terrifying. Everyone else in the gang  is on edge, for sure, but their countenance is separate from yours. Most of them have lived this way for a good part of their lives. You, on the other hand, are almost paralyzed like a deer, afraid to move in either direction and you’re trying not to bolt in a million different directions out of panic. You would die within days here if it weren't for Arthur.

The landscape is cold and frigid, yet beautifully peaceful. Enticingly quiet yet deceptively deadly. You wonder to yourself if this will be where you meet your end. Looking about, will this be the final thing you see when your eyes close for the last time? At this very moment, you want nothing more than to lay down on the soft, pillowy snow and just let go and let it all be over. No more strain, no more hunger. No more cold and freezing temperatures. No more looking over your shoulders. No more running. What if you just set yourself down and gave in?

It would be easy enough to do, considering how fast you’d freeze to death. Beautiful and deadly diamonds that glitter are everywhere you look, an endless sea of white, calling like the deadly sirens of Greek mythology. It is so desolate and silent here. No sounds to be heard, rarely even a bird. Just the whistling winds that swoop down from the mountaintop. The silence is a relief from the chaos, giving one time to settle their thoughts. But it is also terrifyingly lonesome. The mountains offer you protection, but they also keep you isolated. 

The dark and foreboding mountains are like the teeth of the earth, jagged and dangerous, and as you sit in the middle of them, they swallow you as if you were nothing. The earth is a beautiful creature, elegant by design. But like any other creature in nature, she can be alluring and graceful one moment, and then turn on you in defense of herself in deadly fashion, evidence being how the mountains begin to swallow the sun, like a serpent devouring a bright yellow egg. The shadows of the mountain begin to stretch across the snow, like a bobcat’s claws. 

Despite being a collective group, you are all isolated from the world here, left only to rely on each other. And you can only hope that each other will be enough. 

Thankfully, the robbery of the Cornwall train managed to go off with minimal error. The gang didn’t lose anyone and no one came back with more holes in their body than what they left camp with. While it was not overwhelmingly lucrative, Arthur did manage to find a large stash of bonds that Dutch found valuable. So with a little more in the camp’s funds, you are hoping that will keep Dutch off Arthur’s back for a bit.

You wander to the edge of the small lake on the edge of the camp, nudging the slushy mess with the toe of your boot before lifting your eyes up to the expansive vista once more. These thoughts of yours are dangerous. You question the gang and your purpose within it. You question yourself and your worth. You begin to question Arthur.

And the thoughts terrify you. You feel as if it is an act of betrayal, whether vocalized or not. Your love for Arthur is larger than the endless sky and deeper than the bluest ocean. But what if this is all for nothing? After these last few weeks of tension, what if his love for you is cooling down like the arctic winds that are currently lifting the wisps of hair from your chapped cheeks? He wouldn’t do that, would he?

But you shake your head at such dangerous nonsense. Arthur loves you. You know it. You feel it. Just because you cannot wrap yourselves up together like love-drunk teenagers in a summer meadow doesn’t mean everything that has led to this point has stopped. You have to trust in him. You have to open your heart and trust that he will always be there with open arms to welcome you. 

With a cleansing sigh, you begin to hum to yourself. It’s a silly little thing that you do when preoccupied. The melodies always touch Arthur’s heart when he catches you doing it. They calm him like a snake-charmer. You always murmur soft words and hum gentle music to yourself, not even aware that you are doing it.

Your thoughts are disrupted when you catch Lenny out of the corner of your eye heading to the water’s edge with a fishing pole in his gloved hand and an axe swung up upon his shoulder. 

“What in the hell are you up to, Mr. Summers?” you inquire with curiosity.

He flashes you a toothy smile. “Gonna try my hand at ice fishing.”

Your eyebrows knit in confusion, not sure you heard him correctly. “Ice fishing?”

“Yeah. Can’t be that hard, right? Hardest part is cutting the hole, I reckon,” he shrugs.

When you don’t answer him with anything but a scowl of skepticism, Lenny sighs. 

“Look, I know it’s not a great idea, but we need to eat. That deer that Arthur and Charles brought back won’t last much longer and who knows how long we’ll be up here.” 

“Just be careful,” you concede, not entirely convinced this is even a good idea let alone a great one.

You watch the young man adjust the axe over his shoulder and tentatively head out onto the icy lake. He tests the frosted surface with calculated steps, slow and steady, until he gets far enough out to cut through. He begins to make several hacks into the ice, chips flying in the air with each cut. When Lenny gets a hole that he’s happy with, he sets the blade down next to him and grabs the fishing pole to set the bait onto the hook. And within a few minutes, he carefully plunks the end of the line into the icy depths of the water, shaking the pole a bit to entice whatever fish may be lurking below. 

But an odd sound begins to permeate the otherwise quiet, cold air. You know what that sound is, but can’t quite place it. It quickly turns into a groaning noise that begins to travel across the ice. Your eyebrows knit in confusion, trying to determine where exactly it’s coming from, as it seems to be coming from all around, when a loud crack snaps your attention. Things thrust into motion in a fraction of a second when one moment Lenny is standing in front of you, and the next he disappears through the ice, plunging into the frigid waters. 

“Lenny!!!” 

Your scream echoes off of the snow and buildings, alerting everyone in camp. But your body explodes into motion before your mind can even comprehend what you’re doing and you dart off towards him. 

“Y/N, get back here!” Arthur shouts from the shore as his whole body goes rigid at the sight of you running out onto the ice, but your eyesight is locked on Lenny. “Damn it!” he shouts again when it’s abundantly clear that you will not be stopping, despite his command.

You only make it a few yards out onto the ice when you hear the arctic groaning beneath your feet. You stop dead in your tracks, arms waving in the air to keep yourself from falling flat on your face, and scan the icy floor to try to determine if it will give way under you as well. But Lenny’s panicked yelling snaps your attention forwards again and you immediately drop to your stomach to begin crawling across the cracking ice. 

Panicked and frustrated beyond human comprehension, Arthur is about to run out after you. But Dutch is quick to grab his shoulder pulling him to a dead stop. “Arthur, wait!” 

Arthur reflexively shoves Dutch’s arm off him, trying to wrench himself free of the older man’s iron grasp. “Damn it, Arthur, stop!” hollers Dutch, trying to drill some common sense into him as he grabs a fistful of his jacket in an attempt to halt the man once more. “You run out there, you’ll fall in too, and drown the whole lot of you!” 

The very idea of it halts Arthur in place as he blinks rapidly into Dutch’s face. But he knows his mentor is right. And all Arthur can do is stand there helplessly as he turns his face back to the lake to watch you inching across the ice. 

“Son of a -” curses Arthur, trying to think what, if anything, he can do to help you. Adrenaline shoots painfully throughout his system as he just simply cannot sit idly by and do nothing while you creep along death’s door. Suddenly, Arthur gets an idea and he races over to the nearest shed to grab a bundle of rope. 

“Y/N! Help me, please!” Lenny screams, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to keep his head above the frigid mountain water. 

“Hold on, Lenny! Hold on, I’m coming to get you!” you holler over the sound of the sloshing water. You can see the panic setting in on the young man’s face, the whites of his eyes rolling back against his dark skin.

“Y/N!” Arthur calls out, desperate to get your attention. Finally, you acknowledge him and turn over your shoulder just in time to see Arthur toss a rope out to you. Amazingly, Arthur is able to place the rope within a foot of your grasp.  Your hand quickly shoots out to grab ahold of the bundle. You look up to gauge Lenny’s situation, realizing that you need to act quickly, so you tie the rope around your ankle so that you don't risk dropping it and freeing your already freezing  hands. 

You gingerly crawl across the ice as it creaks and cracks under you as you move and the closer you get to Lenny, the more anxious he becomes, desperate to be out of the water.

“Y/N!” Lenny reaches an arm out, his long fingers trying to reach for you. 

“You need to stay calm, Lenny! Come on, stay with me now!” After what feels like hours, but only mere minutes, you finally reach the young man. He grapples at you, trying to use you to pull himself up. “Careful!” you screech. “You’re gonna pull me in with you!” You try to control his flailing arms, and gingerly wrap your arms under his and clamp them together behind his back. But he is desperately grabbing at you, terrified of falling deeper into the dark, icy water. 

“I got him! Pull us out!” you holler back over your shoulder to Arthur. 

“Bill! Get over here and grab this rope and help me pull ‘em in!” Arthur yells over to said man. 

“I got ya!” Bill rushes over as his giant hands take up the tails of the rope when he stands next to Arthur. 

The sun is crawling behind the horizon line and darkness has started to encroach on the mountainside. Arthur is beginning to have a hard time seeing you clearly, barely able to see your water-soaked forms struggling in the water, but the sound of your combined panicked shouts and the thrashing of the water cuts deep into Arthur’s brain, causing a sickening boulder to lodge in his stomach.

They begin to pull the rope, heaving it back towards the shore. The strength of the two burly men is enough to drag Lenny out of the water and the two of you along the surface of the ice. The cold of the ice beneath you creeps into your bones, causing your whole body to shiver as you are drug slowly across its plane. You can hear Lenny whimpering in your ear as you hold him close to you, your arms cramping from the vice grip you have around him. 

The frigid lake water seeps into the snow under you, sponging its way into the ice as you slide along the surface. Fine threads begin to crack and embed themselves into the cold surface. As you are being pulled along at an agonizingly slow rate, you hear the ice begin to groan and creak loudly underneath you. The cold fissures begin to snap and pop loudly all around you once more, the familiar sound alerting you to what is about to happen, giving you no time to prepare. And your chest fills with immediate dread at what you are certain is about to come. You have but a mere moment to toss a terrified look over your shoulder to Arthur on the shore, your eyes briefly meeting the fear in his, before it happens. 

Time stops and the world along with it the moment the ice gives way again and Lenny plunges into the freezing water once more, dragging you in along with him. 

It’s like someone has punched a hole into his chest and grabs his heart with a crippling grip when Arthur sees you disappear from his view beneath the dark watery surface. 

“Y/N!!” His voice echoes off snow in a cacophony of sound. He is a man incensed as once again Arthur tries to run out onto the lake as fear of losing you consumes him. And once again he is wrestled back, only this time it takes both Dutch and Bill to contain him. 

The ice water is like a thousand knives stabbing your entire body all at once. You immediately gasp at the shock of the dramatic temperature change that assaults your senses. You try to keep yourself afloat while also trying to grab Lenny, who is simply beyond distraught at this point. In sheer panic, Lenny tries to use you to keep himself above the water but Lenny’s dead weight almost drowns you as his heavy limbs push you down underneath him into the water. You flail your arms wildly trying to find something to latch your frozen fingers to, your lungs burning from the lack of oxygen to the tender organs. Panic begins to seep in as the water is so dark that you cannot see to tell which end is up. From some far off distance, you hear your name hollered into the air, the sound of Arthur’s terrified voice muffled by the murky water filling your ears.

It isn't until your hand smacks into the sheet of ice above your head that you can get your bearings. Your fingers break through the icy water surface to grab onto the ice. The sharp edge of the sheet of ice cuts into your hand as you clamp onto it for dear life. Feeling the air once more, you haul yourself upwards, gasping for breath once your face clears the surface. 

Arthur exhales sharply when he sees your head above the surface once again, his eyes darting back and forth as he watches you try to breach the watery surface to breathe in the air. Relief descends upon him with incredible force, but it is short-lived, as you still have to make it back to dry soil yet and back to him. 

You cough violently as you try to replace the frigid, filthy lakewater in your burning lungs with the equally cold air, vomiting up what feels like a waterfall before the stars in your vision clear and you can see again. 

Lenny! 

Your mind immediately goes to your friend once again once your wits are about you. By the grace of God, he is still next to you, but his face is just barely breaching the water surface. You frantically grab the collar of his shirt, clutching him to you once more. 

With stiff fingers, you manage the presence of mind to slip the rope off your ankle and tie it around Lenny’ chest. The young man can hardly move now, his extremities frozen as hypothermia begins to set in. 

He turns his frosted cheeks to look in your eyes. “I…can’t…can’t feel my legs, Y/N” he chatters. His voice carries the fading signs of hope that he will survive this mess, and it breaks your heart. 

“Hold on, Lenny. I got you. We’ll do this”, you encourage him, trying to nod with certainty. Your gaze holds his with a commanding presence, fully refusing to give up. 

You swim to maneuver yourself behind him, wrapping your body around Lenny’s and draping yourself over his back. “Pull!” you scream to the shore again. “For god’s sake, Arthur, pull the damn rope!” Your voice is a hoarse, desperate cry that unsettles Arthur’s very core.

The two men haul on the rope to drag you and Lenny out of the water once again, your faces scraping across the numbingly-cold surface when you are no longer able to hold your heads up and the snow builds up under your chests like a wedge. It makes you even colder than you thought possible. You whimper as ice shards painfully slice into your face, biting into your flesh like fleas. When they get you close enough to the water’s edge, Bill and Arthur run out onto the ice to grab you both. 

Bill, Javier and Rev. Swanson scramble to get Lenny to the cabin house to the fire, while Arthur is quick to scoop you up, holding you tightly to his chest as he carries you in behind them. Dutch marches to the front of the group, leading the way with a lantern and opens the door for everyone.

Once inside, the rest of the group moves like a flock of birds suddenly startled and set to flight. People scatter to find blankets and coats, dry clothing and hot food and beverages. They take Lenny straight to the fire in the great hearth, the flames stoked high to generate as much heat as possible. Arthur, on the other hand, pulls you aside, away from the chaos, and carefully sets you down in front of the pot-belly stove in the middle of the room. He reaches into the coal bucket that sits next to the cast-iron beast and tosses another chunk of the black rock into its belly before turning his full attention back to you. 

With everyone in a flurry over Lenny, Tilly notices the two of you and is quick to rush over, eager to assist Arthur, but he shrugs her off.

“Nevermind, I got this,” he grumbles over his shoulder to his adopted sister as he yanks the blanket out of her hands. “Go on, go help with Lenny.” He waves dismissively to her, trying to avoid the look of shock on her cherub face. Tilly simply stands there, not sure what to do. She wants to help you, to be useful and to do something for you, but she is very aware of Arthur’s foul temperament and knows better than to push back against him. Her eyes flick up to yours with a silent apology before she turns away to make her way over to help Ms Grimshaw. 

But Arthur doesn’t mean to be so abrupt with the poor girl. She only wants to help and he knows that. But Arthur is just so protective of you right now. His whole body is heated with a churning vortex of emotions that he cannot even begin to name. He doesn’t want anyone or anything coming between you two as you sit helplessly before him, a shivering, water-logged mess. 

Arthur immediately begins to yank your layers of clothing off, pulling harshly at the cold and soggy fabric before hypothermia sets in. His fingers work at a frenzied pace, desperate to get you warm before you fall ill. He is indifferent if anyone around you should see your skin, couldn't care any less for “propriety”. Let anyone dare to make a comment about your state of undress and it will be the very last words that person will utter. 

Once the clammy, frigid fabric is removed from your poor body, Arthur shucks off his blue coat and bundles you up in it, the fur collar swallowing your red frozen cheeks. Once he has your torso wrapped up for warmth, he pulls his gloves off and tosses them down next to him in a rage to free his fingers so he can start pulling at your boots. A person’s extremities are the first to go in cold weather like this, so he’s worried about the condition of your feet. 

You study your beloved’s face carefully as he avoids eye contact, an angry scowl etched into his face as he moves about, his movements stark and jostling. You notice the lines of tension around his eyes, his lips drawn into a thin line. His whole body trembles with something on the verge of being volcanic. Your eyelashes flutter as you try to keep yourself from crying over the guilt you have for putting him through this. 

“H…Ho…How’s L…Lenny?” you croak, your voice sounding brittle and broken.

Arthur’s keen eyes briefly dart to yours, barely able to understand you over the loud chatter of your teeth. “He’ll be fine, thanks to you,” he barks, leaning forward as the outlaw’s large hands rub along your arms to entice the blood circulation again, praying it will be enough to heat you up quickly. “But nevermind about that now. Worry about your own damn self.”

You instinctively recoil, pitching him a speechless, incredulous look. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Y/N,” Arthur snaps, his jaw clenching tightly as he works. “Now, I mean it. Let’s get you taken care of before you start fussing over Lenny.”

“Arthur-“

“Y/N, don’t fight me on this!” he barks at you again, his eyes burning intensely with unbridled anger as he shakes his head. “Don’t you ever, ever do anything like that again. Hear me? Don’t you ever go charging out onto ice like that.” His emotions, his fear, have a tight grip on him and have finally come to spill over, unable to be contained within his burly frame. 

Hearing Arthur’s voice raised above the swirling chaos of voices and activity catches Ms. Grimshaw’s shrewd attention. Her shoulders tense as she takes in a sharp breath when she notices him looming over you in your fragile state. The matron quickly crosses the room to come to your defense, her face drawn into a sharp, disapproving frown. 

“Mr. Morgan, I would strongly advise-” Her tone is threatening but Arthur is in no mood for one of her lectures right now. 

“Stay outta this!” he hollers back at her, causing the older woman to freeze in her tracks, eyes wide and mouth gaped. But he couldn’t care any less about offending the old crone before returning his attention back to you. 

“I don’t know where your damn head was at. Not even thinking, just running,” he fumes as he takes your red, chapped hands into his own. Like a school child, your eyes quickly blink back the shameful tears that threaten to break free from your lashes. You risk another glance at Arthur’s face, fearful of the disapproval in his eyes. 

But taking a step back from the situation, you notice not so much the anger in Arthur, but the fear. His fear that you were hurt, his fear that you could be gone forever. You are well acquainted with that fear because you feel it yourself every single damn time he leaves you for another job or mission. But the difference is, you have never had to witness that danger with your own eyes. You have never had to look Death in the face and watch the specter’s hands grapple for your love right in front of you. 

Arthur continues to chaotically fuss over you, snatching up his gloves and roughly shoves them onto your hands in scared, panicked frustration. The force with which he shoves them onto your hands causes you to cry out with a sad little whimper, and he stops dead in his tracks, finally stopping for one damn second to really take you in. His eyes bolt to your face, terrified that he’s hurt you more than you are. He watches a hot tear slowly run down your cheek, the only thing of heat in your body right now. 

Arthur takes a deep, steadying breath for a moment. Softening only slightly, he collects your face with both of his large hands so that you have to look at him, his thumb wiping away the salty tear. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be…I just…” His mind scrambles trying to find the words to tell you what aches in his rapidly-beating heart. “Jesus, I almost lost you, sweetheart. Do you know that?”

“You almost lost both of us,” you correct with a sniffle. You turn your head just enough to catch sight of Lenny. He is shivering violently, with blankets being piled on him. Javier is helping him into dry clothing. Susan is buzzing about, making hot beverages, either coffee or tea and shoving it into his frozen hands. The whole sight is a sad state of affairs. 

You turn back to look at Arthur, sharing a silent conversation of dread between you. He pulls your head into his chest to cradle you, both to keep you warm and to hold on tight, lest he risk losing you again. 

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he mumbles to your unspoken statement.

That night, wrapped up in a blanket like a newborn babe, Arthur carries you to your room in the other cabin that you share with Dutch, Molly, and Hosea. Your feet and legs burn from possible frostbite and Arthur won’t let you walk until you have more stability to you. 

Once inside, he carefully sets you upon the bed before moving about to close the doors and securing the building against the night air. Another two logs are delicately laid in the hearth of the fireplace, stoked to keep the ruby coal glowing for another few hours. 

Arthur keeps a watchful eye on you, though, those crystalline blue eyes of his ever so vigilant. Your eyes grow increasingly heavier as you watch Arthur peel away his coat and toe-off his snowy boots before crawling into the bed with you. A sign of relief escapes your chest when the bed sags from his weight as he settles in along your side. For the last few days, you have been like passing ships in the night. But tonight, Arthur isn’t taking anything for granted. 

Arthur straightens the threadbare blankets, shuffling himself in to lay next to you. His arm securely tucks you against him to sleep, your body cradled to him as he offers you his body heat. He needs to feel you against him, to know you are safe. The safest place for his woman to be is wrapped up into his burly arms, guarding you against the cruel world outside your shabby little room. For him, your relationship is not complicated:  you look after him, he looks after you. That has always been your deal. And he will uphold that promise, tooth and nail, until he draws his last breath on this earth. 

Exhaustion finally wins the battle over your senses and you tightly curl up against Arthur, still shivering slightly from the icebath. Your cheek lays over his heart, its hypnotic beating lulling you into a comforted state to allow your body to relax. His face twists up slightly with a stuttered exhale escaping his cold nose as he squeezes you to him, holding you against him as if someone would come and take you away. The quiet darkness of the evening wraps around the two of you as the melody of the crackling woodfire sings you its lullaby. Arthur offers you a peace like none other and it is here that you find your bliss, despite the ugliness that tries to tear your mind apart. 

The constant shivering has left your body aching and drained. And while the color has returned to your skin, Arthur is still worried over you. He is desperate for that feeling of fire that burns within you, that spark that made him absolutely crazy for you; to feel the heat of you when he wraps himself up into your very soul. 

Your group has always lived with the fear that every day could be your last day on this Earth. But the reality that he almost lost you today is too much for Arthur to bear. His broken mind just cannot wrap around that very concept. And now that the Pinkertons are hot on your tails hunting the gang, the harsh reality of life’s fragility is all too real and, unfortunately, the odds are ever increasing against the entire gang. 

Your fingertips absentmindedly twist the worn fabric of the collar of his shirt as you lay against him. The only sound in the tiny room is the popping of the fire, Arthur’s heartbeat in your ear and your deep, labored breathing. 

“What are we going to do, Arthur?” Your frail voice slices the calm air and drifts up to his ears, barely an angel’s whisper. It pains him to hear you so defeated, so worried, a fraction of the vivacious spirit that you usually carry.

“I don’t know, Sweetheart,’ he sighs. And for the first time ever, you can hear the doubt and vulnerability in Arthur’s tone. “But we can’t fix our problems using the same thinking that created ‘em.” 

————————---------------------------------------

*This images comes from @rita-the-outlaw

The next day is filled with new energy. Dutch has decided it’s time to start thinking of moving out of Colter. The gang has lingered long enough to shake the law, but has now caught the attention of the O’Driscoll gang. And with a viper like Colm O’Driscoll lurking nearby, you don’t want to be caught unprepared. You personally haven’t had the pleasure of dealing with Mr. O’Driscoll, but from what you’ve heard, he is not someone that you want to make an enemy of. 

Your body is still recovering from your fall into the ice water, so Arthur is insistent that you stay inside and bundled up for the day. And while you feel a bit of guilt for not carrying your fair share of the weight of chores, you agree to stay put. The girls have been sweet to come and check on you and bring you food and drink. Mary-Beth brought you one of her books to keep you occupied and Tilly sat for a few games of dominoes. Even Jack came to sit with you. It warmed your very soul when he curled up in bed with you, resting his little head against your chest while you read a few short stories to him.

And despite being pulled in a million directions, Arthur made it a point to check on you every spare second that he could. It may have been cumbersome, but it did settle his nerves to lay his eyes on you to confirm that you are still alive and breathing and getting better with each visit.

When evening falls once again, you need a change of scenery and find the energy to bring yourself out of your room to sit in the common area of the cabin to wait for Arthur’s return. At the rattling of the rickety door-knob of your room, Hosea looks up from where he’s huddled over by the fireplace. He doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s getting too old for harsh weather like this. His coughing and chest pain have been kicking up lately, the dry, frigid air wrenching havoc on his lungs. But Hosea’s mind is still ever-so sharp, making him a key player to this gang. So he will offer his counsel, do what he can, but often needs to retire to the safety of the fires. 

Hosea’s kind and tired eyes twinkle a bit at the sight of you up and about, a bit of fatherly relief settled over his old heart to see you. He leans over to stoke the fire a bit, tossing on another few logs, and makes room for you to settle yourself down in front of the fireplace next to him with a blanket tucked around your shoulders. 

You drop down to the chair with a slight groan and let out a comfortable sigh as your muscles relax into their new-found position. You and Hosea sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, both staring into the hypnotic flames of the fireplace. The smell of the fire and its radiating warmth washes over you as you give in to it. 

“How you doin’, girl?” Hosea asks softly, bringing his cigarette up to his lips. 

“Alight, I suppose,” you hum. “Better than some.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he nods. “Arthur giving you trouble?” He raises an eyebrow at you, his fatherly tone poised as if he’s about to scold someone. 

“No,” you smile back at him. “He’s just…’Arthur’. You know?”

A soft chuckle crosses his weathered lips. “Yeah,” he sighs. ”I know.”

A darkness suddenly settles over your brow. With Hosea, you feel comforted and free to confess your troubled thoughts. For who better to understand Arthur, than Hosea?

“I worry about him so much, Hosea,” you breathe out, the pain and worry wrapped around each syllable you utter. 

“Don’t fret over him,” Hosea replies simply with a slight, dismissive wave of his hand. “He’ll be fine. He always is.”

But although he is trying to put your mind at ease, his answer just perplexes you even more. “People keep telling me that,” you shake your head. “But what if he isn’t, Hosea?” You turn your watery eyes from the fire to meet his watchful gray ones. “What then? A man can only do so much. I mean, what do we do if Arthur isn’t alright?”

Your statement stuns Hosea as he simply looks at you with no answer to offer you. For you have just brought to light the very concern that is harbored deep within all of you.

But as soon as the words cross your lips, you immediately feel a pang of regret as you see the concern and worry wash over Hosea as well. Hosea Matthews may be a long-harden outlaw, but he is still an aging man, one with ailments and health conditions that no one in the gang wants to directly address. When you lost your own father before joining the gang, you filled that hole in your heart with the man sitting next to you. And you will protect him as much as possible, just as he would do for you. 

“Don’t mind me, Hosea”, you offer softly. “I’m just a silly woman. Caught up in the turmoil, I suppose.” You try to chuckle and shrug off the ominous cloud that hangs over the room. You look down at your hands folded haplessly in your lap.

But Hosea doesn’t scold you. If anything, he appreciates your warmth and compassion for everyone in the gang, especially for his son who probably needs it the most. 

“Arthur’s a lucky man to have such a woman fuss over him. When he forgets to love himself, I think you love him twice as much to make up for it. I look at you and it makes me miss my Bessie.” 

Your bottom lip quivers as you try your damnedest not to cry. That is the greatest compliment Hosea could have given you, knowing how beloved the woman was to everyone who knew her. You reach over and wrap your fingers around his wrinkled hand, squeezing it slightly, and then you both return to your shared, comforted silence in front of the fire. 

When the night sky has gone black as ink and Arthur still hasn’t come in, your eyelids begin to droop so you politely say good night to Hosea and head back to your little ramshackle room to turn in for the night.

Moving at a languid pace, you heat up some snow for some warm water to wash up with before bed. Between the cold mountain temperatures and not being near a town with a bath house, cleansing has been hard to come by since your stay here in Colter, but you try to make sure you are clean. The modest fire dances in the fireplace and takes the chill out of the room just enough to disrobe in sections as you wipe your body down with the damp cloth. 

Arthur eventually comes into the cabin with a hardened look and a grumble under his breath. He kicks the snow off his boots and ambles over to sit next to Hosea, plopping himself down to warm himself a bit. 

Hosea says nothing, simply watching the younger man maneuvering about, giving him a few moments before he starts in on him. 

“You need to take better care of your girl,” scolds Hosea, the frown lines on his already wrinkled face cutting deep and menacingly. 

Arthur’s eyebrows arch in surprise before releasing a dismissive snort. 

“I take care of her just fine. She’s alright”, he grumbles.

Hosea pitches him a disappointed and quiet look. “Jesus, you’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, you’re old”, scoffs Arthur with a lofty eye roll. 

The comfortable banter gives Hosea a chuckle. Arthur is a grown man, well into his 30’s, even considered ‘old’ himself by some standards. And yet, the look of disappointment from his ”father” never does sit well with him. And Hosea’s right too. He’s been a right miserable bastard these last few weeks and especially to you, his treasure, his love. 

Arthur sits quietly in contemplation, his fingers absentmindedly rolling a cigarette between his fingers as he stares into the fire, his thoughts swirling like the flames in front of him.

Arthur lets out a long tired sigh and slowly drags himself up, grabbing a few more pieces of fresh-cut wood, and heads to your bedroom door. 

“Hey,” Arthur pauses and calls over to Hosea, who looks up from the fireplace. “Thanks, ‘sea”

The old man waves him off with a smile and goes back to his peace and quiet. 

With an arm full of wood for the little fireplace, Arthur nudges his shoulder into the door to enter your room. He grumbled when he found out you took the smaller room in the cabin upon arrival in this shriveled little mining town. But you had done so knowing it would be the easiest to heat. And your gamble proved to be right. The room has a soft, gold glow about it and the heat from the small fireplace takes the chill out of the frigid Colter air nicely. 

He pauses to take a look around and notices you’ve been fixing up the place while he’s been otherwise occupied. The floor has been swept of dirt, and the strings of cobwebs that tethered to the ceiling have been brushed away. Your personal things are neatly stacked in the corners, your coats and scarves and such line the one wall to keep dry. The rickety-old bed has been made up with your blankets, the edges turned down like a hotel. You have made this little shack cozy. You even managed to scavenge some curtains from other buildings and made a makeshift privacy curtain behind which you are currently bathing yourself. 

“Arthur? Is that you?” Your honey-sweet voice carries softly, mingled with the crackling of the fire, when you hear the door close, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Yeah, it’s me. You doin’ alright in here?”

“Sure. Just cleaning up a bit.”

Making his way across the room, Arthur sets the wood down and stokes the fire, wiping his hands on the sides of his pants before heading over to you. He can hear you humming a delicate tune as he approaches, a melody swirling to meet his ears. With a cigarette dangling expertly from his lips, Arthur pulls back the fabric with two fingers and peeps around the curtain. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of your delicate skin being exposed

A soft smile tugs at his pillowy lips at the serene sight. “Hey, you.” 

When you turn your cheek to meet his gaze, your smile in return is like the morning sun. “Hey, you,” you purr back to him. The shining light in your eyes and adoring smile on your face captivates his souls like nothing else in this world. 

“Need a hand with that?” He playfully raised an eyebrow at you.

You give him a soft giggle. “Sure. Mind getting my back for me?”

“Can’t think of anything I want to do more right now.”

He flicks his cigarette to the floor, smothering it with his boots as he walks up behind you, clearing his throat as he takes the wash cloth from your hand. Your smile grows even more and your bottom lip gets pulled between your teeth in anticipation as you turn back around to grant him full access to your backside. 

Arthur slowly drags the cloth over your back and shoulder blades, observing how the skin pulls against the muscle.  His ocean-blue eyes rake over your body, refreshing his mind with the map of your features that are forever etched into his brain. 

His gaze skips from the curve of your neck, to the elegant swoop of your shoulder, down between the protruding shoulder blades and further on down the valley of your spine until he settles on the sudden swell of your rear, currently draped in your bloomers, the ruffles of the fabric all hanging limply along the sides. He wishes he could cover you in the finest of clothing, as you so deserve it. Arthur adores your simplicity, but then again, you are absolutely breath-taking in refinement. You have never even asked for, let alone demanded, such extravagance from him. But that makes Arthur want to provide for you all the more. 

“How’s your feet? Gonna lose any toes?” he muses, trying to forget the images of you almost drowning that still flash before his eyes.

“No,” you smirk. “I think I’ll be keeping all my toes and extremities.”

A chuckle rumbles from his broad chest. “Good. ‘Cause I kinda like your toes,” he whispers in your ear, his voice dropping to a playful, sultry tone that makes you giggle again with an accompanying blush as you feel his fingertips dancing along your hip.

Arthur continues to wash your back for you when he notices a bruise along your side, his head tilting to the side in confusion. The sight of any bruise on you, no matter how it got there, never sits well with him. “What happened here?” His thick finger gently ghosts over the purple and yellow bruise that blossomed across your skin. 

“Huh?” Your chin turns over your shoulder to follow his sightline. “Oh, Susan wanted a chest moved so she and I hauled it around. I backed into the hanging cupboard.”

“Why didn’t you get one of the men to do it?” he frowns.

“Because I couldn’t find one,” you chuckle in return. “And you know me, I wanted it done right now.”

Arthur scowls at that a bit, realizing how much he’s put you through. He carefully drags the wet cloth over the bruise as if to wash its existence away completely.

When he’s done, Arthur wrings the cloth out and lays it across the hook on the wall to dry before coming back to you, placing his hand onto its rightful place on your hip. He leans over and peppers delicate kisses to the top of your shoulder, his beard ticking just so slightly. 

“There, now. All clean, pretty as a picture.” 

“Thank you, Love” you whisper, turning your face to him so he can place another kiss to your forehead. He gives you privacy as he wanders over to the bed to relax, giving you time to dress yourself in your sleep gown. When you come around from behind the privacy curtain, hands twinning in your hair to braid it, your eyes settle on your outlaw who is sitting quietly, leaning onto his knees with his forearms, staring blankly into the flames of the calming fire. His shoulders hunch up to his ears, his eyes carrying a vacant, depleted look.

Without a word, your feet pad across the floor to carry you to the bed. You stand in front of him with a soft, empathetic smile on your rose-petal lips. Arthur tilts his chin upward to catch your gaze and wordlessly pulls you closer, resting his forehead onto your abdomen, arms encircling your waist. Your hands float up to gently card you fingers through his hair, eliciting a deep sigh from him as your fingertips dance along his scalp. You lean over him slightly, cradling him to you as you savor the delicate moment, placing a delicate kiss to his crown. 

After a few moments of his steady breathing you crawl in behind Arthur with the hem of your gown balled up into your soft hands, his head twisting slightly as his eyes follow you, captivated by every move that your muscles make. You sit up on your knees behind him and begin to massage his shoulders to release the tension. You frown when you feel how hard and tight his shoulders are. A deep and appreciative groan emanates from Arthur’s chest as your strong, yet soft hands dig into his muscles a bit harder to break up the tissue there, his head dipping down between his shoulders to give you better access.

When you’re done, your arms wrap around his broad shoulders, fingers curling back and forth across his collarbone and you bury your face into his neck, placing soft, tender kisses there. He catches your hand and brings the back of your knuckles to his lips before tightly engulfing it with his own. 

“I’m sorry you have to carry this burden, Arthur.” Your forehead affectionately touches the side of his.

“Don’t be. It's a job I signed up for long ago.”

“I know,” you whisper with a tinge of sadness to your voice. “But still, there’s only so much a man can take.”

“Oh, I can take a lot, sweetheart,” he chuckles half-heartedly. “Don’t concern yourself.” Although he has to admit, it does feel good to have someone worry about him, to take the time to even notice him at all. 

“I forgot, you can handle anything because you’ve already handled everything,” you sigh. “But of course I’m concerned about you, Arthur. Seems like I’m one of the only people who are these days.” The fingers of your other hand begin the play with the collar of his union suit. 

“And that’s why you’re my favorite,” he smiles. He gently tugs on your arm to pull you around and into his lap. Once he has you settled there, Arthur stares up into your face, a look of absolute serenity gracing his rugged features. His hand lifts up to cup your face, his long fingers sliding under your hair as his thumb gently swipes across your cheekbone. He marvels at how he now understands that it is not about who hurt you or broke you down in this life. It is about who is always there to take care of you and make your heart smile once again. 

You and Arthur share a connection that neither of you could ever deny, nor would you ever want to. You accepted each other into your hearts, and that has become your home, your center. 

“I could stare at you all day, you know that?” Arthur’s blue eyes twinkle happily with his simple declaration. 

With a loving hum, you lean forward to slowly kiss him, your lips brushing against each other like wildflowers on the wind. Your lips gently work against each other’s, working into each other like a puzzle piece. Your body begins to curl itself up into him to bask in his warmth, desperate to be as close as possible to him.

“You’re like a cat,” he smiles into your mouth, “Trying to curl up into my pocket.” After a few more moments of delicious kisses, he reluctantly pulls away as you chase his lips in response.

“I thought you were pulling away from me,” he whispers with a glimmer of pain in his voice, clutching you tighter as his face twists slightly in concern.

“Maybe I was,” you sigh, your finger lifting his overgrown hair out of his beautiful, soulful eyes. “But you’ve been so angry since we left Blackwater. I wanted to give you time to work through what’s happened.”

Arthur casts his eyes down in shame. “Yeah, well…I shouldn’t’ve been like that with you. I was never angry with you.” 

“Oh, I think you were. Just a little”, you chuckle. You let out a contented sigh as you wrap your cold fingers around his face.

“I’m sorry I got you into this, Y/N, but I sure am glad I have you here with me. I think I would lose what little wits I got left without you.” His face suddenly scrunches up a bit. “Damn, your hands are freezing.”

You smile sheepishly. “Sorry. But trust me, they are certainly warmer than they were earlier.”

“Maybe we need to find a way to warm you up, then?” That smirk, that devilish smirk that you love so much has returned to his handsome, tired face, lighting that spark in your belly that has been absent for what seems like an eternity.

“What if Hosea hears us?” you giggle as your nose nudges against his. 

Arthur just shakes his eyebrows at you in response. “Don’t care. Besides, he ain’t no prude and certainly no saint.”

You shiver as Arthur pulls back from you a bit, his body heat immediately missed. He reaches over for his discarded coat and lays it down on the bed underneath you for added warmth before gently pushing your body to lay back, covering you with his own. You curl up into his chest to try to keep warm and to keep him close to you. 

This isn’t just a carnal, lustful need that has to be filled. You need to feel close to him again. To feel that bond, that connection that you so covet. Because without it, you feel as lost as a shriveled leaf blowing in the wind. And he suddenly has the need to feel you completely, to be all at once on you, in you, and wrapped tightly around you until he is utterly consumed by you. 

Things start out tonight more mechanical than anything. You both fidget awkwardly to get situated on the bed, clumsy kisses and uncoordinated hands initiate the intimacy. Both your and Arthur’s fingers playfully fight each other to unbutton his shirt and pull it off his shoulders, leaving him down to his union suit and trousers.

It's been awhile, for your standards anyway, and the tension of days past between you two certainly isn’t helping the mood. Because of the cold, you are not able to completely bare yourselves to each other, either, which is another factor. Normally, you prefer to be bare-skinned against each other, desperate to feel every inch of the other. 

But eventually, the awkwardness subsides. The hesitation fades away to allow old habits and familiar patterns to return. Your fingers trail over his muscled back, feeling the way his strong, powerful muscles move beneath the fabric of his union suit as he settles himself over you. Arthur quickly touches you as if he owns you and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You need him and he needs you. You need his body pressed against yours. He needs to feel your warmth and inhale your scent. He needs the taste of your kisses as much as you crave his hands wrapped around your curves. You are the unrelenting ache, an endless craving, for it is his unsettled soul that carries the chaos that only you can calm. 

The dance of passion quickly begins and Arthur loses himself in you, even if for only for a few moments, but that’s all he needs. Your lips chase him with a whine when Arthur pulls away from your face just so slightly to give himself room to pull at your nightgown. Like the way the sun energizes a flower, you bring his tired, restless soul back to life each time you are together and like the precious sun, you are like nothing else on this earth to him. Arthur has no words to describe what you do for him, but in his kiss, his lips carry a million words of love for you. And he can only hope you will taste each one of them, one by one. 

His hands are so warm that they almost burn your frigid skin as they travel everywhere on your body and yet, they are dry and rough from the latest ordeal. How Arthur is able to stay so warm in this arctic weather of Colter is beyond you, but you are so thankful for it. He is like sleeping with a bear and part of you whimpers in disappointment at not being able to run your fingers through his soft body hair as you grasp at him, having to settle instead with sliding your hand under the fabric of his union suit to feel his bare skin. 

His lips are dry and chapped from the weather, where you are used to the soft, plump skin, but they nestle perfectly as he attacks the curve of your collarbone, placing fevered and rushed kisses there. Arthur buries his face into the crook of your neck, arms wrapped around you to cradle you up into him, holding you tightly with almost cruising force. All 6 feet-plus of his barrel-chested frame lays atop of you, caging you into his warm body as he gently rubs himself against you. 

You cringe a bit when Arthur’s mammoth hand reaches to your plump middle, squeezing your too pliable stomach in his strong grasp. But Arthur doesn’t care about the extra weight you carry, never has. And he still can’t get over how you have chosen him, of all people, to allow to lay with you so intimately. His fingers handle you roughly, almost painfully, in his haste to touch every part of you. It is not unusual for slight blossoms of purple and blue to be left on your skin after being with Arthur. He is certainly not abusive, in fact far from it. It's just that he needs you so desperately that he forgets himself sometimes and forgets how rough he is. 

You have always loved the build up to the intimacy between the two of you, when gentle touching becomes impatient grabbing and soft lips give way to passionate tongues. And your heartbeat escalates until you feel like it will burst from your ribcage, only to be caught by his. 

It’s easy enough to take your clothes off and have sex, people do it all the time. But opening up your soul to someone, letting them see your hopes and fears, your thoughts and dreams, that is being truly naked to someone.

Arthur’s mouth trails along your jaw to continue its lover’s journey along your neck, following the curve of your body. He has always loved the way the bend of your neck fits the shape of his mouth so perfectly and how your glittering eyes always flutter and roll back when his lips find their way there. The pads of his weathered fingers skip down over the velvety skin of your lower abdomen, causing delicate goosebumps and the downy body hairs to rise in their wake. The tips of his fingers draw circles and rake across your belly before he reaches between your thighs to the apex of your heat. The moment he graces your tender folds, a passionate hiss escapes from your mouth, which he is quick to lift his head to greedily swallow. You angle your hips into his hand, desperate for the expert touch that only Arthur can provide you. 

“My beautiful girl,” he murmurs against your lips. “My beautiful girl, all mine.”

“All yours,” you breathe out. “Arthur…I need you. I can’t wait much longer,” your whisper desperately with your forehead digging against his, your fingers curling against the skin of his neck. And his chest almost explodes with the love he has for you when he realizes that you have just as deep a need for him as he has for you. 

His hand descends between your writhing bodies to pull at the remaining obstacle of buttons of his union suit to pull out his fully-erect cock. His hand trembles slightly from the anticipation as he pumps himself a few times before teasing your heat with it. Arthur rolls up onto his knees for better leverage and begins to slowly push himself into the warm cradle of your cunt. Your hands knead the hard muscle of his shoulders as you brace yourself for his thick and long size, always filling you completely. He watches you, enraptured, as your head tilts back and your eyes roll into your skull as the heavenly over-stimulation engulfs all of your senses and a satisfied moan escapes your kiss-swollen lips as he bottoms-out, pushing his pelvis to meet with yours.

He holds himself still, completely buried there for a blissful moment before he begins to move oh-so slowly, not wanting to get too excited or too loud. Arthur's hips curl sharply, rutting into you at the perfect angle to hit that certain spot. You are not in a position to be wild and passionate, but still, each thrust of his hips sends you to the moon and stars. Your conjoined breathing quickly escalates and becomes staggered and short as you forget the rest of the world even exists beyond your broken little bed. 

“It’s been way too long, way too long,” he groans as his tongue darts in and out of his mouth to taste the delicate skin of your shoulder as he pulls at your nightgown.

And you cannot even form words to answer him, but only nod in agreement with a wanton little whimper as your eyelids flutter and lips tremble while he fills you so completely. You have to crush your mouth into his thick shoulder in an effort to muffle yourself.

Suddenly desperate for more, you cage him in tightly with your hips and legs as he rocks his body atop of you, your muscles wrapping around him as much as humanly possible. Your arms fold around his massive shoulders, holding onto him as if for dear life.

“I love you, Arthur,” you whisper breathlessly into his temple, your lips catching on the tender skin there. The tremble of your voice is the whisper of an angel bringing him to heaven. 

“I love you, too, Y/N.”

Arthur’s head swims as he takes your hand that cradles his face, bringing it to his lips before he threads his fingers through yours and pins your hand next to your cheek as his other arm snakes around your head, holding you against his face while he continues to thrust into you.

“Look at me,” you plead into his ear as your teeth nibble delicately at his earlobe.

He lifts himself up onto his forearms again to look into your loving eyes, the palm of his hand brushing back the hair that has fallen into your serene face. You stare into Arthur’s eyes as he moves. You want to see his face as he makes love to you, desperate to find and rekindle that connection that you so covet. You want to hold onto this sublime moment, as you know you won’t have it for too long. You are like a pouty, spoiled child, not wanting to share your most precious possession with anyone else.

Arthur studies you as your eyelids quiver and skin shutters with each pulse of his strong hips, your mouth gaped open in soundless words, yet you still remain focused on him without faltering. You’ll be sore between your legs when this is done, for sure. You feel every thick, hard inch of him inside you as the weight of his body presses you deeper into the thin mattress with each stroke. Your legs fall open even more, your muscles unable to hold them up as your entire body goes limp like jelly in his presence. 

Rough hands continue to pinch and knead your ever-warming flesh. Your hand lifts up to run through his hair, curling through his unwashed locks that are long overdue for cutting before fisting and pulling gently. The feeling of your fingertips dancing across his skin before digging into the muscle grounds him as a reminder that this thing between you is real and he can forgo the trappings of the miserable situation that the gang currently finds itself in. He needs the taste of you on his lips. He needs the scent of you on his skin and your breath in his lungs. He simply needs you to survive. 

And as your bodies continue to move in perfect harmony, your eyes suddenly begin to blur with unshed tears. It isn’t until he hears a faint sniffle from you that Arthur registers that something may be wrong. 

“Why you cryin’, baby?” Arthur whispers in earnest, afraid something will cause your precious little world to crumble right here and now.

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” You try to give him your best sad little smile, shaking your head as if to dismiss your concerns. 

“For what?” He places a kiss to your nose, still buried deep within you and maintaining that hypnotic rocking motion overtop of you.

“I don’t want to be a burden to you. I don’t want to be yet another thing you have to take care of. I’m sure you wanted nothing more than to come in here and fall asleep for more than an hour, yet you have to take care of me. One more thing you have to do.”

He stops his gentle thrusts for a moment, his face turning to one of pain and disappointment and he finally has to dip his head and break eye contact with you, unable to look you in the face with his shame. It makes your heart ache. But what you do not realize is that those feelings are not towards you but to himself for making you feel that way. He wants to be both needed by, and wanted by, you. He needs to feel like he’s worth something to you, of all people. You are the constant in his life, the beacon of goodness that he can keep his eye on as he navigates the treacherous waters of this dangerous life. Arthur still feels like he’s a worthless, ugly, mean old man, but somehow you still find it in your beautiful heart to love him. So he will do whatever it takes to be worthy of that love. 

When he doesn’t say anything, but only responds with a slow, aggravated exhale, you panic, trying to quickly repair the damage. Arthur’s face goes dark and you can almost see the storm of hurtful thoughts swirling about in his mind.

“No, don’t you do that,” you whisper in desperate hushed tones as you collect his face into your hands. “Don’t you dare beat yourself up. As much as I want you all to myself, Arthur, I’m the one trying not to be selfish.”

“Selfish?” His eyebrows knit with confusion. “You’re the least selfish person I know. And besides, I can think of far worse things than being wanted by a woman such as yourself.” His hand caresses your face, his thumb sweeping across your rose petal lips. As he graces you with a feather-like touch, your own hands grab at his back even tighter with a need to pull him to you and hold him even closer. 

“You ain’t my burden, Y/N. You’re my refuge,” he continues. “It’s you, and it’s always gonna be.” He touches his forehead to yours, before rolling his lips to pepper the corner of your eyelids and temple. “What I have with you, I don’t want with no one else. Hear me?” A little demure smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.  “Shit, you’re all my heart ever talks about.” He gives you a little wink with a chuckle. 

A sob chokes in your throat as your heart soars to know that your connection is now restored. You were so afraid of losing him, that the life and love that you have fostered like a fragile candle flame was going to be extinguished. That he was going to wake up one day after all of this mess with Blackwater, the Pinketons and the swirling chaos of Colter and decide that this relationship was just too much for him to navigate. Arthur is a simple man with a lot of responsibilities. It would be easy to understand that he wouldn't want any distractions or additional demands laid upon him. 

You were afraid that you, yourself, were not enough for him. For Arthur is not the only one riddled with insecurities and doubt. He is not the only one who has been broken. 

When you close your eyes, it’s like you are at the center of the sun, protected from all the wickedness of the world, wrapped in your lover’s arms. You giggle and return to meet his lips again with a heated passionate kiss before touching your forehead back to his. 

“You’re killin’ me, Arthur.” Your resplendent smile sparkles back at him.

“That’s the fun of it, isn’t it?” he snickers as he suddenly resumes the snapping of his hips into your pelvis, picking up speed to rekindle the lustful exhilaration. His hips push heavily against yours, all the way down until the wiry hair of his groin entangles with your own, causing you to gasp, his name falling wantonly from your lips as you angle your hips again to meet his as his cock continues to ram into the bundle of nerves hidden within your core. At this point, you are sure that Hosea can hear you two out in the other room. But like Arthur, you really don’t care. And you're pretty sure that after your talk earlier, neither does Hosea. 

The way Arthur holds you is a promise, a confirmation, that for just one moment at least, the two of you don’t have to face the world alone. 

Your climax is quick to come after that, as you give in to all your temptation and desire. You fall heart-first into his soul, where he is eagerly awaiting you. You clamp your body around him as the euphoric wave hits you, and as he rides you through yours, his own orgasm hits him like a lightning bolt as he withdraws his swollen cock to rub against your abdomen, his great arms encircling your head like a serpent. 

The air in the little cabin room is now hot and sticky with your combined sweat and you take a moment to catch your heaving breaths. Arthur is always sure to take care of you, to take hold of the moment, but once he’s spent, it is you who manages the aftercare. You hold him to you as his body shudders from exertion, his chest heaving as his face seeks refuge once more tucked within the soft skin where your neck and shoulder meet. And this is the symbiotic relationship that elevates the two of you to another place. 

Once your conjoined hearts have settled, you bask in your after-glow, snuggled up to each other, afraid to let go. Arthur pulls you to lay upon his great chest, your ear right over his strong heart so that he can weave his fingers into your disheveled hair, a sense of pride knowing he’s the one responsible for the rumpled appearance. You toss your plump leg over his, entwining like a cocoon around him. You wince slightly when your hips pops back into its socket from being spread open so widely.  

After a few tenderly quiet moments, you draw yourself up, propping your head into your hand as your elbow bends next to his head so that you can gaze down into Arthur’s face and he meets your loving expression. 

“I still remember how I felt the first time I saw you.” Your head tilts as the memory of that fateful afternoon cascades back into your mind. His body shudders slightly as your fingertips absentmindedly ghost over his chest, slowly dancing along below his collarbone and swirling the chestnut colored hair that decorates his skin as you fall deep in thought. “Thought my heart was going to beat right out of my chest, broken as it was. You were so magnificent. Took my very breath away to look at you.” Your words are whispered like the ether, acutely holding his attention as you speak. You smile as you watch a blush dust his face up to his ears and he squirms as he nervously tucks his hand behind his head like a pillow.

But a darkness hovers over your glistening eyes as the worry and concern for him floods your mind. “But someone needs to take care of you, too, Arthur.” 

“You take care of me just fine, Y/N. You don’t need to worry about that. More than any man like myself deserves.” 

“Nuh-uh, don’t forget our deal, Morgan:  you look after me, and I’ll look after you.”

“Right.” His hand draws along your delicate spine, tracing your form, as he reaches for yours that rests on his chest, bringing it to his lips. 

“I feel like I’ve waited my whole life for you, Arthur. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happens to you-“

“Shhhh.” The back of his thick finger grazes your cheekbone ever-so softly. “Ain’t nuthin’ gonna happen to me, Y/N.”

He stares into your eyes, both of you knowing this is a promise that is impossible for him to keep. But still, you play his game and give into the heavenly little dream. You sniffle back the lump in your throat and give him a shaky little smile. 

But your private bubble is broken all too soon when you suddenly hear Hosea softly knocking on the door.

“Arthur? I hate to break up your fun in there, but your presence is needed elsewhere. Dutch would like a word.” 

A pained expression takes ahold of Arthur’s bearded face. “Can’t it wait?” he calls out towards the door. 

“‘Fraid not, son.” The regret in Hosea’s voice is palpable. It’s hard to be angry with the old man when you can tell by the tone and volume with which he speaks that the last thing he wanted to do was to rap his arthritic knuckles on that door.

“Damn it,” Arthur growls under his breath. “Alright, hang on,” he calls out to his old friend. 

He pauses but for just a moment before he rolls himself up to a sitting position next to you. But panic runs through your veins like fire in your blood. Your hands suddenly shoot out to hold his face protectively to yours, his cheek squishing slightly in your palms. 

“Please, Arthur. Please don’t go right now.” You don’t know why, but you are suddenly filled with a deep sense of dread, like something will happen to him if he leaves your sight. You want to feel safe, but you feel anything but that in this place. The only place you ever feel safe is with Arthur, and to have him pull away from you right now, after you’ve just touched each other’s souls, is like ripping a piece of your heart right out of your chest. Like a moth to a flame, you gravitate to Arthur, always desperate to be in his presence. 

The look on your face almost breaks Arthur’s heart. “I’m sorry, but I gotta go.” He pulls your hands from his face, but kisses the inside of your palm as he does as a heartfelt apology. 

You watch him with sad eyes as stands and he dresses once again, making himself presentable. 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen here,” he says uneasily as he threads his arms back through his shirt and begins buttoning it up again. “Something’s different, something’s…off. I don’t know.” His eyes begin to dart around the room as he tries to find the words rattling around in his now-scattered brain. “But whatever it is, things are about to get rough around here.”

You just nod silently in understanding, knowing full-well what that means for your beloved outlaw and his ever-dwindling safety. 

“I need to get ahead of this now, before it gets outta hand, Y/N. Understand?” His pleading eyes land on you, practically begging for your approval right now. 

“Yes. I understand, Arthur.“ You give him a weak, but loving smile. “Please, be careful.”

“I will.” He gives you a grateful nod and turns to head towards the door. But before his hand can even land on the doorknob, your voice calls to him again.

“Arthur?”

He turns back to meet your longing gaze from where you still sit on the bed, wrapped in the blankets that you just made love in. Your eyelids flutter, overwhelmed with emotions. 

“You’re mine,” you state so matter-of-factly. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do. You’re mine. Never forget that.” You are no longer shy to say it nor afraid to admit it. Your deep-rooted need to love him and be loved by him has taken such a tight hold of you that it makes your chest tight and desperate to never let him go. You have no need for romantic fantasies anymore and you are done with the nightmares of failed relationships.

Arthur pauses for only a moment upon hearing your proclamation and quickly strides back across the room to you. He places his large hand on the back of your head and he pulls your forehead to his lips. 

“I love you,Y/N,” he says again, his voice serious, making sure that you understand him.

“I love you, too, Arthur” you repeat back, holding his face once again, your thumb rubbing along his cheek as if committing this moment to memory. And with a sigh, you reluctantly concede to let him leave. “Now, go. Before they come in here looking for you.” 

You hold onto Arthur’s hand until he is out of your reach, your fingers extended before your arms fall dejectedly into your lap with disappointment as he pushes himself out the door. Your eyes linger on the wooden panel, now sitting still and quiet in its rusty hinges and splintered wooden frame. Your chest still tingles from where he lay atop of you, his heart beating in unison to your own, your breath mingled together. 

Normally you are left happy and content, reveling in your blissful and lustful stupor. And yet, a sense of darkness settles over you that you cannot shake. Arthur has always been pulled in a million directions at once, but that is the nature of his role with the gang and his importance to Dutch. But now, a whole new level of concern washes over you and you fear that the notorious outlaw may be getting in too deep. 

With a deep sigh, you look to where Arthur’s journal sits carefully nestled in his worn leather satchel. You smile softly, despite yourself. It is a symbol of his mind and his heart nestled in its fragile paper and tattered leather binding. 

Your future is uncertain and the road ahead will be laid with hardship. But you will wait for Arthur for as long as it takes. You will keep your shared bed warm for him and always have a hot cup of coffee waiting. For Arthur is worth the wait. He is where you will always find comfort and a sense of belonging. You no longer have a heart of your own for he is your heart. He is your life.You have finally met the person who has made you forget about yesterday and begin to dream of tomorrow. Arthur has the weight of the world on his shoulders right now and you will do whatever you have to in order to ease that burden for him, no matter if the gesture is great or small.

Your eyes drift their way to that same grimy window again, the one that you always seem drawn to. The moon sets high at its zenith like a giant eye to the heavens. The cold-hearted orb gleams against the black canvas of night, bobbing in and out of the clouds that try to grip it with an ethereal fist, and gifts its silvery shadows across the snow below. The banshee wind howls outside, the fingers of the tree outside scraping along the panes of glass.

Where others may see the fear in the darkness of the night, you strangely take comfort in it. With the night, the moon brings calm and tranquility, whereas the sun ushers in activity and chaos during the waking hours of daylight. Things are not always as they seem, often having double meanings and duality to their existence. ‘Good and evil, you cannot have one without the other’ you had told Arthur the day you met. And you firmly believe that. Where you have knowledge, you will also find oblivion. Where you see power, you can also find regret. And love, love takes on so many forms, both in darkness and in the light.

And the moon has taught you that there is still beauty to be found in the darkness.

—-------------------------------------

The next morning, you all pack up, piling into the wagons, to leave the bitter cold and head back down the mountain to meet whatever may come for the Van der Linde gang.

Tag List: @rivetingrosie4​ @bimbo-dollz​ @pine4pple-b0i​ @redwritr​ @kuri-chans-blog​ @queer-sadie-adler​ @joelmillerswifey​ @gimmethosedaddymilkers​ @pcotarelo​ @delilah-grimes​ @maemortem​ @wistfulwisteriawitch​ @lilacxxdreams​ @mentallyillfrogs​ @absolutegeek​ @spurz​ @sophiaj650​ @uniqueclodzinevoid​ @lookingformaurice​ @pawoui​ @randomidk-123​ @yyiikes​ @eddiemetalheadmunson​ @twola​ @kmartkiddieisle​ @red-dead-simp @regwishesshehadmagic​  @rhehr241​  @earwen-x​ @akariver75​ @djennty​ @nervousmumbling​ @xliliths​ @unbotheredbeeeee​ @onnetonprinsessa​ @kittiowolf210​ @ezrynn​ @suhiss @arthurmargon​​ @codnerd1999 @queer-sadie-adler​​ @alice-vanderlinde​​ @sweetandstoned21​​ @j4llyf7sh @spooky631​​ @m0r4rx @ilovrxats​​ @i-69-urmom​​ @ddbluesie @ivuravix @nervousmumbling @sickvictorianangel @tirededuxhours @ezzythereal1 @chloepluto1306 @ivys-valentine @spiritcatcherxo @lea-khena @brccklynbaby1 @foundynnel @readingcoco @carmelamontezlikr @ultraporcelainpig @sofiaa-xcx @namesaretomainstream @miphy @cookiesandcreaminthetardis @loveheartabby @daisybvck @julialoopeezz @a-court-of-valkyries @oziozzioslo @stargazer-88 @lunawolfclaw @rita-the-outlaw @sixgunluvr

*I tagged people who expressed interest in the continued story. If you’d like to be added or removed, please let me know. There are a few that would not let me link, so I apologize if this doesn’t ping some people. 

[moeitsu]

The Tie Which Linked My Soul To Thee

Ch 20 - More Than We Dared To Tell

Summary: In vulnerability they meet. As the world fades to a gentle hum, their hearts beat as if they're one. In the aftermath, quiet and deep. Love whispers promises they'll keep.

Ao3  Wattpad Masterlist - All Chapters

A/N: I'm so happy to finally post this. It took me forever to write and when I first started it I just hated everything that came out. Plus I had writers block. But I really like this one. It reads more like an erotica than smut, and it's my first time trying this kind of writing. I hope you guys like it! 7k words

TW: NSFW. Adult content 18+. p in v, no protection. I love making men vulnerable hehe

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

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

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

Kate sat across from Arthur, her eyes trained on the quiet sights outside of the rolling stagecoach. Her presence commanded his attention even in the dim, flickering light of the coach's interior. Dressed in her elegant attire, she radiated an ethereal grace that captivated him. 

Throughout the evening, her laughter had mingled with the soft clinks of glass and the subdued murmur of the party, making Arthur's heart flutter uncontrollably. Dancing with her had only deepened the ache, a longing mingled with affection. Almost forgetting their goal of the night was to gather information, Arthur was lost in her beauty.

Their earlier encounter that morning had been a mere whisper of what Arthur envisioned for tonight. He had whispered promises, sketching out desires that left her flushed and breathless. Yet, the real surprise awaited at the outskirts of the city—a pause in their lives, a moment of privacy just for them.

Tonight, he and Kate deserved peace, a slice of time just for them, to explore the depths of their bond without intrusion. Arthur made a silent vow that by the end of their night his name would be carved into her heart, and he would repay her for this morning's gift tenfold. He would make love to her until she knew nothing else but his desire. 

As the stagecoach drew to a gentle stop, Kate's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why are we stopping here?" her voice tinged with concern.

With a wide, conspiratorial grin, Arthur was already stepping out of the coach, the cool night air brushing against his face. He reached back, offering his hand to her. 

Low and enticing, Arthur replied, "C’mon, Princess. I have something to show you." 

Taking his hand, Kate allowed him to help her down, her eyes wide with curiosity. Behind them, Hosea gave her a reassuring nod, a silent blessing as Lenny cracked the reins and the coach rumbled away, carrying the rest of their group back toward camp.

"What's this about, Arthur? Are we not heading back with them?" Kate asked, eyes taking in her surroundings. Her gaze drifted to the quaint building before them. 

Warm light spilled from its windows, casting a welcoming glow in the night. Baskets of wildflowers hung from the porch awning, mingled with green ivy that crept its way towards the sky. The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted through the air, inviting and homely. The sound of quiet laughter came humming from a few open windows. 

Above the door, a large blue sign with elegant white cursive announced, "Bailey’s Bed & Breakfast."

Arthur's excitement was palpable, his eyes shining with anticipation as he guided her toward the entrance. "I've got us a room for the night. Just you and me darlin’." he revealed, warm with promise. “No interruptions.” 

As they entered the cozy warmth of the B & B, Kate couldn't help but be swept away by Arthur's earnestness and the intimate promise of the evening. The lobby was quaint, adorned with floral wallpaper and soft, flickering candlelight that cast a gentle glow. There was a small orchestra playing a quiet tune next to the bar, its melody light and romantic. Kate turned towards Arthur, her eyes glistening with gratitude and affection. 

“Surprise,” he whispered quietly. Admiring the way she gaped at every little detail.

Kate reached up, her fingers brushing against his cheek as she pulled him down for a tender, appreciative kiss. "Thank you," she breathed, the words mingling with their lips.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, sweetheart,” Arthur's response was deep, his arms wrapping around her with a strength that spoke of barely restrained desire. His hands began to roam, tracing the contours of her back, fingers teasing at the buttons of her dress as if they were mere obstacles to what he desired most.

Kate looped her arm in Arthur’s as they approached the front desk. An elderly woman smiled and reached behind her to grab a small key before they could speak. Sliding it across the polished hardwood she spoke, “the honeymoon suit is all set Mr. Kilgore. You and your wife have a good night now.” 

Honeymoon, Kate chuckled to herself and raised an amused brow at Arthur as they ascended the winding staircase. His response was a playful wink. He’s really taking this fake marriage seriously, Kate thought. The idea of him being so chivalrous made her cheeks warm. 

As they reached the top of the stairs, their movements were eager yet graceless, the urgency between them growing. Arthur pressed Kate against the door to their room, his lips claiming hers with hunger. His hands explored the contours of her back as he fumbled with the key, his hunger mounting with the struggle.

The door swung open, and they stepped into the room, their connection unbroken, their kisses only deepening. Arthur kicked the door shut behind him, his focus solely on Kate. His lips traced a path from hers, down her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her lips as her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer.

Inside, the room welcomed them with its understated charm. A large, plush bed dominated the space, its quilts soft and inviting, whispering promises of comfort and closeness. Kate broke their kiss only for a moment to take it all in. 

“Did I do alright?” Arthur whispered against her neck, his desire betraying a deeper need for her approval. 

Taking a step back from their embrace, she gave the space a good deserving look. The bed was adorned with a delicate canopy that cascaded from the ceiling like a silken waterfall. Wispy, translucent drapes created a soft enclosure that whispered of passion. The fabric caught the glowing light of the small hearth, scattering it into a gentle glow that bathed the room in warmth.

The fireplace, set into an ornately carved stone mantle, crackled softly, the golden flames swaying in a dance. Shadows flickered across the walls, playing hide-and-seek with the fire’s glow. The scent of burning cedar and pine curled through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of wildflowers. It was a comforting warmth, one that wrapped around her as surely as Arthur’s arms had moments before, inviting them to sink into the evening’s embrace.

To the side of the hearth stood a tall, elegant mirror framed in dark mahogany, its polished wood adorned with intricate floral carvings. The glass reflected the room’s amber light, capturing fleeting glimpses of their shared glances and quiet smiles. It was the kind of mirror that seemed to hold secrets, where dreams and reality met in between glances.

Opposite the bed, large windows stretched to the ceiling, framed by flowing drapes that billowed with the slightest breeze. The fabric, soft and translucent, allowed just enough of the starlit sky to peek through, casting silvery light across the floor. When the wind stirred, the drapes moved like dancers, swaying gently. The world outside was forgotten, left behind in favor of this private haven where time seemed to slow and hearts dared to hope.

Kate returned her gaze to Arthur’s, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as emotion welled up from deep within, overwhelmed by the sincerity of his gesture. “Oh, Arthur, I love it,” she breathed, her voice trembling. “I love you.”

Arthur’s smile widened, his eyes reflecting a tenderness that stirred a deep warmth inside her. “I love you more, Kate.” His gaze shifted around the room, brows knitting momentarily. “Damn,” he muttered with a slight chuckle. “Looks like they forgot something.”

With a gentle kiss pressed to her forehead, he murmured a promise to return and slipped out the door, leaving the air between them humming with anticipation. Kate drew a deep breath, the heat of the night mingling with the simmering desire that pulsed beneath her skin.

The room was stifling, charged with the memory of Arthur’s touch and the lingering scent of him. She crossed to the window, easing it open further until the cool night breeze swept in, brushing over her flushed skin. It was a welcome contrast to the warmth inside her, clearing her mind and heightening her senses. Her heart thundered in her chest.

Turning towards the tall mirror, she admired the way the deep crimson dress hugged her curves. It suited her in a way that made her feel powerful, alluring, and beautiful. With a soft sigh, she began undoing the pins that held her hair in place, feeling the weight fall in loose waves around her shoulders. The release sent a shiver down her spine.

Fingers deftly worked the buttons at the back of her dress, each one undone with a deliberate, tenderness. The velvet fabric slipped down her arms, gliding over her body like a lover’s touch before pooling at her feet. She gathered it and draped it over the mirror, leaving herself clad in nothing but a thin, silken chemise.

The soft silk caressed her skin as she moved, the delicate straps slipping from her shoulders as she adjusted them, the fabric skimming down just enough to hint at the curves beneath. Her pulse quickened, the anticipation almost too much to bear—and she was oblivious to the door easing open behind her.

The sudden shift in the air made her heart stutter, and she turned, eyes widening as they met Arthur’s gaze. The room felt smaller, the distance between them vanishing as he crossed the threshold with deliberate, confident strides. 

The wine bottle in his hand was forgotten as it fell onto the bed, the sound muffled by the plush covers. Before she could react, Arthur’s strong hands framed her face, pulling her into a kiss that was deep and fervent. Their mouths met, tongues intertwining as he released a low, guttural groan that sent shivers down her spine.

His warm hands moved down her neck, the rough pads of his thumbs tracing slow circles over her sensitive skin. One hand slipped behind her head, tipping it back to deepen their kiss, while the other glided down to cup her breast through the thin silk of her chemise. His thumb found the taut peak, teasing it with maddening pressure. She gasped into his mouth, pressing herself against him as the ache between her thighs made itself known.

Arthur was the first to break for air, his eyes dark and intense as they roved over her flushed face. "God, you’re so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with need. "You make it impossible to keep my hands off you." He punctuated the statement with a playful pinch to her bottom, drawing a surprised yelp and a soft, breathless laugh from her.

Kate leaned into him, stealing another kiss before her gaze shifted to the neglected bottle on the bed. Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. "What did you bring us?"

Reaching for the bottle, Arthur presented her with an elegant red wine, its label in gold cursive reading “Brunello di Montalcino”. 

Arthur's fingers danced over the bottle as he carefully broke the seal, the soft crinkle of foil breaking the stillness of the room. “Bartender told me they used to serve this to the royal family in Rome,” he said with a quiet chuckle, the warmth of his voice tugging at her heart. “Thought it might be fitting. Royal wine for a royal woman.”

Kate smiled, the curve of her lips softening as she watched him work, her gaze lingering on the steady movement of his hands. “I’m certainly no princess,” she murmured, her voice a hushed whisper, unsure if it was meant as a joke or a truth she couldn’t quite grasp.

Arthur’s eyes lifted from the bottle, locking with hers, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, ya are to me,” he said, his voice tender, yet thick with something deeper. “Besides, with the way you looked tonight, I think we might have to tell our children otherwise.”

The word children fell between them like a heavy, unexpected weight. Kate’s heart stuttered, and her breath caught in her throat. She froze, unable to move, as if the world had briefly stopped spinning. 

Lorena. 

She had wanted them once, long ago, in another lifetime when hope had still danced lightly in her chest. But that was over a decade ago. So much had changed since then, the woman she was now a far cry from the one who dared to dream of motherhood again.

It was impossible. She was impossible.

Her stomach turned at the thought of disappointing him. How could she not have told him sooner? How could she have let this moment slip by without giving him the truth, especially now, when it seemed so tender and raw between them? He had just spoken of a future, one that included their children, and she had no idea he felt that way. Her heart ached with a mixture of joy and dread, because she knew she could never give him what he wanted.

Her mind spiraled, her thoughts scrambling for clarity, but before she could grasp them, the cork popped from the bottle with a sharp, sudden noise. Kate flinched, her body betraying the storm inside her. Arthur’s eyes immediately flicked to her, his expression shifting with concern.

“Darlin’, you alright?” His voice was softer now, more urgent, as he placed the bottle aside and moved toward her.

Kate blinked, trying to steady herself, her fingers trembling as she tried to form words that would make sense. “You want…?” Her throat tightened, the words slipping from her lips like fragile glass, ready to shatter. “Arthur, I didn’t know you wanted children.”

Arthur’s gaze flickered with surprise, as if the question had come out of nowhere. He looked away for a moment, brow furrowed, before meeting her eyes again. His words had come so easily, without thought or hesitation. He hadn’t even realized how much he longed for that future until now, until he saw her standing there, her eyes full of softness and strength, a woman he had come to care for more than anything. He had never dreamed about a second chance at fatherhood before—hell, he barely understood the responsibilities he already had, especially after Isaac.

But now, with Kate, something had shifted. He wanted to be better. He wanted to give her everything. To give his children a life full of love and laughter. A life he never had. 

Arthur reached for her, his hands trailing down her arms, feeling the coolness of her skin beneath his touch. He paused when he reached her hands, holding them gently. His grip was firm but tender, the warmth of his palm sending heat straight to her heart.

“Kate,” he began, his voice lower now, as though he was speaking from a place deep within. “I know things are… complicated right now. But you’ve opened my eyes in ways I never thought possible.” He squeezed her hands, the sincerity in his words wrapping around her like a protective embrace. “I want you in my future. And if we make it out of this alive... if you’ll still have me, I want to have a baby with you.”

His words, so heartfelt and raw, shot through her like a wave. Her heart surged, the ache of longing and love intertwining. He had truly come so far from the man she first met, the broken outlaw haunted by ghosts of the past. The man before her now was different—stronger, more whole—Arthur was truly healing. And Kate wanted nothing more than to be a part of that future with him. But her past, she had tried to bury it so deep, now threatened to tear it all apart.

Her eyes fluttered closed as a painful sigh escaped her lips, and when she spoke, her voice was small, fragile. “I’m so sorry, Arthur, but I can’t give you children.” The words trembled in the air between them, like fragile glass breaking. Her heart shattered just saying them, but she had to. She couldn’t live with herself if she lied to him.

Arthur’s expression shifted—first confusion, then something softer, sorrowful—but his gaze never left hers. He said nothing, but the silence between them spoke volumes. She could see the ache in his eyes, the pain of the unspoken.

Kate swallowed thickly, her chest tight with grief as the memories threatened to claw their way to the surface. “What happened to me... when I was captured, I—” She choked on the words, feeling the darkness creeping back, the horrors she had locked away for so long. “I’m certain that what they did to me—” She couldn’t finish, her hands silently moving across her belly in a self embrace.

Before she could utter another word, Arthur pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him, as though he could shield her from the demons she was struggling to face. “That’s enough, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I ain’t gonna make you relive that.”

Kate’s face pressed into his chest, her voice muffled as she spoke, words thick with unshed tears. “I can’t have a baby Arthur, I would understand if this changes things for us.”

Arthur’s fingers gently cupped the back of her head, his other hand holding her close to him. “Darlin’, do you even know me at all?” His voice was raw, filled with an honesty she rarely heard. “I wouldn’t trade this for all the gold in the world. You are my world, you understand?”

She nodded, silent tears slipping down her cheeks, but Arthur was quick to brush them away. He held her even tighter, the two of them a tangled mess of emotions, love, and unspoken promises. “It was a silly thing for me to say. It changes nothing about how I feel for you.”

Kate pulled back slightly, her eyes searching for any trace of doubt, any hint that he was lying. “It’s not silly, honey,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You have every right to want a family. I just… I wish I could give that to you.”

Arthur cupped her face, tilting it gently toward him, his thumb brushing away the final remnants of her tears. “Kate,” he murmured softly, his voice filled with such love, such conviction. “As long as I have you, you will always be my family. And that’s enough for me.”

Their lips found each other once again. With those words, Kate’s fears crumbled away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the hope of something better, something real, between them.

━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━

The evening lingered in the air, slow and intoxicating, as they shared a glass of wine that seemed to ignite the desire between them. The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow on their skin as they sat close, Kate nestled comfortably in Arthur’s lap. The conversation was quiet, intimate—whispers of dreams and playful desires exchanged between soft kisses and lingering touches that spoke louder than words.

When the last drops of wine were finished, Kate set her glass aside, her movements slow and deliberate, feeling the heat of the moment settle deep in her chest. With a quiet, daring smile, she shifted on his lap, straddling him, her body now pressed fully against his. The dress coat and bow tie were long discarded, his shirt now unbuttoned in places, exposing the warm, rugged skin of his chest. The flickering firelight danced across his strong frame, and she couldn’t help but admire him, her heart racing at the sight of him in the dim, intimate glow.

Her hands, delicate and daring, traced the contours of his body with soft, eager strokes, feeling the heat of him beneath her fingertips. The alcohol had loosened her body and mind, a steady warmth pooling between her thighs, and she felt something primal awaken—something bold, something wild. She could feel the heat in her blood, drawn to him like a lioness on the prowl.

Arthur’s hands moved with purpose, fingers grazing her skin in a way that made her shiver. His touch was rough, but gentle in its own way, the calluses of his hands brushing against the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Each move he made brought him closer to where she needed him, a slow tease that had her heart pounding.

Her chemise slipped lower, revealing the soft, inviting curve of her breast. The air felt cooler against her exposed skin, but it only seemed to heighten the heat between them. Kate’s hands slid over his chest, undoing the rest of his shirt buttons, exposing his skin to her eager touch. She felt the warmth of him, the thick, hard muscle beneath the soft hair that she longed to explore. 

Tracing her thumb along the star shaped scar that adorned his shoulder, she leaned down to place her lips upon it. Kissing it with a softness as the memory of his survival washed over her. Her lips moved gracefully along the smooth edge of his collarbone and up towards the sensitive skin of his nick. 

As her lips and fingers moved, mapping the lines of his body, she felt him respond—his chest rising in a sharp breath, his hands finding her breasts, his thumbs pressing against her sensitive nipples with a languid, teasing pressure.

She arched into him, the sensation of his hands on her skin causing a soft gasp to escape her lips. She couldn’t help but feel the subtle shift of her hips as she moved against him, the friction between them a delicious ache that made her pulse quicken. His growing need pressed against her, and she could feel it—he was just as consumed by this moment as she was, his body betraying the desire he could no longer hide. Barley constrained by the fabric of his pants.

Kate’s breath came faster, her own hunger rising as she pulled at the fabric of his shirt, desperate to feel him closer, to taste him. Her nails scraped lightly over his skin, feeling the warmth of him beneath the soft layer of hair, her body trembling in anticipation of what came next.

Arthur was lost in her, watching her with a gaze darkened by desire. His hands moved with a steady, confident rhythm, pulling her straps down just enough to reveal her bare shoulders, exposing the last bit of her flesh to the cool night air. His breath hitched, and for a moment, everything around them fell away—there was only her, and the way she made him feel. She was a vision of beauty, of vulnerability, of everything he wanted in this life.

He leaned in, his breath warm and steady against the delicate shell of her ear. “I love you,” he whispered, the words thick with longing, with adoration, and something far deeper than mere desire. His hands tightened around her, pulling her closer, as though he never wanted to let her go.

Arthur’s hands moved over her body with a reverence that sent shivers down her spine. He traced the delicate lines of her shoulders, the curve of her waist, his fingertips gently brushing over the soft skin of her ribs, before returning to frame her face. His eyes locked onto hers, silent and deep, as though asking a question that needed no words. The steady rhythm of their heartbeats pulsed in sync, the air thick with the weight of their connection.

Her lips parted, a soft sigh escaping as she spoke, her voice trembling with desire and something far deeper. "You make me feel safe," she murmured, the raw emotion in her words wrapping around him like a tender, irresistible embrace. Arthur’s heart swelled at the sound of it, a rush of tenderness surging through him.

Without hesitation, his hands moved to the curve of her bottom, the warmth of her body under his palms igniting something primal in him. Gently, he lifted her, his strength cradling her in a way that felt as natural as breathing. "You are safe," he whispered, the words like a promise, low and soothing, as he guided her beneath him, laying her down on the soft elk skin rug, its warmth adding to the heat between them.

Their movements were slow, measured, each one perfectly in tune with the quickening pulse of their bodies. Arthur’s hands slid down to her waist, pulling the silky fabric of her dress with a purposeful ease, sliding it over her body, revealing her bare skin inch by inch. He stopped just above her navel, his fingers tracing soft, rhythmic circles around the sensitive skin, each touch sending a wave of electricity through her that made her breath catch in her throat.

Arthur paused, his eyes drinking her in as if he were memorizing every detail—her flushed skin glowing in the firelight, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, her eyes dark with need and something far more vulnerable. She was a vision—soft and beautiful, filled with both desire and something that made him want to protect her, cherish her.

"You make me feel like I belong," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, thick with emotion that stole his breath away.

Arthur’s lips hovered over her skin, brushing against the delicate curve beneath her ear, his breath warm against her neck. "You belong with me," he murmured, the words heavy with sincerity and longing. Slowly, he kissed his way down her body, his lips hot against her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. 

When he reached her breast, he paused, his mouth closing around her nipple, swirling his tongue gently around the sensitive nub. He pulled and sucked with his mouth, the heat sending shivers through her body. Kate arched beneath him, a soft gasp escaping her as he moved to the other, giving it the same reverence. 

As his lips continued their journey lower, tracing the curve of her abdomen, she moaned again, her hands slipping through his hair, holding him closer.

“You make me feel needed,” she breathed, the words mingling with the sensation of his touch, a mix of longing and a deep emotional connection.

Arthur’s response was a kiss, tender but full of heat, just above the hairline between her thighs. His mouth was gentle, teasing, yet filled with a desperation he couldn’t quite hide. "I need you," he growled, his voice low and thick with emotion. He spread her legs, aligning himself with her, the heat of his body sending a rush of anticipation through her.

His hands moved under her thighs, pulling the thin fabric of her chemise off in a swift motion, exposing her completely to him. He lifted her to him as he lowered his head between her legs. The first touch of his mouth against her ignited something wild, a fire that burned brighter with each kiss he gave her. He moved slowly, deliberately, his tongue trailing from her entrance to the sensitive bundle of nerves at her core, each lick sending her spiraling deeper into pleasure.

“Arthur!” A cry of bliss escaped her lips as the intensity of his touch overwhelmed her. 

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. His tongue flicked and circled with purpose, driving her higher, her hips bucking instinctively, thighs trembling beneath his touch. She was lost to him, lost in the pleasure he gave her, her body shaking as she surrendered to him.

Kate’s fingers tangled in Arthur’s dirty blond hair, tugging just hard enough to draw a deep, rumbling groan from him. The sound sent a shiver racing down her spine, heightening the sensation as he pressed two thick fingers inside her, moving with a careful slowness that made her gasp. The heat between them simmered and pulsed, her body yielding to his touch as he felt her walls tighten around him, each flex and flutter fueling his own hunger.

Arthur’s jaw clenched as he struggled to maintain control. The image of being buried deep inside her, feeling that same vice-like grip around his aching length, tempted him to the edge of restraint. The fabric of his pants felt suffocating, he was painfully hard now, hips grinding into the rug looking for any form of release. The throbbing need to be inside her overwhelming.

But he was a patient man, one who relished the art of giving more than receiving. The pride he felt from watching Kate unravel beneath him was more intoxicating than any pleasure he could take for himself. He had made it a silent vow: she would always come first. He would never surrender to his own satisfaction until he had brought her to the brink and watched her fall apart in his hands.

Kate’s breath came in ragged gasps, the room filled with the symphony of her moans and the creamy, rhythmic sound of Arthur’s fingers working inside her. The slickness of her arousal coated his skin, driving him deeper into the moment, each movement more intentional than the last. He lowered his mouth to her once again, tongue teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that made her arch and cry out. The way she responded, hips lifting to meet the pressure of his mouth, sent a rush of heat coursing through him.

The slow, lewd suck of his lips against her skin resonated through her core, sending her spiraling into waves of bliss that made her thighs tremble uncontrollably. Arthur’s groans mixed with the soft, wet sounds of his ministrations, each one a testament to the pleasure he found in her surrender. His fingers moved in a steady, torturous rhythm, coaxing every drop of her release until she could no longer hold back. 

“Fuck! Arthur I’m–!” Kate shattered with a keening cry, her body clenching around him as he hummed against her, savoring every quiver, every pulse of her climax.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice thick with affection. “Let go, love.” His words washed over her, grounding her as the aftershocks rippled through her.

With a final, lingering kiss pressed to the apex of her thighs, Arthur withdrew his fingers and looked up, eyes dark and heavy with longing. But there was no rush in the way he studied her, only a deep satisfaction that came from seeing her utterly spent, flushed and glowing in the aftermath.

Panting softly, Kate struggled to sit up, the desire in her voice trembling. “Arthur,” she whispered, the sound cracking with raw need. “Please… I need you.”

He steadied her as her legs wobbled beneath her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear with a tenderness that belied the intensity between them. Her nimble fingers found their way to the rigid evidence of his desire, undoing the button and zipper with practiced urgency. Arthur’s body quaked as she pushed the fabric down, her palm gliding over his length, slick with anticipation. The touch awakened a fire in both of them—a shared ache that transcended the physical.

Before Kate could wrap her fingers around him, Arthur caught her wrist, his voice a husky murmur. “Easy, sweetheart.” With strength that left her breathless, he scooped her up, one arm under her back and the other beneath her knees, lifting her as if she were the most precious thing he’d ever held. “Let me take you to bed, hmm?”

In one fluid motion, he kicked off the remnants of his clothing and carried her to the bed, laying her down on the soft, inviting covers. The firelight cast a golden glow over their entwined forms, painting them in warmth and shadow. Arthur hovered above her, his eyes roaming over her with reverence, his breaths heavy and controlled. But as he braced himself, she caught the subtle wince that flickered across his features—the injured shoulder still bearing the strain of his body.

“C’mere, baby,” she whispered, coaxing him to shift his weight, guiding his arm beneath the pillows. He sank closer, their faces inches apart, his breath hot and uneven against her neck. She gasped as she felt him at her entrance, the teasing pressure sparking electric pulses that made her body tremble.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, so softly it was barely audible, his voice lined with a vulnerability that pierced through the haze. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

The tremor in his body told her this was more than a question. It was a plea, an unspoken need for reassurance—for a promise that this connection was real, that he wasn’t caught in a moment that would fade into the darkness that haunted him.

Her hands found his face, fingers tracing the strong jaw, eyes meeting his gaze and holding it. In that moment, she saw every shadow, every battle fought in silence, every wound that hadn’t fully healed.

To truly love someone is to understand their suffering.

“Yes, Arthur,” she replied, her voice steady and clear, overflowing with emotion. “I want you. I’ll say it a hundred times, until there’s no doubt left in you. Until you know, beyond everything, that I choose you.”

The tension between them shattered like a wave crashing on the shore, and Arthur captured her lips with a kiss that carried the weight of his devotion, longing, and love. It was fierce, raw, and tender all at once, a culmination of emotions unspoken but deeply understood. Kate’s fingers slid between their bodies, finding him with an assured touch. A shiver coursed down Arthur’s spine as she stroked him, trailing down the length of his shaft until her palm cupped the sensitive, heavy flesh that hung beneath. A gentle squeeze and a slow tug pulled a guttural sound from deep in his chest. His arousal beaded and dripped onto her skin, warm and slick.

A low, husky grunt escaped him, and he trembled, unable to hold back the faint whimper that broke free as she guided him along her folds. The wet heat of her need coated his length, preparing him in a silent invitation. The size of him dwarfed her delicate touch; she knew there would be a sharp ache when he entered, but she welcomed it, craving the connection more than anything.

“Kate,” Arthur’s voice was a ragged plea against her neck, the tension in his body evident as he held himself back, quivering with the effort.

“Look at me,” she whispered, her voice low and tender, guiding his face up so their eyes met. Her hands slipped around his neck, legs winding around his hips as she surrendered herself to him. She could see the war waged within him—the constant battle between the rough, unforgiving man he feared he was and the tender lover he had always been with her.

“I love you, Arthur,” she breathed, the words soft and steady. “You could never hurt me.” With a slight arch of her hips, she felt the initial burn as his head pressed into her. The stretch was sharp, searing through her like a white flame, but she focused on the way his expression contorted in unguarded bliss, blue eyes wide with reverence as he pushed deeper.

Arthur’s gaze held hers, searching for any sign of discomfort, even as he sank into her inch by inch. The moment he bottomed out, pressing into the deepest part of her, he released a shuddering breath and pressed a kiss to her temple, the salty tang of sweat mingling with their heat. Kate’s body adjusted slowly, every shift and flex sending electric pulses through them both. She clenched around him instinctively, drawing a groan from his lips as she carved out space for him within her.

“Give it to me,” she whispered, the words a plea and a promise.

A flash of understanding passed between them, and Arthur’s control snapped. He drew back, the friction leaving them both gasping, only to thrust forward until their bodies met again. Each movement carried the force of his need, the desperation of years of loneliness and longing released with every roll of his hips. The rhythm built, urgent and unrelenting, as he claimed her with an intensity that spoke of both passion and fear—fear that she would slip away, fear that he would never find this again.

Kate’s breath came in broken whimpers, the sharp bite of her nails digging into the taut muscles of his shoulders as the pain turned to pleasure, radiating through her in waves. Every thrust filled her, completed her, as if she had been a puzzle with a missing piece, and Arthur was the one who made her whole.

The room pulsed with the rhythm of their desire, each creak of the bed merging with soft gasps and whispered confessions. Arthur’s deep, guttural groan resonated as he rolled his hips with a deliberate slowness, each thrust intentional and unrelenting. He moved with the confidence of a man who knew exactly how to drive her to the brink, his body a perfect match for hers as it instinctively responded, drawing him in deeper with every movement.

The friction, intense and electric, left Kate gasping, her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling tight as a tremor ran down her spine. “Just like that,” she panted, her voice breaking with urgency. “Fuck, Arthur! Right there!” The echo of her cries filled the dimly lit room, unbridled and careless of the late hour.

A wicked grin played on Arthur’s lips as he watched her writhe beneath him, the pleasure building in waves as he learned the intricacies of her body. “That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured, the low timbre of his voice vibrating against her skin. “Tell me what you want. I’ve got you.”

Each deep stroke sent a jolt of heat through her, the slick sound of her arousal coating him and amplifying their connection. He angled his hips to brush that sensitive spot just inside her, pulling out until only the tip remained before sinking back in with precision, the coarse hair at the base of his cock damp with her need. 

Lowering himself to her chest, he captured a hardened nipple between his lips, flicking his tongue in deliberate circles before sucking it into his mouth. The sharp pleasure had her gasping, her body clenching around him, and he couldn’t help but revel in her reactions.

He marked her with love bites, small purple reminders that she was his, that they were here, lost in each other. One of his hands found its way down, his thumb circling the swollen bead between her thighs, adding a new, dizzying layer of sensation.

“Oh god,” Kate’s voice broke, her legs trembling, body on the cusp of surrender. “I’m close,” she whimpered, eyes glassy and unfocused as tears welled up, the overwhelming mix of pleasure and emotion coloring her cheeks a deep rose.

Arthur’s pace faltered, fighting the tide of his own release as he focused on her, determined to feel her shatter around him first. “Just a little more, baby,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck, each word a promise.

Breathing ragged and full of intent, Arthur kept his focus on her pleasure, dragging his hips along the sensitive spot that made her gasp and shudder. His movements were precise, quick, and shallow, sending waves of heat coursing through her. Her body responded in kind, trembling, and slick against him, soaking the sheets beneath them. He could feel the tension within her, the way she fought to hold back the tide, and it only fueled his own urgent need.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “let me feel you.” The words breaking on a pant as he pressed his face into the crook of her neck. His voice was rough, tinged with desperation. Every ounce of his focus honed in on her, driven by the singular purpose of bringing her the kind of pleasure that would mark this moment as unforgettable.

As if his words had unlocked her restraint, she tightened around him, the sudden pressure tearing a raw, guttural sound from his throat. Kate's vision blurred, a white-hot rush overtaking her as she surrendered to the sensation. Her climax surged through her, making her body quake uncontrollably, her breath coming in gasps as she called out his name, voice breaking with the intensity.

Arthur's control slipped as he spilled into her, the pulse of his release matched by the rhythmic spasms of her body. A low groan turned into a softer, vulnerable whimper as he buried himself as deep as possible, letting the warmth spread between them. He pressed tender kisses to the corner of her eyes, catching the tears that trailed down her flushed cheeks.

They laid together for a moment, sharing breath and messy kisses. Drunk on their love, they lay connected, limbs tangled and whispered affections. Even as their bodies still hummed with the aftershocks, Arthur’s hand slid down between her thighs. She tensed, the oversensitivity sparking a startled cry.

“Oh Arthur,” she breathed, “it’s too much,” her voice breaking as tremors began to seize her limbs.

“Just one more, my love,” he coaxed, his tone a soothing murmur.

He sat up slightly, allowing himself a clearer view of her, eyes heavy with desire and affection. He watched as her wide eyes met his, glazed and vulnerable. Her lips parted in a silent plea, new tears streaking down her face as she teetered on the edge once more.

He pressed a firm thumb against the sensitive pearl at her center, the light pressure enough to send another surge of sensation through her.

“That’s it, my good girl,” he whispered, the admiration clear in his voice. The sight of her unraveling beneath him, of her body responding so completely, made his chest ache with reverence.

Her body tightened around him again, a series of frantic pulses as her second climax took hold. She clutched his arms, nails digging into his skin leaving crescents as she bucked. Her breath caught in her throat. Legs shaking from the force of her pleasure. The coiled tension snapped, and she came apart, her hoarse cry tearing through the room.

Arthur!

“I’ve got you, baby,” Arthur reassured, his hands gliding up her trembling thighs before cupping her face. She turned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as she wrapped herself in him, a soft moan of bliss escaping her. 

Pressing his lips to her damp brow, his own heart pounding with the intensity of their connection. The hard drumming in his ears harmonized with the melody of her labored breath, every beat and gasp composing a harmony. His name on her lips, breathing him to life. It was a song he longed for. It sounded like love. 

My girl.

AN: I was low-key so nervous to post this, I've never officially written and posted an intimate scene. I'm tempted to come back to this in the future and edit it, but I must resist. And I must focus on other chapters now. I have so much planned, and I'm fighting this writers block tooth and nail. I'm speaking it into the universe that my mojo will come back.

Bonus pics of my new kitten:

[shoot1ngst4r]

going out of your way to search up [insert character] ANGST and all you get is smut

[ruerecs]

PSA! you don't have to have smut in your fic to make it good.

for all the butthurt people in my reblogs, i’m literally a writer too. that’s literally why i made this post, never said you shouldn’t. just said you don’t have to? (all the people complaining about this post just know i’m laughing at your replies🙂‍↕️)

[stray-cat-with-internet-access]

[abstractpyschopomp]

[hihomeghere]

[ramen-flavored]